A Demon And Her Scot (Welcome To Hell) (4 page)

The horror. The travesty. The…wench! No matter how strong his strokes to escape, she kept up with him, darting in like an otter and scrubbing at him. The ocean around them went white as bubbles frothed to the surface. The final straw, though, had her clinging to his back, her muscled thighs holding him tight—damn but she had the grip of a python. He yelled as she hacked at his wet hair, giving him an unwilling trim.

This game was no longer funny. A bath was one thing, but his hair! He’d spent many centuries growing it out. “You evil harpy. Leave my hair alone.”

“I told you to come with me nicely.” She panted as she held on to his bucking frame. His attempts to pry her off failed. With his feet kicking to keep them afloat, he could do little more than roll in the water.

Wet clumps of hair floated around them. When his feet finally touched sand, he slogged ashore and flopped to the ground. She leapt out of the way before he could squash her. But she wasn’t done with her torture. Back she came, this time straddling his chest, not low enough to take care of the problem between his thighs.

With the blade she wielded so close to his neck, he daren’t move much. Sure, he doubted she’d lop his head off; however, he worried about accidentally harming her. Even if the wench deserved punishment as she shaved a few centuries’ worth of beard from his face, leaving him smooth-skinned such as he hadn’t experienced since his wedding day.

For once, he didn’t recall that time with depression or an urge to kill Donnan and his wife all over again. Instead, he wondered what the toga-wearing lass thought of what she saw.
And what it would take to get her to reseat herself a little bit lower, say on top of his straining cock.

But I might want to get her to drop the knife first lest she chop it instead of fuck it.

Aella expected a lot of things when she tackled the Scot with soap, determined to at least force a semblance of cleanliness on him. What she didn’t foresee when she decided to give him a much-needed trim was him caving to her ministrations
. Even more unexpected was the attractive man who emerged from the shaggy mess.

Before
, he’d resembled a disgusting Sasquatch, all matted hair, rancid stench, and, despite his speech, one step above an animal. Now…now she could see what hid beneath, and quite frankly, it stunned her.

Niall would never be described as a truly handsome man. His features were much too rugged and square for that. His nose too large. His brows too thick, his hair too red, and his skin, freckled. But he bore a strong face. A warrior’s face
, and with the stench gone, his shirt torn away in their tussle, and his plaid gaping, she could clearly admire the physique with a musculature reminiscent of the gladiators she’d ogled in her youth.

One big difference, though, became evident
, and she meant big. Straddling his waist, she couldn’t miss the pulsing hard-on currently poking against her backside.

“I see a clean body doesn’t mean a clean mind.” She arched a brow at him.

Opening his eye, his vivid blue iris fixed her as Niall’s lips curved into a slow, sensual smile that sent a shiver through her system, one that went on and on, especially once she spotted his sharp fangs. “Lass, if you don’t get off me, all your cleansing work will be for naught because I will take it as an invitation to dip my dick and get sweaty.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You really need to work on your come-on lines. I realize you’re ancient and all, but those kind of remarks went out with the dinosaurs.”

“Does this feel old to you?” He clasped her hips and ground against her ass, transitioning her pleasant shiver into a liquid heat that moistened her pussy.

The shock of it almost made her slit his throat. Aella didn’t like it when her body didn’t behave as expected. And feeling desire for a Scot wasn’t on her list of approved bodily actions. Then again, now that he’d cleaned up, he at least showed potential.
Ugh. What is wrong with me? I am not fucking my target.

“You got an erection. Big fucking deal. Anybody with access to Viagra can get one nowadays.”

“You have an answer for everything.”

“But of course.”

“Then answer me this? If you’re so unimpressed, why is your pussy wetting me stomach?”

“I had to pee.”

Biting her tongue at the expression on his face, she rose from his body, giving him a naughty peek at what she didn’t wear under her toga. His eyes fairly smoldered as he stared. To his credit—and her disappointment—he didn’t try to touch. Probably a good thing. She’d sliced off the hand of the last idiot to try that without permission.

When he didn’t rise from the sand, she asked
, “Are you coming?”

“I’d like to.”

“With me, you idiot.”

“Didn’t I already say I’d like to?”

Tapping her foot, she glared at him. “Would you stop turning everything I say into a sexual innuendo?”

“No. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us is enjoying ourselves.”

