Deamon's Daughter Part 13

He slid his hands up the back of her thighs and onto her haunches. His thumbs parted her lips, dipping into the inner folds, sliding past the edges of her gate until they reached the apex of her s.e.x. He didn't touch her c.l.i.toris, merely stretched the skin on either side. The swollen flesh throbbed in the cooler air, impossibly sensitized. He lifted his head until his breath warmed her.

"You look very beautiful." His words thrummed through her like a touch.

"Thank you," she gasped, her bottom squirming under his fingers.

He sank back onto the mound of pillows. "You may take me in your mouth. Be careful, though. I don't want to come yet. Just prepare me."

She raised one eyebrow at his quivering crown, already s.h.i.+ning with pre-ejaculatory moisture. Considering she'd never done this, not pus.h.i.+ng him over the edge could prove a trick. Yes, she'd grown familiar with his reactions, but he looked close to going off right now.

Then again, nothing ventureda Propping her forearms on either side of his hips, she gave the head a delicate, experimental lick. His hands tightened spasmodically on her rear.

"In your mouth," he ordered with what sounded like the last of his breath.

Well, if he thought he could stand it, who was she to question him? Carefully, as though he were breakable, she took the rounded cap within the soft warm clasp of her mouth.

They both sighed as she enveloped him. His skin was so sleek here, so hot. Steadying his shaft with one gloved hand, she drew more of him into her mouth, pillowing him with her tongue, tugging at him with the gentlest possible suction. Sweetness tinged her mouth as fluid squeezed slowly from his slit. His thighs shook against her inner arms. She lightened her touch even more, circling him with her tongue, dragging slowly up the pulsing column before bearing lazily down again.

She'd never done anything this intimate in her life. She could hardly believe how exciting it was. Every twitch communicated directly from his s.e.x to hers. And he was watching it happen.

A minute pa.s.sed in dips and sways. His tremors increased. Tears of desire collected between her legs, flowing over his fingers, which smoothed them into her skin. His legs tightened until they seemed nothing but muscle. She began to find her rhythm, sighed with it, breathed with it. Her mouth grew hot, as though the sun were s.h.i.+ning inside. Adrian swelled to seemingly impossible lengths. Groaning like the tug off Pargit Sound, he pulled her off him.

"Enough." He kissed her tender bud as she trembled over him, gentle kisses that teased much more than they satisfied. She wanted to grind herself against his mouth. Her resolution to give him precisely what he asked was all that prevented her.

She knew he wanted to drive them both crazy.

Finally, when she was a hairbreadth from begging for mercy, he turned her around and kissed her mouth. His tongue pressed inside in a single aggressive thrust, mingling the taste of their desire. She hummed with pleasure. His kiss was water in the desert. He let her drink her fill, his arms holding her so close she could barely move. When they both started moaning, he broke free.

"Still up for playing, or have you had enough of this game?"

She tossed her head so her hair spilled down her shoulders. "Oh, no, I haven't had nearly enough of this game."

"Very well, then. Let's continue." In a move that would have done a village fair's wrestler proud, he rolled her beneath him, kneed her thighs apart and, with a single probing swivel to mark his target, pressed himself directly home. Hungry as her body was, it offered no resistance, just melted and stretched to accommodate his greatly swollen length. Pleased, she locked her ankles in the small of his back. She could stand anything as long as she had him inside her.

A fond smile warmed his face as he smoothed the curls off her forehead. Gone was the furrow of worry between his brows, gone the scarlike marks of tension at the corners of his mouth. He looked ten years younger than the man she'd found bleeding in her garden. I'm good for him, she thought, tears p.r.i.c.king the back of her eyes. How can he give me up?

"What's next?" she prompted, refusing to succ.u.mb to melancholy.

"Next, we lock ourselves together, here." He punctuated the instruction with a sharp inward jab of his hips. "As tight and as deep"a"with a low grunt, he pushed a fraction farthera""as we can. And we stay that way."

"We don't move?"

