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His heart ached as emotions flooded him. Pain. Pleasure. And the love. Oh, yes, the love. "Jaenelle." His legs trembled as he took the few steps that separated them. He raised his hand, intending to brush away the tears, but he was still afraid to touch her.
Jaenelle closed her eyes and took a few breaths before she looked at him. "I don't know if it will ever be better than this, but I'm healed, Daemon. Completely healed."
He stared at her, trying to decipher what she was telling him. His heart pounded hard enough for him to feel the beat against his chest as his fingertips touched her cheek. Fever raged through him, settling between his legs. His mouth watered as he brushed a finger over her lips. He wanted his tongue there, slicking her mouth until he slipped inside to stroke her tongue. And after that he wanted to stroke…
Healed.Completely healed.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Jaenelle nodded. "I'm completely healed. I have been for weeks now."
And she hadn't told him? Or had she tried in some hesitant way and he hadn't heard because he'd been caged by the memories of her being so frail?
Weeks. She'd been healed for weeks…which is when he'd begun having the erotic dreams, when his hunger for sex had reawakened. His body had known she was ready for him.
"Are you sure?" he whispered. Same words. Different question.
"I'm sure," she whispered back.
His lips brushed hers, softly, carefully. One hand cupped the back of her head while the other trailed down her spine, urging her to relax against him. As he deepened the kiss, he savored the feel of his tongue caressing hers.
The taste of her. The smell of her. The feel…
He eased back in order to brush his lips over her cheek. "You're wearing too many clothes," he whispered. The tip of his tongue traced the curve of her ear, making her shiver. "They're lovely clothes, but they are very much in the way right now."
"We need… to talk," Jaenelle gasped as he licked the pulse in her neck.
"We will," he promised, drifting back to her mouth to give her a long, sinking kiss. "In an hour…" Even through layers of clothing, her nipple hardened as he rubbed his thumb over it."… or two."
Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, changing his desire into something close to desperation. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice part snarl, part groan. "We'll talk about anything you want tomorrow."
Not giving her time to disagree, he picked her up and headed out of the sitting room, maintaining enough control to use Craft to simply open the door rather than rip it off the hinges. As he walked into the entrance hall, he gave his startled butler, Helton, a searing look. "The Lady and I are not at home. To anyone. Is that clear?"
"That is very clear, Prince," Helton replied. "Shall I inform the cook that you will be dining upstairs this evening?"
"I'll let you know when to send up a tray," Daemon replied, taking the stairs two at a time.
"Someone might think you're in a hurry," Jaenelle murmured.
The bedroom door flew open as they reached it and slammed shut behind them, the locks clicking into place.
Private now, with the bed only a step away, the fury of lust eased back to the steady blaze of desire.
"Oh, no," he crooned, setting her on her feet so that he could unbutton the sapphire jacket. "This is going to be a long… slow… banquet." He slipped the jacket off her shoulders, slid it down her arms. "And I'm planning to enjoy every single morsel."
Since that seemed to stun her, he took advantage of her lost wits to unbutton the rose silk shirt and slide that off her. The camisole beneath it was a paler rose and sheer enough to veil her br**sts without really hiding them. So he let her keep it on a little longer while he enjoyed the feel of stroking her through the material until her skin warmed under his hands. Then he vanished the camisole, and there was nothing between his hands and her skin.
"Daemon." His name ended in a moan as he gave her br**sts a fleeting caress before opening her trousers and sliding them, and the whisper of material beneath them, down her legs. After vanishing her shoes and thin socks, he coaxed her into bed.
Walking around to the other side of the bed, he shrugged out of his jacket, letting it slide to the floor. It had been awhile since he'd stripped with the intention of having a woman hot and willing to let him do whatever he wanted by the time he slid between the sheets, but the look in Jaenelle's eyes told him plainly enough he hadn't lost his touch.
She reached for him as soon as he got into bed, but he had other plans.
"Roll over," he said, a hand on her shoulder guiding her to stretch out on her belly.
"What?" Confused, she obeyed.
He started with her neck and worked down. What his fingers didn't touch, his mouth tasted. By the time he'd licked his way down her spine, she was moaning. By the time his teeth gently scraped her calves, her skin was so sensitized to his touch, he didn't need more than warm breath to excite her.
Turning her over, he stroked her inner thighs and smiled at the painted toenails. Next round, he was going to have to admire them more closely. But judging by her glazed eyes and flushed skin, she was reaching the point where much more would become too much.
"Come here, sweetheart." Rolling on his back, he settled her over him, sheathing his c**k between her legs before coaxing her to stretch out over him. He wrapped his arms around her to keep her still.
"Daemon."
Wildly aroused by the hint of snarl in her voice, he kept his kisses viciously soft.
"Let me do this, sweetheart," he whispered as he licked her throat. "It would destroy me if I hurt you now, so let me do this."
"Do what?" She sounded breathless, almost too aroused.
In answer, he used Craft to create a phantom touch, something he'd never done with her before because he'd wanted to give her his body… and because he'd never used that phantom touch except to hurt someone… especially when he pleasured her. Now he wanted to use everything he was and everything he knew to please Jaenelle, so his hands stroked her back and his tongue kept hers busy while phantom fingers caressed the sweetness between her legs until her body bucked within his gently restraining arms, milking him as he sent her on that last wave of pleasure.
Limp and quivering, she sprawled over him. "Mother Night," she gasped.
Brushing his lips against her forehead, Daemon just smiled and used Craft to pull up the covers. It might be spring, but it was still cool during the day, and the nights got cold. He wanted her to stay warm—in every way.
