Demon Forged

as she stepped inside. “No. It is you, and so it is easy.”
    He closed the door, pushed her back against it. His palm ironed up her spine, burned up her nape, until his fingers buried in her hair. He braced his left hand on the door above her shoulder. He didn’t kiss her, but watched her with steadily darkening eyes.
    Anticipation prickled her skin. Her nipples tightened. She tried to rise up, to bring her mouth to his, but his hand fisted in her hair. Her muscles tensed. Need unfolded through her as she imagined him holding her still, working into her with slow, measured strokes.
    “Do you need oil, Irena?” His murmur swept over her ears in a velvety caress, and she became intensely aware of the liquid heat at her core.
    “No, Olek.” She let her gaze challenge him. “I could take you in now.”
    She felt him stiffen. He wanted to. But he apparently had something else in mind. His fingers still clenched in her hair, he slid his left hand down her naked back. “I will judge for myself.”
    She would not argue. But—“Kiss me first.”
    “I’ll kiss you when you’re ready.”
    She snarled. Expectation silenced her when his hand pushed down the front of her leggings. His fingers teased the curls just above her clitoris. She lifted onto her toes. He delved deeper. And stopped.
    She snarled again. “Do you want me to hurt you?”
    He gave her a look that was both amused and speculative. “No. But I would not mind.”
    Her laugh became a breathless gasp when his fingers sank into her, the heel of his palm pressing against her clitoris. He made rough circles with his hand.
    Ecstasy spiraled outward. Irena’s knees weakened and she clung to his upper arms, her nails digging into tightly sculpted muscle. He pumped his fingers and her hips rocked, pushing against him, pulling him in. She tried to look down, to see. She only saw his face, carved into austere lines by his own need.
    She could hardly gather the breath to say, “Don’t deny yourself, Olek.”
    “I do not.” He glanced down. The heat of his skin against her, inside her, flared hotter. “Learning you pleases me.”
    He’d already learned well. Though he’d left everything untouched but her sex, the tips of her breasts ached. Her skin stretched over passion-seared nerves, her clothes a constriction that bound and teased. Warmed by her body, the wooden door pressed into her shoulder blades. Beneath her hands, his biceps flexed with each thrust of his fingers, each clench of his fist tilting her head back farther.
    But if he was determined to learn her, then she would help him. Back arched by the pressure of his hand in her hair, she vanished her shirt. Though she couldn’t see, she knew her nipples were tight beads. “I want your mouth on me.”
    “ I want my mouth on you.”
    Then why did he not put his mouth on her? She shrieked in frustration. In response, he cupped her sex, lifted her. Her feet left the floor. His fingers drove deeper. She held on, shaking, working her hips into his hand, release just out of reach but flying nearer, nearer.
    He buried his face in her throat. “You burn so hot.”
    “You don’t?” Her voice was thin, trembling as she poised on the edge.
    “I do. Too hot.” He moved his hand, his thumb strumming over the slick bundle of nerves. Her inner muscles clamped around his fingers, and the silken warmth of his voice roughened into a groan. “I’m almost insane with it. I will take you here, Irena, and here.” His fingers slipped from her center, teased farther back. “No part of you will I leave untouched.”
    By the gods, she wanted that. She strained toward him. He plunged his fingers deep inside her again. His mouth covered hers, taking her cry as she writhed into orgasm. She dragged it out long, riding his hand.
    Her breath raced against his lips when she was done. Releasing her hair, withdrawing his fingers, he carried her to the table. With a laugh, Irena saw that they’d replaced the temporary one with another of solid oak.
    “I should have hit you,” she said when he seated her on the edge. “I feel like I might.” No, that was a lie. But she might yank on his hair.
    “So I’ll lose my head?”
    “Yes.” And take her over and over again.
    “I will. But I had to make certain you were satisfied first. Because I cannot keep my head if I am kissing you”—he lowered his head to hers, plundered her mouth in a long, hungry kiss—“or tasting you. And I am hardly finished.”
    He caught