“Lighten up, lass. You only live once.”

“Says the drunk I found wallowing in a bar in the most disreputable part of Hell.”

“I have my reasons.”

“And how old are they?”

He scowled. “None of your business.”

“Did I offend you? Good.”

“How is making fun of my misery good?”

“I can’t abide idiots who mope.”

“I wasn’t moping.”

“Then what do you call what you were doing?”

“Getting drunk.”

“For how many centuries?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just can’t stand people who fuck up their mortal life and then end up in Hell blaming everyone but themselves for the mistakes they made.”

“I didn’t make a mistake. I was wronged.”

“And?”

“And it wasn’t fair.” His lower lip didn’t jut, but there was no mistaking the pout.

“Boo-fucking-hoo. I was a queen until I was wronged too. Do you see me acting all depressed? Fuck no. I had a temper tantrum, killed a few things, and got on with my life.” Mostly. She’d yet to get involved in a serious relationship since her mishap. But at least she’d not given up, not like a certain vampire Scot.

“I tried killing those who wronged me. It did nothing for me.”

“What did happen to you?”

“I sold my soul to the devil so I could be the greatest golfer ever.”

“But you don’t play golf.”

“Because the game I won, the shot that should have given me a rosy future
, ruined it.”

“So?”

“What do you mean so? Did you not hear me? Golf ruined my life. Because of it, I murdered hundreds.”

A low whistle left her. “Nice. Wish I could have done the same.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“In my case, those who screwed me over were gods. Greek ones. They’ve got that whole immortal thing going for them.”

“You pissed off some Greek gods? How?”

“I’d rather not discuss it. Unlike some people around here, I don’t live in the past.”

“I’m not living in the past.”

“Then get off your fat, lazy, skirted ass and come with me.”

“But I don’t want to.”

Funny, he said it, but without his previous fire. Actually, she got the crazy feeling that her Scot wanted out of his depressing rut; he just didn’t know how to do that. She decided to extend a helping hand.

He eschewed it, springing to his feet and shaking, droplets spraying.

“Would you stop that? You’re worse than a wet dog.”

“You were the one who said I need a bath.”

“You needed one. I, on the other hand, was perfectly clean and dry.”

“Next time you bring some soap, maybe you shouldn’t forget the towel.”

Plucking at the damp fabric clinging to her curves, she noted how his gaze strayed
and fixed on the delineation of her puckered nipples protruding through the cloth. “Got any towels up at that shack of yours?”

“Yes, along with a warm fire.”

Good, because here on the outskirts of Hell, the air was noticeably cooler, and the ever-present sifting of ash almost nonexistent. The heat of the furnace, which kept the pit from freezing, barely reached this distant edge, and she shivered.

The Scot led the way, following a barely discernible track up the cliff side, which angled left to right and required a sure foot lest a misstep send the unwary tumbling. Curious at his docile acceptance of both her grooming and presence, she couldn’t help but question. “So
, have you had a change of heart? Are you ready to come with me willingly?”

“I don’t want to golf. But—” He turned to peer at her over his shoulder. “I will come with ye to see Lucifer and tell him myself.”

“Why?”

“Because ye shouldn’t have to face his wrath at my refusal.”

She snorted. “Lucifer’s not going to punish me if you say no. And that wasn’t what I was asking. I mean, why won’t you golf?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Afraid you’ve lost your touch?”

“There ain’t nothing wrong with my touch, lass. I can assure ye of that. Or, better yet, I can show ye.” The naughty grin he aimed her way made her stumble, and she might have tested her ability to fly had he not halted abruptly and held her back with a quick hand.

“If you’re so confident, then why not give our lord what he wants?”

“First off, there isn’t anyone who can make the devil into a half-decent golf player. Have ye seen the bastard play?”

“So you’re scared of ending up like his last caddy?”

A disparaging sound escaped him. “His last caddy was an idiot. Any fool knew not to use the four iron on that hole. He deserved what he got.”

“If you’re not scared, then why not play? I mean, you sold your soul to be the greatest golfer. Why not use that skill?”

“Why do ye fucking care?”

“So long as you come with me, then I don’t really care. Once I hand you over to Lucifer, you and he can hash it out. Me, I just want to get home and watch the season finale of
Game of Thrones
.” And have a long hot shower followed by a round with BOB to cure her sudden urge for Scottish meat.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one who could pry. The Scot, no longer so reticent, prodded her. “How did a lass like ye become a hunter?”

