The Demon King (39 page)

“
You’re wet, angel,” he
told her.

She gave a helpless whimper, and he felt her
power brush against his, pushing back. He was raising her ire,
bringing out the fight in her. He liked that.

“
You aren’t going to forget
our deal, are you?” he asked casually as his fingers curled beneath
the band of her panties where they rested in the curve between her
long leg and his ultimate goal. He lowered his body closer, his
lips inches from hers when his fingertips found the welcome
softness of silky curls that had been dampened with building
pleasure.

Oh gods….

His own breath hitched. His cock raged
painfully. He so badly wanted to show restraint. He needed to
maintain control. But that sweet, slick touch ramrodded through him
like an activation switch. All at once, his vision shifted into
reds and blacks. His pupils dilated. Dahlia Kellen encompassed all
he had ever desired or ever could desire. In that moment, she
became his only goal, his ultimate prey.

Predator viciously awakened, body hard with
merciless need, Lazaroth proceeded to invade his queen. He grasped
the flimsy material of her underwear and gave a single quick yank.
The garment came away easily, and he was free of any further
barriers.

His hand was once more on her leg, trailing
over the same path he’d made before, and Dahlia’s movements became
restless beneath him. His fingers moved indelibly further, slipping
ruthlessly past the joining curve of her leg, through her silken
black curls, and finally to the slick, warm opening he had made so
vulnerable.

Suddenly, Dahlia’s quick breaths stopped,
and she moaned helplessly. Blood welled on her lip where it was
caught between her teeth as he pressed his fingers inside her,
slowly slipping into the tight wetness at her core.

Chapter Fifty-One

He held her there, having breached some
small part of her, and fought with the monster raging inside him.
But she was being overtaken by her nature and the heat of his
touch. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, and her long,
lean legs squirmed, unable to remain still. She wanted more and she
wanted less.

She would not get less. And the more was
going to come excruciatingly slowly – for them both. It was killing
him to not simply ravage her right there on his car. But it was
killing him in the most delicious way.

“
Again, do not move,” he
commanded softly but firmly, his tone unforgiving. He slowly rose
above her, his fingers still embedded within her, and sat back
between her legs. With his free hand, he reached over her and
grasped the shoulder strap of her velvet red dress, curling his
fingers menacingly around it.

She knew what was coming. He could see the
knowledge reflected there in her stunning gemstone eyes. They
shined with a lust she did not want to admit, and he couldn’t blame
her. He was the monster above her, all threats and dark promises.
But he could barely care. He would do anything it took to claim
her. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but Dahlia
and the sweet salvation she offered.

With that thought, he ripped the dress from
her body in one clean pull and pressed his fingers deeper inside
her. She cried out as the dress tore beautifully, shredding into
red ribbons of material around her, like a sacrificial blanket so
stark and scarlet against her milky skin. Her breathing became
frantic, and he saw her fingers press into the hood of the car,
searching for purchase as if she would fall into some deep,
bottomless abyss.

He smiled his cold smile
and thought,
Oh, but you
are
.

“
Please
,” she barely managed. A single word through the ragged
breaths, a beseeching plea. But for what? He laughed. For
mercy?

From him?

“
What is it, angel? Afraid
you’ll be seen? Out here in the night, exposed and
helpless?”

She said nothing as he
slowly pulled his fingers out of her – and pressed them back in.
But he could read the reflections in her eyes. Even as she began to
move her hips to meet his hand, even as she was helpless to want
the pleasure he offered, she
was
afraid of that. She was afraid of being
seen.

Not that it would happen. He finally broke
eye contact with her and allowed his gaze to travel over her body,
taking in every smooth curve, every deep valley, and every
deliciously perfect inch of her form. Her breasts were round and
firm, her waist narrow, her hips tantalizingly curved. Her skin was
taut and beaded with tiny droplets of perspiration. Those droplets
dampened the ends of long strands of black hair that clung to her
neck and the tops of her breasts, and tipped the ends of her long,
thick, dark lashes.

