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Her bottom was bare now, her skin cooling in the air, and she felt the hot slide of his cock across her hip.
He placed his hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her gently but firmly down, until her upper half lay across the bed and her lower half was canted up, waiting for his pleasure.
She felt him nudge her legs apart, and then his palm was on her hip and she felt it: the nudge of his cock against her entrance. He seemed somehow larger in this position and she heard him grunt as he began squeezing his way in. She was wet, but she felt each ridge of his penis as he pushed himself slowly into her.
Her hands clutched at the bedclothes.
He seemed to take forever, widening her, burrowing into her swollen tissues. Then he made a final shove and she felt the fabric of his leggings brush firmly against her bottom.
He held himself there and she could hear the sound of his rough breathing in the quiet of the room. She bit her lip, mirroring his earlier grimace. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath—and he hadn’t even started to move.
And then he did, a slick, hard slide that rubbed against something wonderful inside of her. She couldn’t help the squeaking cry she gave, and as if her hips moved of their own accord, she began bumping back against him.
He huffed a rough laugh. “So impatient.”
She turned her head to scowl at him—or at least she meant to, but he chose that moment to reverse his glide, thrusting back into her.
Her eyelids fluttered closed. “Oh.”
“You like that?” he whispered.
She nodded, unable to speak. He was embedding himself into her over and over, his cock rubbing against her deliciously, and she couldn’t help but tilt her bottom up in submissive invitation. She burrowed one hand underneath and found her nub as he filled her again and again, his hardness sliding against her wet fingers.
His breath caught and he swiveled his hips, grinding against her, leaning close over her, whispering low in her ear. “You’re touching yourself, aren’t you?”
She swallowed, closing her eyes in bliss. “Y-yes.”
“God,” he muttered, and she wondered if he’d finally lost the power of speech.
Perhaps he had, for he suddenly planted one hand over her shoulder and shoved hard into her, pressing her into the mattress. He was pushing her body up the bed with quick, forceful jabs that spread her apart, made her see a starburst behind her closed lids.
A spike of near-painful pleasure bloomed between her legs, flowing and expanding through her, a river of sweet completion. She moaned, loud and low.
He stiffened behind her, his hips still working, even as his hot seed filled her, as if he didn’t want to stop. And then he fell against her, his heat surrounding and cradling her. She felt his chest pressing into her back as he fought to catch his breath.
She should feel squashed beneath him, but instead she felt protected and oddly cherished.
She watched out of the corner of her eye as he moved his right arm—the one with the white bandage—and twined his fingers with hers, squeezing gently.
Were it up to her, they would stay this way forever.
Chapter Seventeen
“Do you see these things trapped in the sand of the Plain of Madness?” Loss hissed at Faith. He’d seen the fate of his imp comrades, so he was cautious of Faith, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to wallow in her horror.
“What are they?” Faith whispered, filled with dread. “They are the souls of those who died insane,” Loss said with glee. “They meander aimlessly now, flowing with the shifting dust, and will remain so until men no longer walk the earth.” …
—From The Legend of the Hellequin
If Hell existed on earth, Artemis Greaves was walking into it. Her shoes crunched on fine gravel in a huge, nearly empty courtyard. Behind her were the tall iron gates. Before her, the baroque façade of a magnificent, beautiful building. White Corinthian columns marched in paired rows along the front, crowned by a central dome with a clock, the Roman numerals picked out in gold. The gilding was repeated on the top of the dome, a spinet with the figure of a veiled woman.
Artemis shivered and glanced at the front doors.
Hell might have a gorgeous shell, but it still roasted the damned within.
She passed the porter and paid him her precious penny, though she wasn’t here to sightsee. Under the dome was an echoing hall with two long galleries leading off to her left and her right. It was early yet and the visitors were few, but that didn’t mean the inhabitants of Hell weren’t awake. They moaned or babbled, if they could make utterance, except for the few who simply howled.
Artemis ignored the galleries, walking straight on. Beyond the dome, two staircases curved away into space. She mounted the one to the left, holding her covered basket carefully. It wouldn’t do to spill her few, meager offerings.
