28
“Making your woman happy = making yourself happier.”
—Memoir of a Besotted Fool
—How to Give Mind-blowing Orgasms
Primal hunger ruled Lazarus. He had his woman in his arms. His one and only. Finally she would belong to him body and soul. As he would belong to her. Now and forever.
More than taking pleasure from Cameo, he wanted to give. Wanted to give himself to her, the woman he loved above all others. Above himself. Above his vengeance.
His father was wrong. Love wasn’t what weakened a warrior. It was the fear of losing what you loved that weakened; Rathbone had tried to tell him that very thing, that fear ruined and destroyed what love empowered, protected and enhanced. Love picked up the shattered pieces of a broken heart and welded them back together, making it stronger than ever before.
Once a weak link, now indestructible.
The truth had struck him when Cameo had said those three beautiful words. I love you. She affected him as no other, her passion a blazing match for his own. She wasn’t just his lover; she was his partner.
The knowledge had only solidified as he’d stared into her luminous silver eyes—eyes that saw past the dark stains splattered across his past to the child who’d lost so much that the man he’d become had refused to relinquish possession of anything else. Even a piece of his fragmented heart. A piece Cameo could have easily stolen. Instead, she’d waited for him to give...and give freely.
In return, I will give her the world.
Lazarus plundered her mouth, stoking her desire as well as his own. Her lips were soft and plump, so giving beneath his. There was the word again. Giving, give. Give her more...
As he deepened the kiss, she clung to him, as if he were a life raft and she a shipwrecked sailor. She moaned and breathed his name. All the while she writhed against him, rubbing her core against his throbbing length. Every point of contact heated the blood in his veins to a boiling point. The steam only fortified the crystals, but he didn’t care.
He nipped at her chin, licked the elegant length of her jaw...sucked on her exquisite neck and the pulse racing as quickly as his own. He left a mark. His mark.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His heart leaped with joy. “You’ll remember this. And this.” He kissed a circle around each of her breasts before bathing her nipples with the wet heat of his mouth. “And this.”
Her hips continued to writhe, an irresistible flush spreading over her flesh. She was like a delicate pink rose, silken and sheened with dew. She blooms for me and me alone.
With his tongue, he traced a heart around her nipple and blew.
“Lazario!”
He heard no sorrow in her voice, only passion. How far this wonderful woman had come, from the deepest depths of misery to the highest pinnacle of joy. The true power of love.
He suckled her. “With my mouth and body, and my very soul, I honor and claim you.” He moved to her other breast and flicked his tongue back and forth, every swipe proclaiming mine, mine, you are mine. “Today, tomorrow and every day after.”
“I’m yours.” Her nails scraped over his back. “I’ll always be yours.”
Lightning flashed over the rocks, and for a moment, golden light spilled over her. Her beauty was ethereal, otherworldly. Raindrops found grooves in the rocks and dripped from the ceiling, landing on him and splashing onto her. Cool and sweet, no hint of burning acid. Her passion fever quickly heated the droplets, creating a fine wine and an even sweeter candy. He lapped every bead from her skin, drinking from her.
What they were doing wasn’t just an act of intimacy meant to slake a momentary desire. What they were doing was solidifying a promise they’d made for their future.
A future together.
Overcome, desperate for more, he released her hands, removed her boots and tore at the waist of her leathers. As soon as the zipper gave, he yanked the material down her legs with a single flick of his wrist.
As his gaze perused her, she cupped and kneaded her breasts, her thumbs brushing over her nipples. Weapons were strapped to her thighs and ankles, turning her into a goddess of sex and war. My goddess. He could only stare at her in amazement—until his body demanded he act.
He discarded every gun and blade, though he ensured each remained within reach. Her panties received the same treatment as the leathers, leaving her bare. His gaze perused her once again, languid yet wild, savoring yet desirous of more.
He’d beheld her nakedness before, yes, but every time was like the first: a revelation.
