Queen of the Darkness

should have let me take notes."
    Daemon clamped his tongue between his teeth. Yes, he really needed to have a little chat with Surreal.
    Jaenelle began pacing. "It always sounds so easy in love stories."
    "Kissing isn't difficult," Daemon said carefully.
    She glared at him as she paced past him. "Lucivar said the same thing about cooking," she growled. "The wolves didn't even wait for it to come out of the oven before they were digging the hole to bury it."
    That sounded like an interesting story. He'd have a little chat with Lucivar, too.
    "Kissing isn't difficult," Daemon said firmly. "You just kissed me."
    "Not very well," she grumbled.
    Knowing better than to answer that, Daemon studied her. Frustration. Embarrassment. And an emotion that knocked the wind out of him—longing. "Why did you ask Surreal about kissing?"
    "She told you that?"
    "No, I guessed." And between overhearing Jaenelle's remark about taking notes and receiving Surreal's succinct instructions, it wasn't difficult to reach the correct conclusion.
    Jaenelle grumbled and snarled a few comments in a language he thankfully didn't understand. Then, "I wanted to impress you, and I didn't want you to laugh."
    "Laughing isn't what comes to mind at the moment," Daemon said dryly. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Sweetheart, if it's any comfort, I want to impress you, too."
    "You do?" She sounded astonished.
    He started to wonder what had happened in the past thirteen years that would make her so stunned by that idea—but he already knew. She had told him the first time he'd ended up in the misty place, when he'd tried to bring Witch back to heal her wounded body. When it came to physical pleasure, the males wanted to indulge themselves in the body without having to deal with the one who lived inside it. And Jaenelle, with the horrors of Briarwood in her past, would never yield that way.
    "Yes, I do," he said.
    She pondered this. "Kaelas is annoyed with you."
    It seemed like an abrupt shift in topic—and not a welcome one. "Why?" he asked cautiously.
    "Because I haven't been sleeping well lately and I keep kicking him. He's decided it's your fault."
    Oh, wonderful. "I haven't been sleeping well either."
    She turned away, looking distressed.
    Enough, Daemon thought. It was more his fault than hers that they had struggled through the past month. Saetan had told him she'd never had a lover, and yet he'd expected an open-armed welcome to her bed. He had acted as if she were an experienced woman who would take advantage of his availability.
    That had been his biggest mistake. Jaenelle didn't have it in her to take advantage of anyone who served in her court. Well, she had made the first stumbling move. Now it was his turn.
    He loosened the choke-hold control on his sexuality just enough to produce a subtle feel in the air, without it being strong enough for her to recognize it.
    "Come here," he said quietly.
    Looking baffled, she obeyed.
    Setting his hands lightly on her waist, he drew her close to him. "Kiss me again. Like this." He brushed his lips against hers, softly, delicately. "And this." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "And this." He kissed her throat.
    She imitated each move—until she kissed his throat. When the tip of her tongue licked his skin, he tilted her head up, lightly fastened his mouth on hers, and kissed her in earnest. Kissed her with all the hunger that had been building inside him during the past month, during a lifetime. Kissed her while his hands roamed over her back and hips and delicately explored her breasts. Kissed her until she moaned. Kissed her until she opened for him and let his tongue dance with hers. Kissed her until her hands slid up his back and clamped on his shoulders. Kissed her until the moan turned into a hungry snarl and he felt her nails prick his skin through the shirt and jacket.
    And then realized he had taken them farther than he had meant to right now. Returning his hands to her waist, he eased back to the light, easy kisses.
    Sensing his withdrawal, she snarled again—and there was anger as well as hunger in the sound. "You don't want me?" she asked in her midnight voice.
    He nudged her hips toward him just enough to prove his answer. "Yes, I want you." He gave in for one more moment, fastened his mouth on her neck and sucked hard enough to leave a love bite. Tearing his mouth away, he gave her little butterfly kisses from jaw to temple. "But this is just playtime, just an