Mischief lit his eyes at her pout. He shook his head. "Anything else you can move, or touch, or kiss, but not your s.e.x."

"What if it moves by itself?" she suggested slyly, coaxing a little ripple from the muscles of her sheath. His c.o.c.k bucked in response.

"That's allowed," he gasped.

"How do I win?"

He chuckled. "In this game, everybody wins."

Adrian had stacked the deck against himself by telling her to wear the gloves. The fine cotton barrier transformed her touch, transformed her. He'd been enthralled ever since he saw her tug them to her elbows at the start of the evening. Those gloves radiated gentility and elegance. She stood like a different woman when she wore them, moved like a different womana"a woman she had always been, but now he saw her clearly.

Imbued with her magic, the gloves sleeked his hair around his skull. The gloves conveyed the heat of her hands to the back of his neck, to his shoulder blades, to the taut, sweaty s.p.a.ces between his fingers. Even in their concealment, they revealed secrets.

They told him she loved the long, lean muscle of his thigh, that she cherished the cage of bone about his heart, that the wrinkled sac that held his seed both amused and intrigued her. The finely st.i.tched seam caught briefly on his flesh as she reached around his legs to set him swaying.

The gloves hid her. And freed her. He could tell she knew what they did to him. She ran them up his chest and crossed them loosely behind his neck.

"Kiss," she demanded with an irresistible pucker.

He bent to her.

What a shame this night had to end.

Pus.h.i.+ng tomorrow from his mind, he trailed his fingers up the delicate underside of her arm, dipping beneath the glove to reach the crease of her elbow. She s.h.i.+vered, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s plumped with a quick inhalation. He ignored the temptation to wander back to familiar ground. This time, this last time, he would explore her mysteries, her hidden vulnerabilities. Perhaps he would find them not so different from his own.

She'd been nibbling on the tendons of his neck. She gasped out loud when he reached behind his back to tickle the soles of her feet.

He remembered the effect this had on him when she did this during his bath.

"Like that?" he teased, repeating the motion. Her thighs twitched against his waist, and a flow of honey bathed his shaft.

If that weren't rea.s.surance enough, her head thrashed on the pillow. "I'm certain that isn't fair."

"No?" Still ma.s.saging her arch, he resettled his supporting hand and pushed with his hips, lodging his s.e.x so deep her slippery bud of pleasure flattened against its root Her sheath tightened dramatically, milking him with tiny flickers of pre-o.r.g.a.s.mic motion. He gritted his teeth. She was almost there. If he held on a little longer, he'd have the victory he wanted.

She growled low in her throat. With neat ferocity, she used her strong white teeth to tug off the gloves, first the left hand, then the right. The sight frayed his control. Off came the veneer of civilization. What remained was a creature of pa.s.sion. As if she'd been waiting all night to touch him, she slapped her now-bare hands onto his back.

Vowing not to be bested, he blew lightly in her ear.

"Don't make me play dirty," she warned.

"Play as dirty as you like." He laughed, then s.h.i.+vered when she dragged her fingertips along his spine, down and down, skidding through the sweat at the small of his back. Her palms spread over the curve of his b.u.t.tocks. Then she gripped him so hard she almost rocked him off his knees.

"My, what a nice little a.r.s.e you have." She kneaded its muscles with the strength of an expert ma.s.seuse. "So firm and round. Like an apple. Makes a woman want to take a bite."

The way her eyebrows wagged made him laugh. "Any time, love."

She licked her lips.

When she finally released him, his cheeks were tingling. She wasn't done yet, though. Her hands snaked between them to touch the circle of their joining.

He jumped. "Cheater."

"You said I could touch anything as long as I didn't move my s.e.x."

Her fingers brushed back and forth at the base of his p.e.n.i.s, first the knuckles, then the pads. He realized she was painting them with the cream his game had called from her body. He groaned at the knowledge, as close to coming and as needful of it as he'd ever been.

"I want to ask a favor," she said seductively.

"Anything," he swore, which made her smile.