The leather-sheathed apple rested between her plump, pert breasts, where her satin skin displayed a rosier flush. Her body possessed a graceful muscle tone as well as mesmerizing curves. The edges of the butterfly’s wings hugged her hips and thighs.
“Spread your legs for me, Cami.” The rasp of his voice drifted between them. “Let me see every inch of my love.”
She obeyed, revealing the pretty pink paradise that awaited him. He groaned his approval—and reverence. She wasn’t just wet, she was soaked.
Driven by ferocious arousal, he slid a finger inside her, deep, deeper, and inhaled sharply. Her hips lifted, her inner walls tightening on him, driving him mad.
“You were created for me, sunshine.”
She placed her foot on his chest, just over his heart, and gently but insistently pushed him. “Get naked. Now. Show me every inch of my love.”
Before, when she’d wanted to see his legs, he’d hesitated. This time, he stood and stripped in a hurry, overcome by anticipation. He kicked off his boots, shucked off his pants and dropped his weapons next to hers.
Her gaze lingered on his aching shaft, and she licked her lips. “There’s my monster.”
The huskiness of his laugh turned her silver eyes molten. “Yours,” he said, gripping the base of his erection. “He doesn’t just love his woman. He adores her.”
“Good. Because there’s no other male I would rather call my own.”
* * *
Cameo thrilled as Lazarus knelt between her legs. Her nerve endings blazed. What little air she managed to draw in smelled of Lazarus, champagne and chocolate. Temptation and carnal indulgence.
He flipped her over and positioned her on her hands and knees. His fingertip traced the butterfly, the touch sending currents off raw passion through her. He rubbed his erection in the crevice of her thighs, her wet heat offering an easy glide. A perfect glide. He wasn’t inside her, but even still, rapture beckoned...
Pressure built inside her, making her need for release—for her man—a thousand times stronger. “That feels good,” she rasped, “so good, but I want more.”
He leaned forward to nibble on her earlobe. “Must get you ready first.”
“I’m ready. Promise!”
“Let’s find out.” He kissed a path down her spine, paying every ridge equal attention. By the time he reached the end of her tattoo, shivers racked her. He curled one hand around her thigh, spreading her legs farther apart. He glided his other hand around her hips...and between her legs, where he played with her, circling where she needed him most. She rocked her hips, seeking his shaft. “Mmm. I think you’re right.”
“Need to be filled,” she said with a moan. “Please, Lazario. Now.”
“A plea and a command all rolled into one.” His soft chuckle fanned his breath on the back of her neck, tickling her. “Do you want my fingers?” He thrust one in, out, in, and she gasped...then he eased in a second, stretching her, delighting her. In, out. In-out. The heel of his palm pressed against her core, driving her need higher...higher still.
Her breaths were coming faster now, so fast she could barely speak, but still she managed to say, “I want...you...all of you. Please,” she repeated.
“Then all of me you shall have, my Cami.” Lazarus placed the tip of his erection at her entrance—and plunged inside her. He stretched her. Filled her. Branded her.
Owned her.
Never going to be the same. Her back arched, her nails cutting into the cavern floor, and she shouted his name. “Give me hard and fast.”
Lazarus unleashed the full brunt of his passion. He pounded in and out of her with no hint of gentleness, tossing her into a great and mighty storm. Pleasure saturated her bones...sweet...as potent as a drug, going straight to her head.
He pressed his chest to her back and laved the shell of her ear. His pace never slowed, the force he used never easing. Too much. Not enough.
“My Lazario.” Lost in abandon, she chanted his name now. In her tone, she heard no sorrow. No regret or sadness. She heard wonder, and his entire body jolted in response; he pounded into her harder, faster, in and out. She was almost there... “So close.”
He hooked his hand around her knees to push her legs farther apart, at the same time pressing her head forward, causing her back to arch, granting him another inch inside her, hitting her where she needed him most. She screamed in bliss, in agony, her inner walls clenching and unclenching on him, demanding a reward. A reward he freely gave.