She was the very image of sexual desire. She
was perfection.

He would die a thousand
deaths before he allowed another man to see what he was seeing. She
was his alone.
This
was his alone. No one was going to come out of that club. He
had so much control over the humans in the building, it was like
playing doll house with a child. They danced and drank and talked
inside as he touched his queen intimately in the parking lot and
listened to the sweet sounds of her helplessness.

But she didn’t need to know she was safe
from their gazes. There was something about her fear that fed his
desire like gasoline on a building blaze.

He brushed the fingers of
his free hand along her hip bone. She moved a little, shocked at
the heat of his touch, but then no doubt recalled his words.
Don’t move.
And he meant
them.

As if to defy him in the smallest way,
Dahlia turned her head, now free of his capturing gaze. He watched
her close her eyes, shutting them tight.

A spike of meanness went through him, and he
lowered his head to her beautiful breast. Her nipple had hardened
long ago in the night air. It waited, erect and tight, for his
torture. He wasn’t going to disappoint it. The heat of his mouth
closed over her nub and latched on, sucking hard before he pulled
her nipple between his teeth and bit down.

Dahlia bucked beneath him and cried out, her
hands flying to his shoulders.

He immediately released her breast and
looked up, meeting her gaze. “You moved,” he scolded gently. But
then he lowered his head again and flicked her nipple with his
tongue. She gasped and squirmed, and he responded by brushing his
thumb against her clitoris as he continued to fuck her with his
fingers.

She raised her legs, bending them around
him, disobeying him all to hell. And he smiled. His fangs, long,
sharp and gleaming, no doubt shone eerily in the parking lot
lights.

He felt Dahlia’s fingers squeeze the tops of
his shoulders when he pulled the taut little button of her nipple
between his teeth once more and bit down a second time. He could
taste the redness in it now; it was swelling under his attentions,
and Dahlia rose to meet his mouth, her body controlled by pure
instinct.

But there was a new ache awakening within
Laz. He was in pain with need, so hard he felt a punishing throb
with every beat of his heart. But that wasn’t all… there was
something more.

He let go of her breast, slowly releasing it
with a last kiss that had Dahlia tossing her head to the other side
in frustrated need.

He had a need too.

He rose above her again, and spoke a simple
command. His words rang out in an ancient language, one that moved
through him now as surely as did his blood. His clothing faded
away, falling to scraps that turned to wisps of smoke that were
then caught on an unseen breeze. They mixed and mingled with the
red scraps of smoke that had once been Dahlia’s dress and rose into
the night oblivion above them.

Then he took Dahlia’s wrists in his hands
and held them to the hood of his car. “Dahlia, look at me.”

She hesitated, defying him by shutting her
eyes tightly. So he let go of her wrists and took her face in his
hands, turning her head. He gave the command again, this time with
more magic lacing his words. “I said look at me.”

Now her lids flew open.

When she looked into his eyes, she grew
still. Her pupils expanded and her eyes widened. He could only
imagine what she must have been seeing. What he must have looked
like as he peered down at her through a reddened haze of lust and
craven need. He knew she saw his teeth. And he knew that she was
well aware he was going to use them.

On her.

“
Tell me again what you
will give me, Dahlia,” he commanded. It was a soft command, spoken
in a whisper. But it was deep and it was dark and he would have his
answer.

She licked her swollen, bitten lips and
winced. And then she took a quick shallow breath and, pressing her
hands to his shoulders, she said, “Anything.”

He held that gaze as he
lined up his aching cock with her entrance. “I want
you
, Dahlia. Will you
give
that
to
me?”

Dahlia gasped when she felt the heat of him
against her. His kind burned hot – so very hot. His blood, like
lava, heated his entire body and engorged his cock with fire. He
rested like a brand against her, threatening, promising.

“
Oh gods…” she whispered,
closing her eyes out of pure instinct.