“What do you mean a lass like me?”

“Look at ye.” He waved a hand vaguely in her direction. “Ye are much too pretty for one.”

“Are you implying because of my looks I’m not good at my job?”

“Ye seem better suited to a different lifestyle.”

“If you say pole dancer or whore…” She put a hand on the leather-wrapped grip of her axe.

“Calm down, lass. I said no such thing, although, ye would make a killing in either profession. I just meant, with your obvious feminine attributes, a lass like ye shouldn’t have to work.”

A giggle slipped past her lips. “Did you just imply I’d make a good trophy wife?”

“Aye. A pampered one, of course,” he added with a wink.

“Are you proposing?”

His turn to stumble, but thankfully
, they’d reached level ground, so she didn’t have to stop his brick house of a body from falling down the cliff. “I’m not husband material.”

“Why not? You’re a man. You have a castle, of sorts,” she added as she eyed the stone tower with its patched and thatched roof.

“Did ye not hear? I was married once.”

“Let me guess, she was the love of your life, and once she died, you swore to never love again.”

“Oh, I swore to never get married again, right after I killed her.”

And with that shocking announcement, he strode into his abode, leaving her with her jaw hanging.

Why Niall dropped that bombshell he couldn’t have exactly explained. The lass had taken him aback with her jesting about proposing. More shocking, he’d immediately pictured the violent hunter in a gown of plaid—his colors, of course—striding toward him with a wildflower bouquet, a fierce smile on her lips, and the axe strapped across her back. A wild bride for an untamed Scot.

An insane fantasy.

He barely knew the lass. Wanted to fuck her, yes, but marry? Like bloody hell. But he’d meant what he’d said to her. Warrior woman or not, the huntress of many layers deserved a pampered lifestyle, her every wish catered to. It was how he would have treated such a treasure. How he would have treated Fionnaghal if she’d not betrayed him.

Entering his simple keep, his nose tickled at the dust layering the sparse furniture. What a change from the castle he’d lived in when alive. Back then, only the most lavish of items would do. Rich tapestries had covered his stone walls, and gleaming and carved wooden furniture with plump cushions graced every room. He drank from gold goblets, ate from fine porcelain plates, and
had broken more than a few when his temper was roused. He’d employed only the best chefs and servants to serve his needs. Money meant nothing to him, so he spent it without care. Why not? He’d no progeny to deed his wealth to. No woman to spoil. In the end, everything he’d fought for, all he’d achieved, everything he’d bought didn’t bring him happiness. Didn’t give him back the soul he’d bartered. Didn’t give him peace.
And it certainly never found me love.

Once dead, he descended to the pit where he’d expected his mood to change. Wrong. All his emotional baggage came along with him. There was no escape
, and he discovered he couldn’t abide hanging around other people, even the damned. He’d taken this simple keep from the demon who owned it, wanting to live as far away as he could from everyone. The solitude proved worse; hence why he’d taken up residence, almost permanently, in the bar. Biding his time. Waiting for…what?

An end to his existence?

For the sense of betrayal to fade?

For a certain lass to arrive?

She sneezed behind him. “Ever hear of a Swiffer?”

Flinging open a cupboard, he grabbed at the linen stuffed inside, almost threadbare but dry. “Dusting is woman’s work.”

“Showing your age again, old man.”

He’d show her old. Whirling, he tossed a dry cloth at her and, as she caught it, undid the fastening to his soaked plaid. With a shrug, he dropped it to the floor.

She ogled him, probably because he gave her something to ogle. Hands on his hips, erection jutting forth—a mighty one he’d not experienced in centuries—he smirked at her. “Does this look old to you?”

“Ack! I’m blind. Old man dick alert. Cover it up.” She protested with her mouth, yet her eyes remained locked on his bare body. He swelled to an even mightier size. “Good grief. Just how big does that thing get? Should I duck and cover before it explodes?”

“Do ye never stop talking? I swear, lass. Ye chatter enough to drive a man insane. If I were your husband, I’d gag you.” A subtle thrust of his hips let her know with what.