He was on his forearms, and she turned her head to kiss his wrist, her tongue flicking his tendons in a way that stirred a dark, uneasy delight. He'd experienced the same p.r.i.c.kling leap when the Yamish coffee vendor touched him there, only this time the sensation twined inextricably with desire. He feared her request before it came out.

"I want you to activate your implants."

"Roxanne." The protest would have been more convincing if his body hadn't surged with excitement. "Those devices aren't toys. I could hurt you."

"Could," she said. "But won't. You'll simply have to hold back even harder than you are now." When she licked his wrist again, he shuddered. "It's our last time, Adrian. I want us both to be part-demon."

He moaned as if she were torturing him. In truth, she was: torturing him with temptation.

"I'm strong, too," she whispered. "If I had to, I could fight you off."

"Would you like that?" he whispered back.

"Maybe. Maybe I want to fight you as much as I want to make love."

The confession decided him. He keyed the implants before he could change his mind.

Immediately, a kind of madness swept his body. Sensations overwhelmed him, a hunger no one was going to stop him from indulging. Every sc.r.a.p of caution was forgotten in his driving need for release. He drew his hips back and began to thrust into her hard. She met him blow for blow, wildly, joyfully, crying out as she crested.

Again and again she peaked, too many times to count, with beautiful guttural sounds he wished he had the presence of mind to memorize.

They rolled in the bed until she was on top. She rode him even harder than he had her. The force of each descent felt incredibly wonderful.

"Come," she urged, her body gripping him wet and tight.

But he couldn't. It was like his dream of the night before. He wanted, he craved, he rose to a screaming pitch of arousal, but the unnatural strength the implants were pouring through his system wouldn't let the climax break. It seemed they couldn't allow him that weakness.

Almost dying with frustration, his body arched beneath her, lifting her at the hips. Veins stood out in his neck like threads of fire.

"Come," she ordered, her hands squeezing his shoulders.

And then he did. Heat lashed through him, fireworks, soft explosions of red. The hardest o.r.g.a.s.m of his life roared through his c.o.c.k. He was helpless to do anything but ride the pleasure. Drowning in it, his muscles locked in an exquisite rictus of release. Oceans of relief seemed to pour from him.

Despite this prodigious climax, the final quivers hadn't faded before he felt compelled to turn her under him and start again. He was insane with his need to work himself inside her, coming a second time with a teeth-baring growl.

"Yes," she gasped as he hitched her bottom higher and went on. "Oh, G.o.d, keep going."

He wasn't certain he could have stopped. Luckily, the fourth time finished him, leaving him drained enough to collapse. Trie implants had reached their limit He was as weak as if he'd been in a fight, though a good bit more relaxed.

"My," she murmured, laughing softly in surprise. "I'm not certain how one judges these things, but I'd wager to say you won."

He had strength enough to smile against the silky pillow of her breast. Betraying no inclination to s.h.i.+ft him off, she stroked his sweat-dampened hair.

For all the ecstasy that had preceded it, that was the sweetest moment of all.

Chapter 15.

The forbidden will always attract. This doesn't mean we should comport ourselves in the manner of beasts. Yama must not forget they are the higher race.

a"The Emperor's Book of Etiquette Roxie fell into the sleep of the sated and dreamed of Bhamjran, the city where she first experienced the lure of the sensual. She had been fifteen. Until then, s.e.x was simply an annoying activity in which her mother engaged, too often and with too many unlikable men.

But one afternoon in Bhamjran she slipped away from Yvonne's entourage, away from the theater and the pink, palm-shaded hotel. Free of adult constraint, she strolled the market quarter, soaking in the desert city's sun and dust, inhaling the coffee fumes that hung like incense over the sidewalk cafes. Businesswomen in bright silk raiment jostled her as she threaded through the crowds, huge baskets and platters balanced on their heads. When the trumpets of the temple sounded noon, they stopped in their tracks, closed their almond eyes, and murmured a prayer of thanks for being alive. Thousands of women jangled thousands of bracelets as they clapped their hands in unison.

