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I rose slowly and somewhat unsteadily. Lust continued to roll off him in waves, and tiny beads of perspiration began to dot my skin. My damn nipples were so hard, they ached and, as much as I hated it, I couldn’t entirely ignore the desire that slithered through me. And while most of it was undoubtedly the spell he’d placed on me, some of it was not.
I might hate him, but I also wanted him.
But I’d be damned if I admitted it.
Our gazes clashed for several more nerve-racking minutes; then he raised a hand, pressed a fingertip between my breasts, and pushed me backward. Amaya’s screams echoed in my head, and I ordered her to shut up and not cut.
My back hit the wall, the wood rough and grimy against my skin. He kept me pinned, not moving, not saying anything, just watching me with that smug, insolent expression I was beginning to hate.
Then he stepped back.
For a moment, hope leapt, but the amusement touching his lips soon killed that.
“Undress me,” he ordered. “Slowly.”
I flexed my fingers, battling anger and the urge to do as Amaya desired, then raised my hands and unbuttoned his shirt. When the last button came undone, I placed my hands on his skin and slid them upward, over the taut muscles of his stomach and chest and then under the shirt. As it slipped to floor, I ran my hands back down his body and played with the waist of his pants.
His warm breath fanned across my skin, its tempo one of expectation. Mine was no better, despite my loathing of the situation. My gaze rose to his. Desire burned in those green depths, but so, too, did warning.
I unfastened his pants. His cock strained against the restriction of his silk boxers, thick and hard and ready for action. I hooked my fingers into the waist of both and slid them down his legs. He stepped out, then pressed a hand against my head, keeping me down.
“Suck me.”
I did as he bid, sucking and licking and teasing until the salty taste of come began to fill my mouth.
Abruptly, he tangled his fingers in my hair and yanked me upright. He spun me around so that I faced the wall, then pulled my head backward, kissing me fiercely as he entered me from behind. What followed was animalistic and hard, and, despite my loathing of both him and the situation, felt good. But I did not give voice to my pleasure. There wasn’t much I could keep to myself given the situation, but I refused to give him that.
He came with a shout that was as fierce as it was triumphant, pumping hard as he emptied himself inside me. I closed my eyes, my body still trembling with unfulfilled desire, his fluids dribbling down my thighs and hate in my heart.
He withdrew, turned me around, and kissed me fiercely again. But just as quickly, he pulled away.
“Respond like you mean it, dear Risa, or I will not make the call that is keeping your friend alive.”
“You can’t keep either of us forever, Lucian,” I said, my voice edged with the anger I was barely keeping leashed. I could almost taste his death, and god, it tasted sweet. “Sooner or later, this will have to end.”
“Oh, it will.” He bent, picked me up in his arms, then spun and walked back to the bedroom. “But the military exhibition does not open until ten, and that gives me five hours to fuck you senseless.”
He threw me onto the bed, but didn’t immediately join me. “By the time you leave here, you will be carrying my child. And that will be the greatest revenge I could ever have on your reaper.”
My flesh-and-blood reaper. If he could bleed, if he could gain human emotions when in flesh too long, why then would he not also be fertile? If the Raziq had taken the chip out, then it was more than possible that I was already pregnant.
God, wouldn’t that be the perfect twist? If I had to be pregnant, then I would much rather the father be someone I actually cared about than someone I intended to kill.
Of course, given fate’s apparent desire to crap all over my life, it was not a likely outcome, but my heart still sang at the thought.
And it was a hope that got me through the hours that ensued.
I woke to the scent of mold, dust, and age. Similar scents, yet different from what I’d woken to before. Disoriented, I rolled onto my back, feeling the rough edges of wood rather than the silk of sheets. My eyes were heavy and my head was booming, and that “drank too much” sensation was well and truly back.
He’d obviously transported me magically rather than just letting me go. I couldn’t remember his doing it, but then, I hadn’t actually been around for the last few hours of our encounter. I might not have done much astral travel, but I’d learned enough to get the hell out of my body. Lucian either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared. He might have paid lip service to wanting me to be an eager, vocal participant, but in the end all he’d wanted was a body to impregnate.
And I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d do if I was pregnant, especially since there was just as much chance of it being Azriel’s as Lucian’s.
God, please, let it be Azriel’s.
A desperate plea that in itself suggested the psychic part of me already knew my fate in that regard.
I opened my eyes. Daylight drifted in from the grimy windows to my right, highlighting a mess of upturned tables, broken chairs, and graffiti-littered walls. It had to be Larry’s, and I wondered if Jak had ever been here. Lucian was much more than we’d ever suspected, and maybe magic wasn’t the only thing he’d become adept at. Maybe he could imitate voices, as well. Right now, I wouldn’t put anything past him.