She clamped her lips shut, but interestingly enough, she didn’t turn away. Nor did she blush. Brazen wench. Still naked, he strutted past her, feeling more than seeing her turn to watch as he knelt before the cold fireplace and tossed a few dry logs in. A strike of flint and he coaxed a flame to life.

While he’d taunted her into silence, he found he missed the dulcet mockery of her voice. He also wondered what she did behind his back. Did she rub the coarse linen over her delicate-skinned body? Did she stand naked in his home? Her pussy still damp? Her mouth still defiant? Wearing only those decadent snakeskin boots?

If his cock swelled any farther, it would probably explode like she jested. Attempting to act casual, he turned around and almost groaned in regret as he noted the threadbare linen covering her, sarong style. The wet lump of her toga hit him in the chest.

“Hang that by the fire, would you? I didn’t bring a spare, and I refuse to escort you back wearing a rag.” Head held high, her imperious tone and attitude begged an answer.

“I am not your servant.” He flung her robe into the snapping flames at his back then smirked at her screech of rage as her toga sizzled.

“What did you do that for?”

“Because.”

“What part of I don’t have anything to wear did you not grasp, Scot?”

“My name, lass, is Niall.”

“And mine is Aella, not lass. Use it or—”

“Or what?”

“I’ll rip your tongue out and feed it to the carrion birds.”

“I’d like to see ye try.” He dared her. Purposely. She growled, and her eyes narrowed to the merest slits. Her whole body vibrated with irritation.

He’d never been so fucking turned on.

With nothing to lose, he decided to see how far he could go. He tread
ed toward her on bare feet, entering her personal space, crowding her. She held her ground, glaring, lips tight. He saw her hands tense at her sides, ready to respond to whatever threat he planned.

But he had a different kind of assault in mind. One of his hands darted forward and clasped her by the wet ponytail hanging over her shoulder, and he yanked her to his bare chest before slanting his mouth over hers.

For a moment, she held herself rigid as he let his lips slide over hers. Then, she bit him, hard enough to draw blood. He chuckled softly. “So ye like it rough? Lucky for both of us, so do I.”

Before in their interactions, he’d let her think she could best him by tempering his strength. No longer. His free arm wrapped around her waist, hoisting her, and drawing her flush with his body. His mouth went from coaxing to demanding, his fangs, the darned things he’d inherited as one of Satan’s bartered souls, descended.

How he hungered. Not just for her blood, which surely tasted decadent, but for her. Her body. Her womanly essence. Her scream of ecstasy.

He showered her with hard
, nibbling caresses. She didn’t give in easily. She twisted in his grip and gnawed on his lower lip. Her tongue dueled with his, but it was half-hearted, the rapid racing of her heart giving away her excitement. Finally, after her token attempt to escape, with a moan of surrender, she softened in his arms and returned his passion tenfold.

Sweet fucking hell. He’d not expected that. And he’d definitely not expected the inferno that swept him and totally sabotaged his plan to disarm her. Her arms, trapped at her side
s within the band of his, still left her hands free to clutch at his hips, her fingers digging into his flesh, her lower body grinding as best as it could against him.

He tugged her hair, tilting her head back, leaving the panting sweetness of her mouth to drag fiery caresses down the column of her neck until he nuzzled the top of her breasts. He realized she muttered, and when he caught the words, he groaned softly.

“Don’t stop there. My nipples need some attention. Bite them. Suck them.”

Demanding wench, more vocal than he was used to, but he was more than happy to comply. Loosening the vise of his arm around her torso, he ga
ve himself some room to work with. His teeth tugged at the linen. It fell away, baring her glorious tits. He rubbed his face between them, and her hands wiggled free from the trap of their meshed bodies, but not to push him away. Nay, not his lass. She dug her fingers into his scalp and guided his mouth to an erect nipple.

“Suck it,” she demanded.

He bit instead, the sharp tips of his fangs digging in. She gave a little yell. He growled and bit her again before taking the tip of her breast into his mouth. Her strong body bucked against him and almost threw them off balance. Releasing her ponytail, he hoisted her until her legs could wrap around his waist, and he walked them to the nearest wall where he pressed her up against it.

Anchored to the stone, her body was his for the taking. With her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed
, and her lips swollen from his earlier embrace, Niall proceeded to pleasure the lass, and as a result, himself.

