Paranormal Erotica. Elizabeth Coldwell
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and rubbing the proof of her arousal on his chest.
His ochre eyes, once haughty, stared at her with a mixture of awe and confusion at her unspeakable boldness, an expression she found at once delicious and adorable. Oh, she’d never dreamed she’d enjoy her exam so much, not in a million years.
She rubbed her palms over the broad planes of his shoulders, stroked him, tweaked him, kissed him, ground herself against him until his eyes glazed over in a half-crazed haze of horniness.
Pheromones. She learned about them in class, but seeing them in action kicking Marchosias’s mighty butt was a different matter. Oh, how her frail human body’s pheromones had turned the tables …
She wriggled lower down his length, hips taunting, and leaned forward to push her breasts towards his face and offer him a mouthful. She gripped his face between her hands, trying not to drown in the warm honey of his gaze, which was focused, most surprisingly of all, not on her nipples but on her eyes.
‘What’s your name?’ His words so ragged, so out of sorts at his unwilling arousal, stirred her more than the furnace of his breath on her breast.
Her name. Did she feel inclined to give it? He didn’t care a fig about her name a moment ago when he tossed his careless comment at her about failing candidates …
Still, the same firm lips that had sneered at her were now almost begging her for mercy. Perhaps she could afford to be generous? Or not.
‘What do you care?’ she mocked, just to see his reaction, just because she’d never get another chance to talk to an arch-demon that way.
And, oh, the anger. His eyes hardened to tourmaline and fingers bit into the pillow of her hips, turning cruel. She ate it up. She didn’t want to be given any quarter on this battlefield; she wanted him proud, mean and hard as ever.
His hands forced her further down his body, skin dragging against skin each delicious inch of the way until the head of his cock nudged her folds and he whispered to her. ‘Feel that, my nameless friend? That thing poking you, that’s your downfall.’
She smiled. What a dramatic turn of phrase he had. ‘We’ll see. My name is Vanth.’
Thirty minutes into exam time and he hadn’t made her lose human form yet, though she hadn’t made him come either, and to pass the test she must. For a demon can only steal a human soul at that moment of fused fever between two bodies. But. Only. In. Human. Form.
He sat up, no longer obedient, and all she could do was quiver in anticipation of the rough ride instead of taking control as she should. Where was her ambition now? What of her lofty dream of joining the elite cadre of demons trained to steal souls from the careless lips of men, on God’s very own green earth, right under the noses of angels? What of her hunger for another century of existence for each soul scalped?
Where was her ambition now? Why, in his thick, blunt hands. The hands between the junction of their flesh, gripping his shaft, searching her out, searching for a way in.
She rubbed herself playfully along his length, heard a harsh intake of breath, smiled at the way his whole body tightened and coiled under hers, smiled a little less at the wave of lust that cramped her insides.
His head poised at her entry, she teased him once more, gyrating her hips hula-hoop fashion to frustrate his cock. His hot, swollen head was too big to slide in without a large serving of stillness on her part.
‘Quit that,’ he hissed, then, in a low whisper that was almost a groan, ‘stay still, Vanth, please.’
Please. Oh, how nice, what nice manners from her haughty demi-prince amongst demons, and what lovely desperation those manners hinted at, lovely desperation for her. Pleasure heated her from the inside, radiating to prickle her skin. Very well, she’d be still, but on her terms.
She pushed his hand away from his shaft, wrapped her own hand around it and marvelled anew at the hardness grown from soft flesh, the battering ram encased in silk pulsing hot under her fingers. His big hand closed over hers, guiding her hand up and down his length with strokes rougher than any she would have administered, and his eyes narrowed to mere slits.
Breathing laboured, he watched as she tightened her legs around his waist to raise herself slightly before settling her pussy square on his cock and bearing down a good, purposeful inch. His groan was heartfelt, bone-deep, obscenely masculine in her ears, almost enough to distract her from the inch of cock crammed so tightly in her cunt that a bead of sweat formed on her brow. She was stretched around his cock so snugly that if she merely touched her clit she would shatter into a million pieces.
‘Give me another inch,’ she whispered, enchanted by the fact that her examiner, at this point, was beyond speech, looked half out of his mind with his teeth gritted and jaw clenched, and she was further enchanted when he obeyed with a single inch instead of trying to bury himself to the hilt.
But even two inches of Marchosias and his shallow thrusts was a dangerous thing and with a dry swallow she registered the beating of black wings just beneath her skin, demon spikes longing to spring from her back, claws itching to bud from her fingers and toes, her gums aching with the pressure of teething fangs. No – she closed her eyes – no, she must hold on.
The hips below hers stilled and, when she opened her eyes, she found her haughty arch-demon watching her, concerned. ‘Too much? Are you too close? What do you need?’
To pass, she wanted to say, but she knew that wasn’t true, what she wanted more than anything else was for him to lose himself in her and then for her to chase after him into that forest of oblivion. If he had a soul, she’d want that, too.
Instead she told him to lean back, and then she spread her thighs wider, only gasping a little when he clapped a hand over the outside of each thigh and stroked her, muttering her name like a promise. With intense focus she gripped the base of his cock and jerked him as she took him a little deeper, a little harder, a little faster. So this was melting, having no direction but his flow of incoherent words, the urgent undulation of his hips against hers, no greater need than to feel him thick and hard inside her, filling her beyond full.
A string of admirably earthy curses, a series of uncontrolled thrusts and his deep shuddering release flooded her with heat.
She’d passed her test; she was now legion.
But her focus remained on the flesh joined with hers, still hard as she writhed on him reaching for her own peak.
Lost, she was lost in the desire pooling, desire bubbling, desire crippling, the wild yearning for completion. It came, slinging her over the edge in waves of contracting pleasure, and with it her wings sprang from her back with a snap, like a sail unfurled. A storm of sensation penetrated every cranny of her being until her fingers sprouted claws and her fangs lengthened to graze her lips as she shuddered out her climax.
Marchosias blinked, ran a slow hand up her thigh, eyeing her wings. ‘Well, we may need to work on that before we send you out on your own.’
She smiled, smiled because she knew what her haughty arch-demon was really saying, that he wanted her again, wanted her many times before she went anywhere. In crusty arch-demon speak, he was flirting with her.
Laura May’s Candy Man Giselle Renarde
When she got to the restaurant, there was a huge banner over the door. It read, ‘Happy 40th Birthday, Laura May!’ She very nearly turned tail and ran, but she knew Marjorie meant well. Anyway, there would be friends at this gathering she hadn’t seen in more than twenty years. Marjorie had even managed to track down people Laura May had been to high school with. She wasn’t big on parties, but it behooved her to attend one thrown in her honour.
She walked through the door to a chorus of ‘Happy birthday, Laura May!’ and even a few shouts of ‘Surprise!’, though it wasn’t a surprise party. So many faces, so many people she hadn’t seen