As satisfaction punched through her, Lazarus roared. A guttural, animalistic sound that echoed through the cave long after he’d collapsed atop her, tremors still working through both their bodies.
* * *
As Lazarus slept, Cameo remained cuddled into his side, toying with the apple—Pandora’s box. Soon, the sun would rise. Today would be gone, and tomorrow would be here.
Her life with Lazarus would end.
Her life would end, period.
What would happen if she touched the apple skin-to-bone? She had to know.
If she died this way, she died, the end coming sooner than she’d expected. Lazarus could warn her friends. And live. He would live.
Not giving herself time to think or worry, she purposely slipped her fingertips under the leather casing. In an instant, fiery heat arced through her, and she grunted.
What didn’t happen? Death. Misery remained at bay, hidden in the back of her mind. Suppressed more forcefully? Perhaps even injured?
Lazarus shifted against her, and she stilled. Only when he resettled, his breaths even, did she begin to breathe again. His strong arm was draped over her, his hand cupping her breast, as if he couldn’t bear to sever their connection.
A fierce need she understood.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and a knot of grief grew in her throat. The dam around her heart threatened to break at last. Not yet, just a little longer. Sorrow beat and battered her. How could she proceed with her memory-wipe plan? How could she willingly part with her only source of happiness?
Easily. To save Lazarus’s life.
He would kill Hera. Cameo wouldn’t stop him. She would die, somehow, free of Misery, no longer a threat to Lazarus’s life.
Win-win.
Lazarus...king...butterflies.
The words Keeley had spoken to Torin played through her mind. Perhaps Lazarus was right. Perhaps butterflies represented hope. Without Cameo and her butterfly, he would thrive.
The tears overflowed, streaming down her cheeks, burning her skin. For so long her memory had been everything to her. She’d cherished what she retained and mourned what she’d lost. Meeting Lazarus—loving Lazarus—had made her memories even more precious to her.
His every smile. The way he teased her. His every touch. The way his muscles rippled when he moved. His every kiss. The way he tasted, intoxicating her senses. His every claiming. The way he looked at her, lust and affection in his dark eyes.
Can’t live without the memories.
Don’t have to.
Yes, she did. For him.
Hands shaking, Cameo removed the necklace and gently placed the chain around Lazarus’s neck. Misery couldn’t wipe her memory while she wore the box.
The demon surged front and center, pissed as hell and determined to ruin whatever happiness she’d achieved in his absence.
Too late. “Take my memory of him,” she whispered.
Part of her expected him to refuse. As miserable as she was, as miserable as she would continue to be, her sorrow would surely empower him for centuries to come. But he had to know as well as she how deeply the loss of her memory would devastate her. Lazarus’s reaction would finish her off, because she would know, deep down, her mind had been violated, something precious taken from her.
With a gleeful laugh, Misery sliced his claws into her mental files, cutting away the most beloved moments of her life. She cringed, the pain sharp and sure.
Necessary.
Cameo turned her head to peer at Lazarus, to say goodbye a final time. To—
She frowned. A naked male lay beside her; he was cut with muscle and heavily tattooed. Thick lines stretched across his arms, chest and legs, as if his veins had been filled with glitter. He was gorgeous. Magnetic. Dangerous?
Heart thudding, she scrambled away. The demon had taken her memories again, hadn’t he?
Bastard! She reached up to punch her fists into her temples, perhaps shaking the demon.
Her bedmate blinked open his eyes—dark eyes, framed by incredibly long lashes. He was more than gorgeous. He was rugged and strong, and she wondered if she’d fallen for his looks. Because wow. But...she hated sex. What if he’d forced her?
“Sunshine?” He reached for her. “Come back to bed, love.”
She scrambled backward, widening the distance between them.
Love. He’d called her love. He hadn’t forced her. He’d romanced her. Had probably made her happy, and the demon had decided to strike.
Can’t live like this.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
* * *
Lazarus dressed and weaponed up as Cameo did the same, careful to keep him within her periphery. She remained as far away from him as possible. Only hours before, she’d promised to love him always. Pandora’s box now hung around his neck; she’d returned her prized possession, had forgotten it—had forgotten him. She’d willingly allowed Misery to wipe her mind.
