Guild Hunter 04 - Archangel's Blade

brush this time, no exploring touch. This was all tongues and teeth and wicked wetness as he kissed her like a man who had rough, sweaty, dirty sex on his mind and didn’t care if she knew it.
    Gasping in a breath when they parted, she fisted him, stroked hard and fast. Once. Twice. His eyes glittered. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I’d say you’d been taking lessons in how best to please me.”
    “I should stop this right now for that comment, but you’re in my blood, Dmitri.” Not giving the fear a chance to rise, she dipped her head and took him into her mouth.
    “Fuck!” His hand fisted tighter in her top but he made no move to shove or otherwise direct her head, as if he knew how thin a line she was walking.
     
    Dmitri had tasted every sexual pleasure there was to taste. He’d slid into empresses and queens, rolled out of beds with more than one other body in them, been pleasured by the most experienced of courtesans and the most dissolute of immortals. For a short, sharp instant of time, the depravity had made him forget.
    Then it had become a game, to see how far he could go, how much excess he could indulge in without destroying himself. However, for the past hundred years, even the erotic had failed to satisfy—he’d played the game, but with cold calculation, little heat. Yet at this moment, he couldn’t imagine he’d ever been consumed with such ennui. It was all he could do not to fist his hand in Honor’s hair, teach her exactly what he liked.
    Keeping his hands where they were was an exercise in the harshest self-restraint. He didn’t dare look down, see that gorgeous mouth working him with lush confidence. Then Honor hummed in the back of her throat and his body arched, his spine curving as pleasure arced from his cock to crash through him in a brutal cascade.
    She didn’t take her mouth off him as he came apart, lapping up his seed with a sensual openness that made him wonder who she would be when she was fully whole, no more fractures in her psyche. No longer breaks, he thought, chest heaving as she stroked her mouth off him with a final lingering suck, but fine hairline scars.
    Bracing herself with her hands on his thigh, she faced him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes a deep, passionate green, her lips plump and red. Releasing his hold on her top to set himself to rights, he watched her watch him. The instant he finished doing up his belt, she twisted over the console between the seats to curl up in his lap, her head on one shoulder, her hand tracing designs on the other through the fine fabric of his shirt.
    He curved one arm around her, placed his free hand on her thigh. “The last time I made out in a car, there were no cars.” It had been in a cart loaded with vegetables. Somehow he’d talked his scandalized new wife into the back, where he’d tumbled her most thoroughly and satisfactorily.
    But his favorite memory was of Ingrede turning up in the cart on her own one sunny day, an invitation in her brown eyes that she’d never enunciate. Not then. Later, when they’d been together several years, when Misha was walking, then his wife had sometimes whispered the most sinful of welcomes in his ear.
    As another woman now nipped at his earlobe and said, “I want your mouth on me, Dmitri,” in a low, husky tone that was as good as a touch. “I dreamed about it, woke up with the sheets tangled around my legs and my hand between my thighs.”
    Stroking his own hand higher up her thigh, he insinuated it between her legs. She trembled, but didn’t fight him. Instead, she did that thing she did—sliding one arm around his shoulders, she used the other to cup his jaw as she tugged his head toward her.
    He made the kiss a slow, languid seduction as he pressed up with the heel of his hand, pushing the seam of her jeans against her clitoris. Just that. No other intrusion. A simple, inexorable pressure that had her breath changing, her body attempting to ride against his touch. “Want me to rub, Honor?” he asked, lessening the pressure. “Be a good girl and say the words.”
    She bit down on his lower lip. Hard. Mouth curving, he began to rub—tiny, tiny up-and-down motions that had her squirming, the hot scent of her rising to infuse the air inside the car. Sensitive as he was to scent, he’d catch hints of her for days to come. He was fairly certain his cock would go rigid every single time.
    “Dmitri.” Her hand gripping the side of his neck, she went