THIRTY-THREE
Lila woke from a deep, dream-filled sleep, her body warm and rested.
Where was she? Not the cold stone floor of the tower. Not her bed in her apartment.
She blinked open her eyes, squinting against a bright light. Wait . . . That’s a glyph.
The demon lay on his back, and she was sprawled over him, her arm draped across his chest. Her knee was thrown over his torso, and her calf rested on his hard dick.
Her lips were an inch away from a pierced nipple; he had to feel her breaths. Her pussy pressed against one of his hips, and she might have been rocking her own.
Lazily petting her hair, he rasped, “In sleep, my wife can’t get enough of me.” His dick jerked, lifting her freaking leg.
She scrambled away from him, tripping out of the bed, too late realizing she was naked. She swiped her robe, yanking it on. “What were you doing to me?”
He raised his brows. “Doing to you? I haven’t touched you. I told you I wouldn’t.”
This didn’t even compute. A warrior demon would be expected to take what he wanted, especially from a female who was legally his. Especially when she’d been rubbing against him.
With his dick tenting the sheet, he put his hands behind his head, the corded muscles in his torso and arms flexing.
That body is too much. Demonesses must go crazy for him.
Smirk in place, he said, “I didn’t touch you—even though you used me as a masturbatory scratching post all night and morning.” Could he look any smugger?
“What are you talking about?”
“For hour after hour, you ground against me, moaning, all but coming. The worst torment I have ever known. Each time I attempted to get away, you would sink your nails into me and give this little growl of displeasure. I translated it to mean Please, oh glorious demon, stay.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said . . . though she had experienced graphically sexual dreams about him. Even now she was turned on like crazy.
“Yes, you do.”
Her lips thinned. “Then you just lay there and took it?”
“I forced myself to relive my most grueling battle campaigns. During the Buthidae offensive, I went without water for weeks in a desert teeming with giant scorpions. In the Quotoh invasion, my allies and I seized control of a strategically favorable but noxious swamp. Those campaigns were less torturous than your attentions. When I was at war, I fantasized about my mate. Now that I have you in my bed at last, I must fantasize about war.”
Again, does not compute. “Why did you?”
“The sooner you trust me, the sooner you’ll ask me to claim you.”
“So you were decent for calculating reasons?” Figured. “If I did rub on you, I probably mistook you for a body pillow.”
“Do you often rub yourself against large pillows to orgasm?” He was clearly imagining the visual; his shaft jerked again, drawing her attention. “Female, I would take on an army to see that.”
She made out the impressions of his piercings against the sheet before she focused elsewhere.
“Looking away? Even after last night?”
“Everything I see—or feel—just reinforces my belief that we are not anatomically compatible.” Among other issues. He’d been waiting to lose his seal for ten millennia. All that pent-up need had built on itself, century after century.
She wouldn’t visit a volcano that was overdue to blow, yet this demon was supposed to erupt inside her body.
What female wouldn’t cross her legs tight at the thought? Much less a virgin. “If your marriage required you to get clubbed nightly, would you want to stare down the bat beforehand?”
“That analogy isn’t flattering—or accurate. You’ll get clubbed five times a day, minimum.”
“You’re taunting me? Anticipation of a blow is oftentimes worse than the hit.”
“Since I refuse to claim you until I’m asked, that puts you in control. The club is in your hands.” Smirk deepening, he added, “After last night, you’ve got me by the bat.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Calliope, if you ever don’t like something I do, tell me to stop. If you’re not prepared for something, tell me to wait. If you have questions, I welcome them. It’s that simple.” He sounded so . . . reasonable. “Any questions so far?”
Before she could stop herself, she’d asked, “You truly got your dick pierced?”
“I am pierced. Three barbells of hell metal.”
What would make him do that? Had a lover wanted it? A flare of jealousy took her by surprise.
“You look displeased. Come then, firebrand, don’t knock my cock until you’ve thoroughly tried it. Especially since it’s the only one you’ll ever know for the rest of your immortal life.”
“Can’t you let me ease into all this? It’s not as if I’ve spent oodles of time checking out dicks. Disney Wi-Fi is not conducive to exploring porn, much less supersecret Lorean porn.”
He canted his head. “I’ll take you to a pleasure dimension, and you can watch sex live.”
“Really?” How did she feel about that?
“After last night, I’m inclined to take my passionate wife anywhere she pleases.”
Glimpses of what this life could bring proved so seductive. She shook her head hard. He’s a Møriør, Lila. Two orgasms couldn’t erase that.
He sat up in bed and stretched his long arms. Even his wings expanded.
She’d bet those felt good to stretch. When his wing claws extended, she wondered if he’d kept them retracted all night.
Casting her a significant look, he said, “I’d love to know what you were dreaming about.”
In between lifelike scenes of licking his nipples and sucking on his neck, she’d dreamed of the fawn again.
She’d been running with it across a green field that turned rocky and ashen. She’d slowed when it neared the edge of a cliff. Some kind of mysterious light had blazed up from below. She’d urged the fawn to come to her—but it’d walked right off the edge.
What was the dream trying to tell her?
Abyssian said, “I wager I was in your reveries.”
Her cheeks heated, busting her.
“Good.” In Demonish, he added, “You’ve been in mine every night for ten millennia.”
His unguarded comments in that tongue gave her valuable insights about him, but eventually she’d have to tell him she spoke Demonish.
She would also need to disclose her royal status. Yet that news might convince him she was more like Karinna than he’d thought, and then he’d throw Lila back into the dreaded tower.
