Demon Bound

leave her frustrated. She only needed to have the courage to let herself go where he led.
    Alice opened her eyes, and leapt.

    Hot. Damn.
    Alice didn’t want him to talk? He wouldn’t talk. He’d do anything she asked as long as she didn’t take her tongue out of his mouth.
    Her hands ran down his chest. Christ, oh, Jesus Christ. Straight for the snap of his jeans. Straight for his dick.
    He was hard so fast it hurt .
    She ripped open his fly. Her slender fingers wrapped him in a tight grip. A groan tore from his throat—half need, half disbelief.
    No way was this happening. Women didn’t go from a couple of kisses over the course of a week to pumping a guy’s cock in the middle of a courtyard. But damn if he’d ask why Alice had. His palms slid to her ass. Not much there beneath the silk, but a handful was enough. He hauled her up against him.
    God, she smelled good. Like strawberry pie in summer.
    Her hands left his dick, but that was peachy, because her skirts slid across him and her legs were suddenly around his waist. She hitched up her dress, and—
    Whoa boy. She was already naked underneath those skirts, and rubbing against him.
    His brain should have exploded. Instead, the flippin’ thing started working.
    What the hell was she doing?
    The thought stuttered to a halt as she reached between them, tucked the head of his cock against moist heat, and bore down. Jake staggered forward. Her back hit the wide trunk of the marble tree. Stone leaves shivered above them.
    She squeezed her legs, drawing him in. Oh, fuck. This wasn’t right. He was halfway inside her, she was hot and tight, but this wasn’t feeling anywhere near as good as it should have. The flesh gripping him— resisting him—was moist, not wet.
    She wasn’t ready. She’d jumped him, but she wasn’t even aroused.
    Yet.
    He grabbed her hips, held her still. A growly sound came from her throat—frustration, discomfort. Well, hell yeah there was discomfort. So he just needed a second to figure this out, to think, and he’d get them rocking.
    Okay. He understood this. A trip to Hell+Belial+crazy Guardian woman + getting home safe + a healing more painful than the injury + crap news about the prophecy = a mindless fuck against a tree. Affirmation of life or some shit like that, and with the bonus of not thinking about her bargain while he screwed her silly.
    And he was on board for that, but Jesus—he thought he’d get a chance to kiss her ear first, or get a look under her dress, maybe cop a couple of feels.
    The pressure of her legs increased. Her kiss became more frantic.
    Okay, then. So this time, a quick bang. And next time . . . He just had to make sure there was one. He couldn’t fuck this up, and hope for a chance to fix it. He’d prove he cared for her pleasure as much as his own—more than his own—and next time, she’d let him take her dress off. So he’d get this right the first time.
    He had to get this right.
    Best-case scenario for that was: he withdrew and started over. That wasn’t happening here. So he’d go for option two.
    Slowing her down.
    Her tongue was drilling past his lips. Her palm clapped over the back of his neck when he pulled away, but he got the space he needed. He closed his lips around her tongue, sucked lightly.
    When she shivered, he licked his way back into her mouth. He hadn’t forgotten the last time he’d done that, and her reaction was exactly what he’d been hoping for. She made a little sound of surprise and need, arching toward him. Meeting him lick for lick.
    Her legs still wrapped him tight, but she forgot about pulling. He was sliding in anyway, her weight doing the job. But the going was easier, and by the time her hands were moving up the back of his head, her mouth sweetly devouring his, she was slick enough.
    He pushed deep. Alice gasped; her lips and hands stilled.
    Yeah, he wasn’t going to move either. One little thrust and he’d probably come, and that wasn’t on his list of priorities right now. And he wasn’t going to think about how wet she was getting, or listen to that funny stuttered noise she began making, like a desperate keening that she repeatedly tried to swallow, or the way she began to buck, as if testing out the feel of him stuffed inside her.
    The bucks became thrusts, the noises more demanding. Oh, Jesus. It’d be over in two seconds if he fucked her with the fast, hard strokes she apparently wanted.
    All right. This called for diversionary tactics.