These are women, she remembered thinking, who answer to no one but their G.o.d. She wanted their independence for herself, not to be less a woman, but to claim the right to be more.

For three-tenths of a silver denar, a turbaned man with a long gray mustache admitted her to an establishment called the Ladies' Lotus. Standing with the others in the perfumed shadows beyond the stage, she watched a nubile young man, not much older than herself, disrobe to the music of a sitar. When not a sc.r.a.p of cloth remained, he manipulated his s.e.x to climax for the quietly appreciative throng.

He was the first demon she'd seen naked: a rohn, to judge by his clipped hair, though no less beautiful for that. He was probably the servant of a traveling merchant, earning his master extra coins with this unusual erotic display. After all, no matter what a culture's prohibitions against mingling with outsiders, business always found a way to be done. As for young people like the dancer, they'd always enjoy breaking the rules.

As he performed, she saw that his body functioned as humans' did, seeming to have the same basic parts. The main difference appeared to be the pale perfection of his skin. Given how fascinated she was, especially compared to the more experienced locals, he couldn't help but notice her staring.

One hour later, she sat in the demon youth's stuffy room, immortalizing his naked glory in her sketchpad. The more intently she examined him, the more aroused he became. His s.e.x was curved, dark against his marble whiteness, as though he'd stained it with berries.

"Make love to me," he'd said in his silky foreign voice. "I am adept at pleasuring human women."

She'd been tempted, but even then she knew he meant to feed from her energy when she came. The thought frightened her. As Yvonne's b.a.s.t.a.r.d daughter, she was already far enough beyond the social pale. If anyone found outa "I am too young," she'd said to his blandishments.

His manners were gentle enough that she feared no coerciona"certainly less than she would have with human boys. "As you wish," he'd said. "But please allow me to stroke myself in front of you. Being in your presence excites me greatly. My body requires release."

Given her upbringing, Roxanne had heard the sounds of s.e.x before, even caught snippets of the act, but this was the first time anyone had brought themselves to completion for her personal enjoyment.

The effort it had taken him to climax reminded her of Adrian. The dancer had hung on the edge, tense and straining, for long minutes. She'd found the experience riveting, dangerous in any city but the one that had dedicated itself to "civilized sensuality." The memory had haunted her fantasies for years. Now, in a way, she had lived it out. The irony was, Adrian's Yamish implants rendered him more, not less attractive to her.

When she drifted back to wakefulness, the fire had burned down to a ripple behind its bra.s.s screen. The bedroom wasn't cold, only damp. A fog had swept in from the harbor while they slept.

Adrian breathed quietly beside her. She studied his sleeping profile in the firelight, marking the bladelike grace of his nose, the finely cut line of his lips. She tried to see him with her artist's eye, but dispa.s.sion eluded her. She could not view him as an appealing array of shapes and shadows, the way she'd viewed the Yamish dancing boy. Adrian was more than a handsome male animal. Adrian had emotions she could understand. He was the man who'd kissed her tears away, who built paper boats for Max, who shared her excitement about helping Charles achieve his dream. He was the man she loved.

The realization came as no surprise. like a s.h.i.+pwreck, she'd seen the rocks from the start. Her only consolation was that their separation had made him unhappy, too. She knew it wouldn't be fair to ask him to choose between his career and her, but if they both cared enough, wouldn't they find a way to surmount the obstacles between them?

She might be no saint, but surely she deserved happiness?

Her mother would have said that if she had to ask, she wasn't sure enough. Yvonne had never asked, merely demanded. She got her way more often than most. When she didn't, she never concluded she was undeserving. The world was against her, that was all, too stupid to fully appreciate the honor she did them by existing.

I could take a page from that book, Roxie thought, then wondered if the world would let her. Troubled by her thoughts, she turned on her side and snuggled closer to Adrian.

He came awake in an instant. "Your nose is cold," he said, and she covered the offending protrusion with her hand.

"Sorry. You could kiss it and warm it up."