“
No,” he said firmly. Her
eyes flew open again. “You
will
look at me, Dahlia.”

She breathed raggedly in response, but did
not look away.

“
Now answer me.” He pressed
forward into her, ever so slightly, breaching the boundaries of her
slick, tight defenses with his incredible heat.

Dahlia made a surprised sound beneath him,
her eyes widening further. He knew it hurt. And he knew it was
pleasure incarnate. It was that place where rapture and agony met,
that red hot border between love and hate. He was going to take her
there – and she was going to ask him to.

“
Will you surrender
yourself, Dahlia? Will you give yourself to me?”

Dahlia stilled again. And then, against all
odds, she moved her hands from where she had been squeezing his
shoulders in desperation, and instead gently cupped his face.
Unlike his, her touch was cool and tender, and it awakened
something different inside Lazaroth.

She looked deeply into the
hell of his gaze for a long moment as he pulsed just inside her and
he ached in magnificent misery. And then she said,
“
Yes
,
Steven.
I give myself to
you
.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

Lazaroth heard her words and embraced them
with his entire being. It took a split second for them to register,
for their musical beauty to infiltrate his system and his soul –
before he slammed his hands down onto the hood of the car and
shoved into his queen with everything he had.

The overhead lights in the parking lot
flickered and zapped, going on and off as Dahlia threw back her
head and screamed into the night. He pressed in to the hilt,
sliding past every precious inch of resistance like a dark, dark
prayer until he filled her completely. A madness was climbing up
inside him. He felt it rise, a sense of urgency, of untold
desperation.

Another low growl rose from the depths of
his throat, vibrating the car and the ground around them. He bared
his dangerous teeth as he pulled himself slowly out of her
gripping, heavenly sheath and then pressed hungrily into her again,
every hot inch of his manhood burying itself readily in her
tightness. Dahlia cried out in synchronicity with his plunder, her
fingernails at last finding purchase in the muscles of his
shoulders.

They drew tiny half moons of blood that
welled up and steamed in the cool night air, further testament to
his demonic heritage. Dully, he wondered if they would scar.

But they were no more than foreplay to
Lazaroth. The demon growled again, his movements becoming more
feverish, his need more demanding. He pulled out of Dahlia, nearly
all the way, and thrust madly into her to the point of pain.
Dahlia’s head tossed to the side, her hair flying, and Lazaroth’s
red world suddenly and briefly saw bits of color.

Steven….

He wasn’t even sure he’d heard it right,
this passing realization and tiny, almost insignificant word. His
mind was too far gone, his body in complete control. He shoved his
hand through Dahlia’s hair, fisting it tightly in his fingers, then
pulled. Her head fell back, exposing the long column of her white
throat. She gasped loudly, but her cry was cut short when he
violently thrust into her again.

Magic began to leak off of Lazaroth. He felt
it like steam, like sweat, purple and mystic as it coiled around
the lovers in the darkness, two writhing bodies on a black car on a
black night. The lights again flickered in response. In the far
corner of the lot, one of them exploded.

Steven….

Again, the color of something vital sliced
through Lazaroth’s madness. But it was gone as fast as it had come,
and the monster was again in control. It knew what it needed. It
would have it.

“
You’re mine,
Dark Angel
,” he told
Dahlia plainly. His voice was hoarse and harsh with lust and need,
but it was a spell and a curse and it wrote Dahlia’s fate out like
blood on a contract. Lazaroth lowered his lips to her vulnerable
throat and kissed her, just once, with outright
tenderness.

Then he bared his long, sharp fangs and
drove them deep into her neck.

This time, she couldn’t scream. Not a sound
came out of Dahlia’s mouth as her eyes flew open and her body
arched against his. The magic surrounding them swelled and
expanded, darkening in color as Dahlia’s power began to join it.
The light at the end of the lot zapped back to life, and then every
one of them turned bright purple.