Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (49 page)

A thumping noise innervated every nerve in her body.
Th-thump. Th-thump.
His pulse hammering in her ear.

Blood
.

She shot forward, against her binds, and latched onto his throat.

“Ah, shit! Calla! Stop!” Draven pushed against her shoulders.

Skin popped and blood coated her tongue as she bit down deep into his flesh. No matter her arms and legs remained bound, Draven convulsed in her grasp as if paralyzed.

Her own scent filled her mouth along with that of another woman. Draven’s arousal slid down her throat, and his anger filled her.
So good
. Her burning muscles cooled beneath her skin with each tug of his vein.

An ache between her thighs blossomed and she rubbed herself against Draven’s weakened body. A face surfaced in her mind.
Logan
. She moaned against Draven’s throat at the thought of the demon.

As she sucked at Draven’s neck, she visualized Logan’s touch, his lips, his smell—all of it clear in her mind as if he was right there with her.

She closed her eyes.

Warmth diffused through her body, stealing away the chill as it exploded inside of her and spread outward into her limbs.

She curled her fingers around her binds.

Her eyes fluttered open.

A delicious scent filled her nose. Musk. Manly. Mouthwatering.

Through the darkness, Calla zeroed in on Logan—asleep on his bed, his face obscured by his arm.

Holy … that was cool
.

All she’d had to do was think about him and
poof!
, she was there. Like a hallucination? She lifted her hand that still held the rusted bike lock; uncurling her fingers let it fall to the floor.

Naked, Calla stalked toward the demon. On the nightstand, a vial and needle lay next to his dagger. She picked it up and examined the black fluid before setting it back down. Tipping her head to the side, she watched him sleep.

Had he ever looked so peaceful?

A swipe of her hand across her mouth brought forth the realization she still wore Draven’s blood. After a quick wash in the bathroom, she returned to where Logan slept.

Long cords of muscle stretched beneath the arm he’d thrown over his eyes. His other arm lay at his side. Bulging pectorals slowly rose and fell with each breath, contracting his stomach, a washboard carving of perfection that Calla longed to run her fingers across. The black sheets covered his lower half and she lifted them to see his naked form beneath.

A rush of pleasure blanketed her insides at the sight of his sex. Her mouth watered and she licked her lips.

Take him
.

She dropped the sheet and lowered herself to crawl over of him.

His arm jerked away from his face and those brown bedroom eyes shot open, half-lidded. “Calla?”

Before he could move, she pinned him down and seized his mouth, running her hands over his chest and abs.

His moan vibrated in her throat.

His smell. His taste. Every sensation detonated in her mind.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped against her lips. “I thought you were gone for good. Am I dreaming?”

“What if you are?” she whispered in his ear, reveling as his chest rose beneath hers.

“I’d never wake.”

She pushed herself up until straddling him. His eyes seemed to feast on her where she sat.

“Gods.” His hands caressed the curves of her hips, up to her breasts. “So many times I’ve dreamed this.”

“No more dreaming. I want you now.” She ground her core against his stomach. “All of you.”

He nodded. “This is … this is my fantasy.” A quiet laugh shot out, tinged with excitement as he rubbed the top of her thighs. “Oh, shit, Zayne said this would feel real.”

Calla leaned forward and kissed his throat. Whatever he’d taken in the vial must’ve given him the belief she was nothing more than an illusion.

Good.

Thudding at his throat pounded against her cheek.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent as if she could already taste the blood.

No.

Calla drew back.

Not Logan.

Deep labored breaths had his chest rising and falling, as she backed herself down, down his stomach until she reached his growing erection.

Saliva pooled in her mouth.

One long lick up his shaft sent his hiss echoing through the room. She looked up to see his head tilted back against the pillow, his fists clutching sheets. Calla smiled and kept on, reverently kissing, licking, sucking,
tasting
him.

His body carried the spice of man, the warm inviting medley that kept her salivating.

Calla sensed unease in the tension of his muscles, and as if it connected somewhere deep inside of her, she thrilled in it. Her nails dug into his thighs and his curses excited her. His moans, so loud, played along her nerves, and kept her going.

Logan lifted his hips right off the bed. “Motherfuck!”

Nails gouging his flesh, she slammed him back against the mattress and pulled away, her fang grazing him on its dislodge enough to incite another curse.

“Holy shit, Calla, what are you doing to me?” An approving tone to his voice accompanied a smile and he threw his hand to his face, widening his knees to accommodate her body.

Slowly, she inched herself up his massive form, leaving a trail of kisses along his flesh.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tight against his chest. His hands gripped her ass, fingers drifting down between their bodies, across her sex.

Like an electric zap, the sensation zinged up through her core—as though she’d suddenly become ten times more sensitive than before. Her mouth fell open, eyes closed, and she drew in a sharp breath.

A gasp escaped her as he pushed a finger inside. As if all her nerve endings had come to life with that touch, each glide against her flesh while he pushed in and out registered in ways she’d never experienced before.

“More. I need more.” The desperation consumed her.

He slid another finger inside.

Calla cried out. “Yes! More!”

“Jesus, Calla, you’re so wet,” he whispered against her throat. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes.”

He removed his fingers and pushed her hips back, and she gently lowered herself on him. “Ah!” she cried out again, half-impaled.

“Slow.” Logan held up her up off of him.