* * * *

Aella couldn’t have said how it happened. One moment she’d gone from annoying the Scot—and enjoying it—to begging him to suck her breasts. He did so with great gusto and talent, drawing her aching peaks into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin, nipping at the tips. Each erotic caress served as a jolt to her pussy. Each lick. Each nibble. Every suck only served to rouse her burgeoning desire higher and higher.

Barely
realizing it, her hips ground against him, her wet core pulsing against his lower stomach. What a waste when she could feel his erection straining just beneath. Loosening the grip of her legs around his waist, she let out a growl of frustration when she couldn’t get his cock positioned where she wanted it. He was too long and their bodies too close.

His mouth left off its decadent torture of her breasts to whisper at her ear. “Need something, lass?”

“Fuck me.”

“You want my cock?”

Did she ever! He rubbed the head of it against her clit, and she shuddered, the muscles of her channel spasming.

“Give it to me.”

“And if I don’t?” he teased, dragging it across her trembling slit.

With her fingers still meshed in his shorn hair, she found it simple to yank his head back and mash her mouth against his. She slid her tongue into his mouth, dancing it along his, merging their breaths, furthering their passion.

With a groan, he gave her what she wanted. In slammed his dick. Fuck yeah. Long, thick, and ready, his cock was up to the challenge. Without hesitation, he sheathed it within her, and she clenched. Oh, how she clenched. The muscles of her pussy clung to him, welcoming his girth, reveling in the way he stretched her. Pulling back, he had to fight the pull of her channel, but the suctioning drag just served to rouse them further. Back he thrust as she sucked on his tongue. They’d gone past words. Past teasing. Their bodies moved in harmony, him plunging, her welcoming. Her desire coiled, wound tighter and tighter, like a python around its prey.

He tore his mouth away, leaving her mewling then moaning as he pressed the tips of his fangs against her neck, pinching the skin. Their bodies still heaved and bucked, a sweaty
, rhythmic slap of flesh. In sank his teeth, the pinprick of pain nothing compared to the euphoria that swept her as the enzymes in his saliva entered her bloodstream.

Holy fuck! She might have howled. She definitely made a very unladylike and unsnakelike noise as her climax hit her. With a final squeeze, a deadly choke of her sex, she came in pulsing waves on his cock.

His dick spilled within her, and he moaned his satisfaction into her skin even as he continued to suck at her neck. Throbbing, sweating, their hearts racing in cadence, they rode the climax to its very end.

It was an awesome ride.

Once reality returned, along with her breath and sanity, Aella faced a tiny dilemma. How to extricate herself from the pretzel she found herself in. She started by unwrapping her legs.

He didn’t get the hint; on the contrary, with a final lick of her neck, he moved his mouth up and lavished light kisses on her lips.

She turned her head, breaking it off despite her enjoyment of them. He focused his attention on her earlobe, tugging at the sensitive flesh, which, in turn, made her pussy pulse.

She cleared her throat. “Ahem. Mind letting me down?”

“When I’m done.”

“I hate to state the obvious, but I thought we were.”

“That? That was just an appetizer.”

She was about to point out that it took a hard cock to fuck, but it was then she noticed that, while he’d softened a little, he was still quite erect.

Oh my. Well, that was what she got for taunting a man who’d not screwed in decades, if not longer. “We really should get going.”

“We will. Once I’m done.”

“Well, hurry it up then. I’ve got places to go. People to see.”

“Oh, you’ll be going somewhere, l
ass.”

Apparently, nirvana. Despite her attempt at nonchalance, she couldn’t stop a gasp when his hand slid between their bodies to find her clit. He stroked it, and a shudder went through her. He rotated his hips, grinding his dick deep, and the just-doused fire of her arousal sparked. Again, he swirled, rubbing against a sweet spot while his finger worked her clit. A gasp escaped her.

With slow, languorous caresses and subtle thrusts, Niall brought her back to the edge.

“That’s it, lass. Clench that pussy around my cock,” he murmured, his brogue as thick as his desire.

Aella didn’t speak, not when she needed the air she heaved into her lungs as her body coiled tighter and tighter. When her second orgasm hit, she did find enough breath to scream.

Then curse because, before the last shudder of pleasure went through her body, he let her go, and her knees, still weak from the ecstasy
, folded, dumping her on the floor.

Fucking bastard.