Pure Desire [Pure 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) (33 page)

Her voice echoed in the close quarters, vibrating, as streaks of mind numbing ecstasy elevated as the violent orgasm rippled through her soul.

* * * *

“Oh fuck, baby. So tight…fucking good.” He groaned feeling, watching as his cock pushed into the blistering inferno that clapped around his dick in a snug fit. He couldn’t stop looking, seeing, aching in his balls viewing her ass take him fully. He withdrew, plunged again, he groaned as the ache in his sacs intensified at each plummet. This was great, so fucking incredible, but didn’t ease his need to fuck her. He found her clit, swollen and throbbing…she trembled as he encircled the peak and pushed his fingers inside her. This was insane, so out of control, as she bucked against his touch and fucked his fingers that were as deep, deeper, inside her pussy as her ass.

“Damnit, Allura.” His body locked. “Ah, fuck…” he growled throwing back his head.

“Fuck me. I want you inside me.”

Fuck, she wanted it all. More. His damned soul he willingly gave. Noor thought as she wiggled all around him. He felt her ass gap and suckle, milking. “Damn it, Allura. I’m dying here and not sure I can give you what you want.”

“Fuck me,” she demanded.

“Hold on just a little longer, baby.” He didn’t, couldn’t withdraw.

“Now!” She leaned back and wrapped her arms around his neck, bowed, pushing her nipples out as she worked deliciously around his cock. He’d never taken a woman so completely, savagely. She was humping him, fucking him.

“Fuck,” he gritted his teeth. He exhaled, losing his control, and forced an end to the white-hot pleasure streaking through him as he let it happen, an explosion, her name a hoarse shout on his lips as his semen spurted into her ass and he felt something deeper than his semen releasing inside her.

He was so dazed and out of control he wasn’t sure how he managed it. One minute he was pouring his seed into her ass and the next he was inside her pussy.

She was sobbing, moaning, and demanding his release a second time. Her pussy drenched, spilling over his cock, as he slammed into her. She was hotter, her face twisted in throes of pleasure, as he pumped maddeningly, delirious.

This wasn’t possible, Noor thought. So soon, so fucking soon, as she cried out climaxing at the same time he felt his cock twitch and jets of semen spurting into her pussy as he lost a part of himself when he ejaculated. He came hard, unbelievably hard, giving her his cum along with a part of his soul and more as he climaxed and everything he was flowed into her.

Noor wiped the sweat from his face and shoved his fingers through his hair to clear his vision. He looked at her, caramel and beaded with perspiration, struggling for air and looking thoroughly ravished. He smiled and said, “Damn, this is insane.”

“You want us to stop? I don’t,” she murmured.

He couldn’t stop it if a steamroller was behind his back, Noor thought carrying her into the bedroom. He was done. Overcooked, and so past the point of anything but Allura. He laid her on the bed, fell down beside her, and gathered her in his arms.

He kissed her nose, cheek, and mouth, stealing away what little air she managed to gain. He kissed her senseless. Allura purred in satisfaction. Noor eased her against him and they spooned.

She held him firmly when he circled her waist with his arms around the waist and she held him there. Her admission surprised him. She said. “I want to make you happy, Noor.” Then she lapsed into light snoring before he could respond.

She deserved to know. He had to tell her. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her fragrant scent of sweetness, sex, him. His body surged with possessiveness and his arms tightened around her. “Sweetie,” he whispered. Allura murmured, shifted, stretching lazily and turned in his arms until they were face to face. She remained sleeping, fading between here and her dreams even while she kissed his chin.

“You don’t make me happy, but ecstatic.”

“I love you, too,” she said and then drifted into a deep slumber.

This time he accepted the declaration given, heartfelt and sincere. Allura loved him as much as he loved her. He didn’t tell her as much, though. Not sure why, he used the excuse of not wanting to wake her again. It was the biggest lie.

It was the fear that kept him silent.

Fear of the new emotion that felt surprisingly pleasant.

Fear of the unknown for their future.

Fear that now that he had found the love of his life, he might lose her.

Chapter Thirty-two

Emperor Agaci walked back and forth in front of his men, arms clasped behind his back. A cold countenance hardened his features into granite. He strolled casually, his demeanor opposite the raging fury that frothed just at the surface. No one suspected he was on the verge of venting a crude wrath that would leave destruction in his wake.

He stopped abruptly in front of his first in command. Severe eyes stared through the man. The emperor saw his guard’s Adam’s apple bob nervously and imagined he had sucked his mouth dry of spit. The fear he elicited amused him.

“Tell me you have found the girl.”

His first in command said, “I believe she is on Magnus, but I haven’t been able to confirm such. The Rynoir compound is impenetrable, highly secured, and any attempt to enter the domain has failed, Grace.”

“Hmm…so, what you are saying is you failed your mission.”

The man said, “Grace, I can vouch the girl is there.”

Emperor Agaci lunged at the man, his teeth set, and snarled, “I know that much, you imbecile. What I want to know is if you have the bitch!”

The man bowed his head in servitude. “No, Grace, she remains with the Rynoirs.”

“You are worthless,” the emperor said. A slender, hooked knife materialized from within the folds of his puffed sleeves of his robe. He drove the blade into the man’s stomach and jerked upward, opening his chest easily like raw meat.

He wiped the blood from the knife on the guard’s shirt. He walked over to another man. He spoke with indifference, coolly saying, “Herndon, it seems you have been promoted. I want that Deverill bitch in my hands within forty-eight hours. If you fail, you may as well cut your own throat. Get out…all of you, and get this pitiful body out of my sight.”

Emperor Agaci walked farther into the room and stopped in front of the ceiling-to-floor-length mirror supported up against a corner wall. He turned this way and that, examining his reflection as if seeing it for the first time. He stared into the mirror, at the clear liquid eyes that reminded him of icicles, familiar yet foreign. His fury was fresh, and his irises were slightly darkened, a testament to how deep his irritation went and how furious revenge ran through his veins.