Why, damn her?
He wished he could hate her for it, but he fell deeper in love with her. No one had ever put him first. Until her. Always her.
Still fury frothed inside him. With one act, she’d shredded the heart he’d entrusted to her. He wanted his Cameo back. His sunshine. He felt as if she’d perished today, along with his dreams. The remains were here, in a cave that had become a grave.
“I’m your man.” Believe me. Remember. “You love me, and I love you.”
At his declaration, her eyes rounded like saucers. Her mind remained open to him, the shield down. She could see the torment etched in every line in his face, sensed it was genuine, and hated that she’d hurt the man who’d probably shown her the meaning of happiness. Prob-fucking-ably. He had!
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Nowhere important.” He gnashed his teeth as he approached her. With every step, pain ricocheted through him. The crystals had thickened and spread, so close to his heart. His end neared.
Cameo retreated. A muscle jumped beneath his eye, but he continued moving toward her, anyway. When he had her pressed flat against a rocky wall, he fought the urge to kiss her—couldn’t stand the thought of a rejection after her complete surrender—and removed the chain to drape it over her head.
“This is yours.” He settled the box between her breasts, hoping the familiar action would spur a flicker of her past.
She blinked with surprise and relief, her head suddenly her own. Peace and quiet reigned. “The demon—” She pressed her lips together.
He read her thoughts, knew she feared his reaction to discovering the truth about her evil. “I know all about him.” His voice snapped like a whip. He resented the need to explain. “When you wear the pendant, its power suppresses the demon. When you’re near the pendant, its power aggravates the demon, but it isn’t strong enough to suppress him.”
Out came her tongue to swipe over her bottom lip. Before she’d wrecked him, he would have leaned down to capture her tongue with his own. If he kissed her now, she would bite him.
“What’s so special about the pendant?” she asked.
“Only everything.” Frustration and anger raged inside him. He wanted his Cameo back. The one who melted when she looked at him. Who kissed with passion and awe. Who clung to him. The one who loved him.
The one he couldn’t live without.
The demon had wiped her mind. Permission or not, the demon would pay.
Lazarus pressed his forehead against Cameo’s. Though she stiffened, she allowed the contact to continue without protest. He breathed in her scent. Roses, bergamot and neroli.
He hadn’t cried when his mother died, her body in pieces at his feet. He hadn’t cried when Juliette hacked off his hands or his testicle. Hadn’t cried when he’d been beheaded and sent to the spirit realms, his future forever altered.
He’d always considered tears a weakness.
Here, now, tears flowed unchecked down each cheek. He’d lost something precious today.
Maybe her memory loss was for the best?
While the thought angered him, he couldn’t deny its veracity. This way, when Lazarus told her goodbye, when he ended up encased in stone for eternity, she wouldn’t cry, breaking him. She wouldn’t feel anything at all. She could live her life without regret.
He would do anything to save her from a moment’s pain.
“Let’s get you home,” he croaked. “There are things you and your friends need to know.” Forget Hera. Forget vengeance.
Hate had ceased to matter. Life wasn’t about who he killed but about who he loved.
Boom!
An explosion above the cavern shook the walls. Hunks of rock rolled from the ceiling. Dust clotted in the air.
Can’t break down now. Must get Cameo to safety.
Cameo reached out to brace herself against the wall.
He stalked from her without kissing her or shouting obscenities. The hardest thing he’d ever done. Despite the pain that escalated with every move he made, he gathered the go bags. “We can’t stay here.” He couldn’t leave her behind while he scouted the area for a portal. She had no idea how many dangers surrounded them. “Stay directly behind me.”
“Wait,” she called as he marched to the narrow entry.
He stilled, daring to hope she had remembered something about him.
“You never told me your name.”
The fragments of his heart withered. “I’m Lazarus, known to all as Cameo’s man.”