Demon Forged

“That statue is my reflection—and a fucking is not what I would give you.”
    Her expression didn’t change, but he sensed the battle within her. Finally, Irena straightened and rested her back against the statue’s chest.
    “What would you do, Olek?”
    Relief rushed through him. He could barely speak, but he managed, “If I stood where it does now, I would first kiss your neck.”
    She raised her arms, linking her hands behind the statue’s neck. “Then I wait for you.”
    His heart kicked up into his throat. He hadn’t given a thought to his awkward display since she’d poured the oil over him, but now the discomfort hit again. He’d left himself no choice, however.
    He tentatively moved his hand, and Irena’s Gift swept over him, carrying the faint taste of her lingering anger and hurt. His gaze snapped to her face as the statue lowered its head. Her lips parted. Pleasure rose through her psychic scent, but not from the touch of that bronze mouth—she’d focused on his hand. Her tongue moistened her lips when he pumped his fist again.
    Dear God. Watching him aroused her. He had to pause and realign his thoughts, and realization broke over him: He could please her this way.
    His discomfort receded. His next stroke was bold, and he rolled his hips into it.
    “Your breasts, Irena. I would fill my hands with them.” And discover whether they were soft or as firm as the rest of her.
    He envied the bronze fingers sliding beneath her tunic. The linen rucked up at her waist, exposing the pale skin of her stomach. Covered by her tunic, the hands moved higher.
    Irena arched her back. “They are cold.”
    Alejandro bit off his frustrated groan. He’d directed the statue, but it was Irena who made its fingers circle her nipples and tug softly. Was that what she liked—would she want him to do the same? His palm heated the slippery oil, and he lightened his grip, trying to hold back the need lancing through him in hot streaks—trying to learn everything he could from the little he could see.
    And he vowed that she would find her release before he did.
    “I would kneel behind you. And I would taste every inch of your skin.”
    Irena dragged in a breath, and her Gift pulsed a deep, heavy beat. The statue sank to its knees, its lips tracing the long, lean muscles of her back.
    Alejandro swallowed his jealousy. He would do the same, one day. For now, he watched its hands. Irena kept them on her breasts, kneading, pinching. Her eyelids had half lowered, and her eyes shone in a brilliant green crescent.
    “I would suck your nipples into my mouth,” he said. “Or I would turn you as I knelt, and lick between your thighs.”
    Her soft moan had him stroking faster, then easing back.
    “But not now.” No, he did not want that metal tongue on her. Only his. “Now, I would stand and slide my hand between your thighs.”
    Anticipation pounded through her Gift like a heartbeat. Bronze fingers splayed across her stomach, then slipped beneath the waistband of her breeches.
    “Irena.”
    The hand stopped. She met his gaze.
    “Do you need the oil?”
    Her lips curved. “No. I have not since my mouth took yours in Caelum.”
    God. Her words stoked his need, and he fought the urge to thrust hard into his fist.
    A spark of anger flickered through her psychic scent. “That pleases you?”
    “Yes.” He would not apologize for taking satisfaction in her arousal. “I have accepted your lovers, but by all that is holy, I will be the best of them.”
    He waited, but although the spark of anger smoldered, it didn’t ignite. A brief struggle between admiration and resistance rumbled through her psyche. Then her desire burned hot again, as if she’d thrown those emotions into the flame and let them feed it.
    He breathed a prayer of gratitude before continuing, “And if you do not need the oil, I would know that you were ready to take my fingers. Are you?”
    In answer, she made the hand slide deeper beneath her breeches. And it was torture. He heard the brush of metal against her soft curls, then the liquid slide of aroused flesh. Irena tensed. Her psychic scent filled with aching pleasure. She clenched her fingers around the bronze forearm pressed against her stomach, her breath coming in gasps.
    His legs trembled with the need to sink to his knees and taste her. He made himself watch, to see her rhythm—when she went faster, when she slowed. His hand burned the length of his cock. The warm fragrance of almond