Even if he murdered a thousand men, he ached for Noor Rynoir’s blood, like an animal for fresh kill. He thirsted to bring the bastard down. Perhaps then, he might find peace and calm his raging bloodlust.

Then there was the bitch to deal with. An amused smile curled the emperor’s lips, making his boyish, fair looks fade into sinister personified. Feeling crudely malicious, every nerve ending in his body tightened under the pressure of waiting for the moment the Deverill cunt was once again in his grasp. When he had her suffering beneath him, and she atoned for her betrayal, her womb filled with his seed, he might just feel an ounce of satisfaction.

He had no doubt Rynoir had already fucked the girl. That consideration made red flashes streak across his eyes, but he couldn’t dwell on that nuisance. If he found out the whore carried Rynoir’s child, he would purge it from her belly by implanting his seed, which would destroy the Magnus cells like an infestation.

That was an interesting medical fact he wasn’t aware his chemical makeup contained until his stupid wife notified him she was carrying a child. Because he never released inside her or any other female for obvious reasons—he couldn’t risk it—naturally, he accused her of lying. She had laughed nastily in his face, called him an idiot, and bragged about her unfaithfulness. Then she tossed the undeniable evidence in his face. A disk with an image of the embryo curled protectively in her womb. He recalled staring at the tiny features, ever so small, that resembled a human form.

He lost it then. He choked her within an inch of her life, and then raped her repeatedly until she screamed for mercy. The battering continued. He wanted to kill her and would have if she hadn’t revealed that the guardians were aware she was
enceinte
—her insurance policy. The word had spread among the Oridus people, who were excited about the coming of the next Intended. Knowing this, he couldn’t outright murder her with everyone watching.

The day he caught the milk-faced nursemaid hiding in the woods with the child sent a new wave of fear coursing through him. He couldn’t let the child survive and take over reign of his throne, and relished in silencing the squalling little bastard. When he unclothed the bundle to see his wife’s perfidy, he almost stumbled, seeing the features of his likeness. Unbelieving, he remembered standing there holding his child wondering how was that possible?

Then, understanding what he had to do, he walked over to the bridge, stared down into the rocky surface beneath the raging river, and tossed his son into the gorge. He watched the body shatter against the sharp stones and splinter before the blood and particles were carried away in the swift current.

Secretly he did his research and found out what he had suspected. His species had carnivorous genes that dominated weaker cells and attacked any foreign particles they met and destroyed them to take over the host. Which is what he assumed happened in his wife’s case when he ejaculated and filled her with his lethal little sperm. The thought had been daunting at first, and then he accepted the uniqueness of his power, knowing he could use it to his advantage when necessary. If the Deverill bitch carried Rynoir’s child, it wouldn’t matter. And he felt a sense of elation about that. What rubbed him raw and ignited a fresh wave of ferocity was that he might have to destroy his own again.

Emperor Agaci clutched his fingers into a fist. He seethed with venom and shook uncontrollably as he struggled to keep the howl threatening to rip from his throat lodged…he almost choked on the distaste of unfairness that required him to hate the sight of his own flesh and blood.

He glanced at his reflection. The sight was almost startling, and he stared in disbelief at what he witnessed. Rarely did he care to see his true form. In a fit of rage, he grabbed the candleholder and smashed it into the glass. The spider web veins distorted his image. They didn’t disguise, but exacerbated the crude features, crimson eyes, and the beast that dwelled within him.

He could see that as clear as day.

Chapter Thirty-three

Denny Sterns was his wife, the love of his life, beautiful beyond compare, and the biggest conniving, deceitful bitch he knew. He realized six months into their marriage that he really didn’t know the woman at all and accepted the fact she had swindled him like a classic con man only smoother. He was a detective, his intuition keen, and he should have listened to his conscience, which warned him there was a reason Denny made him uncomfortable at times. Subtle nuances pricked his instinct that something wasn’t quite right, but when he started to become suspicious, it was as if she had a sixth sense and noticed. There was nothing like a good fuck to make a man set aside his reservations about a woman, and Denny had that act down to an art.

When other husbands complained about their wives not cooking, sexing, or giving them the time of day, not to mention a blow job on occasion, his perfect little wife put a Stepford wife to shame. Maybe that should have been his awakening when he watched the historical movie one night on the classic rerun frequency and recalled how remarkably Denny resembled the mechanical perfectionists the actresses portrayed. Not that he thought Denny wasn’t real, she was all flesh and blood…he could attest to that. She was just too damned flawless. That had always been the problem. Especially when he knew the perfection was only on the surface.

Denny stretched lithely over the bed, grinned at him with her Hollywood smile, and coiled her creamy curves around his body and snuggled close. She smelled fresh, even after sex, as if she just showered in a stream of citrus and clove. He looked at his wife and wondered how she remained unspoiled, not a bead of perspiration, every strand of hair in place, her lipstick untouched, after the pounding he’d given her while he sweated like a pig and reeked of the pungent odor the body had after sex.

Denny sprung to her feet. She jumped around with nervous energy like a long-distance runner, warming up for a race to get her body limber while the thought of blinking made him ache because his energy was so drained.

He refused to admit it to himself, but having a wife that fucked like a champion eventually wore you down. If he ever revealed that to his friends, they would laugh him out of the locker room. He cringed at the thought of coming home some nights because he knew what awaited him—a nymphomaniac wife who didn’t take no for an answer.

Denny took and took, and he performed like a well-trained animal at first, but now that he had aged, all the tricks and sexual escapades she insisted on, frankly, got on his nerves. Sometimes a man just wanted to get in, get off, and get out.