“No.” The frustration of needing him inside of her overrode the pain. Her sex clenched and contracted, as if her erotic appetite had grown wild with need. She smiled, torturing herself by pushing back on his enormous erection.

“Calla, take it slow.” Logan croaked. He clutched tight to her ass, keeping them fused, and curled her beneath him until he was on top.

Her body welcomed him in this position.

“It’s supposed to feel good.”

Only a moan passed her lips. She raised her hips to him, and he thrust all the way to the hilt until he pumped in and out with ease, a piston moving smooth and fluidly.

“Am I hurting you, Calla?”

Hurting? Nothing registered as painful in the new position. Calla knew pain. She knew embarrassment and shame.

Only pleasure and need swam through her veins. Need to have all of him inside of her, consuming her until he could damn near touch her soul. She wanted to be claimed by him. Owned by him forever.

The only pain she felt came from knowing that he couldn’t be hers. That whatever they shared would end after tonight.

His warm pulses of breath feathered her neck. “You feel so good. Gods, I could do this all fucking night.”

In and out, in and out—a perfect steady rhythm of bliss. So gentle and controlled, though from the tension in his muscles, Calla sensed him holding back.

“I want to be inside of you, Calla. All of me. A part of you forever.” He spoke against her ear, his arms around her head like a cage.

She pressed her palm against his chest, forcing him to release her. As he lifted away from her, confusion stared back in his half-lidded eyes.

Silently, she pushed him on to his back and climbed on top again. “Logan, I’ve never done this.” She slid her cleft along his shaft. “I don’t know how to move.”

With gentle hands, he guided himself inside of her and laid back. Slow and careful, she seated herself until she’d taken all of him, her fingers clutching at him harder with each additional inch. He remained still, as if allowing her to get used to him, though judging from the hardness, he’d be looking for release soon. Legs clamped against his thighs, she closed her eyes and rocked her hips. Falling into a blissful rhythm, Calla let out a moan and slid her hands over her body.

Head slightly up off the pillow, hands on her hips, his eyes riveted to her.

The movement felt natural, as if she’d experienced it her whole life. Up and down, back and forth her hips circled. Each time she came down on him hard, he filled her.

She tipped her head back, as Logan grabbed her breasts and rolled her nipples in his fingers. Her nails dug into his chest. Muscles burned.

Faster, faster.

Liquid flames coursed through her thighs. Her breasts bounced, stomach tightened.

Pressure mounted.

“That’s it.” Logan gave her a little slap on the ass.

Through the darkness, she eyed his vein pulsing inside his neck.

Dryness crept her throat.

Mounting, mounting.

* * *

Could’ve been the drugs, but for once, Logan didn’t need the pain. All the worries and apprehension that being with her—
inside
her— would unravel every horrid memory he kept tucked away remained inside their dark compartments of his mind.

Calla was all he could feel, smell and taste. Only Calla.

The female had more power than she even knew. The power to bring a demon to his knees and leave him eternally fucked. Highs, lows—he wanted it all with her.

Logan stared up at the beautiful woman rocking against him. Her touch, the soft satin of her fingertips, fashioned by the angels themselves, no doubt, was a gift straight out of the heavens—a gift he didn’t deserve, and sure as hell needed more than air, water or any other life sustaining element that kept his ass attached to the upside of the world.

Gods, she was beautiful before, but the way her long lashes fluttered over her cheek, the part in her lips that curved into a smile, the pink flush of her skin—Logan wanted to frame that look and keep it safely tucked away.
He’d
done that to her, and his pride swelled at the thought that no other male had before him.

My Calla
.

Her brows came together and her muscles turned rigid. She arched her back into him, breasts pressed against his chest.

His thoughts faded for all but the female before him, her hair falling against his face, a fog of pure pleasure dulling his otherwise dark and twisted need for pain.

Her moans escalated, her pace hastened, muscles taut.

Logan braced his hand on her hip and drew her into him. As she bit down into his neck, heat consumed him and sent him over the edge.

The sound of her screaming his name echoed in his head, like a bullet ricocheting against his skull. A shiver traveled his spine, and for a brief moment, a flash of light so bright discharged like fireworks in his brain.

His seed shot into her, filling her in pulses, the relief unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

“Ah, fuck, Calla!”

Logan threw his head back against the pillow. Dizzy. Like every cell in his body had unfurled, struck by electricity that left him stunned and momentarily paralyzed in her grip. Launched into heaven and left to fall from the sky.

She could have hurled him across the room, as weak as he suddenly felt—sated beyond any measure. Every muscle in his body quivered, like Jell-O—wobbly, unsteady, useless.

All he wanted was to lay beside her, tuck that small body into his, and sleep forever.

She collapsed alongside him on the bed.

He dragged his deadened arm across her body and pulled with as much force as he could muster, allowing himself to be taken under by her scent mixed with the heady fragrance of sex and sweat. His tongue puckered with the urge to lick the infusion from her skin. “Don’t leave,” he whispered against her nape. “Please don’t leave. You could kill me right here, right now. Death by your hands, Calla. Your touch. I wouldn’t fight it. Just, please, don’t leave.”

* * *

His words went straight to her heart as Calla lay silent.

The longer she stayed with him, though, the sooner he’d find out what she’d become. Sang. One of those disgusting white creatures. One he’d eventually have to destroy. She’d crave the taste of blood—already had. A
plague
, he’d called it. Nothing but a sickness.