She felt safer overall, but her position here remained dicey. “If you expect me to do . . . queenly things, you should outline them for me so I know how to plan my time.”
“If you’re searching for something to keep you occupied, look no further than this bed. Your queenly duties will be found here.” He patted the mattress beside him.
What have I done? That huge, smirking, smug demon was . . . her husband.
The harsh light of day flooded into the bedroom. Now what? For the first time in her life, she had no idea where to go or what to do. No schedule to maintain, no goals to achieve. The order and structure her fey heart craved was absent. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I. You don’t have to plan your time. You don’t have to do anything. You answer to no one.”
Because she finally had control over her destiny? “No one except you.”
“Yes, but I suspect I’ll be a soft touch where you’re concerned.”
How had her life gotten so derailed? She’d been born and raised for a specific existence, and now she was trapped in another one. The king she’d married was far from the king she’d expected. “Don’t you have ruler stuff to do? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your job. If you need to work late or go on lengthy campaigns, I’ll be completely understanding. After all, you love your wars, and I want to be supportive of your pastimes now that Sylvan is out of the crosshairs.”
“You and I are on our honeymoon. I have nothing but time to tease my bride.”
“I thought the great Møriør would be defeating and governing all of Gaia.”
“In time,” he said. “For now, I need to make sure you are comfortable in your new home.”
“What will my days be like here?”
“Until you wear my mark, I’ll keep you separated from our subjects in the castle. Though I expect no problems, we don’t want to advertise something that might be perceived as disunity between us.”
Not only was she a foreign fey, she was an unclaimed mate. Lila appreciated his caution.
“But I’ll take you out to explore less populated parts of the realm whenever you like.”
She’d forgotten about this particular benefit of being the queen of hell. “Will we see the hellhounds? And the dragon roosts?” she asked, her excitement building. “Will you show me the hellfire your ancestor found?”
“I haven’t a clue to its location. No one does.” He gazed past her. “I have searched and searched, but unfortunately, I can’t find that flame.”
Her stomach began to growl. She’d slept so late, it must be well past lunchtime.
Facing her, he said, “For now, we’ll dine.”
“What do I wear?”
“The entrance to your wardrobe is across from the bathing chamber. I trust you can find something in there to suit you,” he said with that tricksy look about him.
Wondering if he had some prank up his sleeve, she headed down the hallway. After her dreams, she was still in a state, her robe brushing over her nipples. She peeked into the bathing room, finding everything had been put to rights.
She opened the golden door opposite it, and stepped into a huge room with a plush divan in the center. Clothing racks lined the walls.
Empty clothing racks. Was this his idea of a joke?
Wanting to brush her teeth and wash her face, she continued through the empty wardrobe to an adjoining powder room with a large vanity. Various toiletries and a toothbrush had been set out for her.
After she’d readied for the day, she headed back through the wardrobe, wishing she had a comfortable outfit, like a flirty skirt and a peasant blouse—
She leapt back when two garments suddenly hung in the closet. The ones she’d just imagined!
A grin spread over her face. Magic. She pictured a pink bra and panties set, and it appeared on the divan. Footwear? A pair of strappy sandals materialized in a shoe rack.
She turned and found the demon leaning against the doorway, dressed in his customary leather pants.
She supposed leather would be the custom here since hell didn’t exactly have fabric mills.
“You like your new wardrobe?” he asked, looking very pleased with himself.
“What’s not to like?” His bare feet caught her attention. Whoa. Last night she hadn’t noticed how beastlike they were. His toes had pointed black claws. A sixth one jutted from his inner sole.
Reminded that she and Abyssian weren’t even the same species, she raised her face.
He was scowling at her, all good humor vanished.
If his mate was shocked at his feet, what would she do when he transformed even more?
Run screaming?
When he’d been making plans for their future, he’d imagined himself as he currently was—not as he would be. Yet his deterioration would continue, the years taking their toll.
Once again the hourglass was working against Sian, only now the sand spilled too quickly.
If he and Calliope shared more nights like the last, he would grow attached to her. But in the end, it wouldn’t matter how he treated her. Eventually she would spurn him.
I’ve already been forsaken by her once. Frustration rose up like bile. How could he endure it this time?
Maybe he should separate from her, lest he discover more that he liked about his mate. . . .
No! The idea of separating made his agitation spike.
Gaze wary, she asked, “Can I have some privacy to get dressed?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re wed now. What need have you for privacy?”
“So much for my power—and your soft touch. I don’t even get to dress in private.”
He supposed he should make allowances for her. She was a fey raised in Sylvan, and their culture was much more reserved.
Right now he didn’t feel very charitable. If he couldn’t separate from her, maybe he should keep animosity brewing between them, anything to maintain a boundary. “There’s nothing I haven’t already seen at my leisure. Except your ass. You put on that robe before I could evaluate it.”
“Evaluate?” Her eyes flashed. “How would you like it if I evaluated you?”
“Go ahead. Of course, that would mean actually looking at my feet or my cock or my horns.”
“Less than a day, Abyssian. That’s how long I’ve had to get accustomed to you as my husband. Can’t you be more patient?”
She was right. But no demon wanted his mate to have to “get accustomed” to him.
“Change. Now.”
Shooting him a killing look, she tugged up her panties under her robe, followed by her skirt. She gave him her back as she donned her bra and shirt. She stomped her feet into her shoes. “Are you happy?”
Not once since you died, female. He frowned. Until last night.