That hadn't stopped her from enjoying herself, however. His taste...decadent. Sinful. Like crisp clean skies mixed with turbulent night storms. And his body, oh, his body. Utter perfection with hard muscles she'd wanted to squeeze. And lick. She wasn't picky.
His hair was so silky she could have run her fingers through it forever. His shaft had been so long and thick she could have rubbed herself to orgasm. His skin was so warm and smooth she could have pressed against him and slept, just as she'd dreamed about doing before she'd met him. Even though sleeping with a man was a dangerous crime her race never committed.
Stupid girl! The warrior wasn't to be trusted, especially since he clearly had nefarious plans for her-though he still refused to tell her exactly what those plans were. Teaching her to act like him had to be a misdirection of the truth. It was just too silly to contemplate. But his plans didn't matter, she supposed, since he would soon be at her mercy. Not that she had any.
Bianka strode to the closet she'd created and flipped through the lingerie hanging there. Blue, red, black. Lace, leather, satin. Several costumes: naughty nurse, corrupt policewoman, devil, angel. Which should she choose today?
He already thought her evil. Perhaps she should wear the see-through white lace. His very own innocent bride. Oh, yes. That was the one. She laughed as she dressed.
"Mirror, please," she said, and a full-length mirror appeared in front of her. The gown fell to her ankles, but there was a slit between her legs. A slit that stopped at the apex of her thighs. Too bad she wasn't wearing any panties.
Spaghetti straps held the material in place on her shoulders and dipped into a deep vee between her breasts. Her nipples, pink and hard, played peek-a-boo with the swooping make-me-a-woman pattern.
She left her hair loose, flowing like black velvet down her back. Her gold eyes sparkled, flecks of gray finally evident, like in Kaia's. Her cheeks were flushed like a rose, her skin devoid of the makeup she usually wore to dull its shimmer.
Bianka traced her fingertips along her collarbone and chuckled again. She'd summoned a shower and washed off every trace of that makeup. If Lysander had found himself attracted to her before-and he had, the size of his hard-on was proof of that-he would be unable to resist her now. She was nothing short of radiant.
A Harpy's skin was like a weapon. A sensual weapon. Its jewellike sheen drew men in, made them slobbering, drooling fools. Touching it became all they could think about, all they lived for.
That got old after a while, though, which was why she'd begun wearing full body makeup. For Lysander, though, she would make an exception. He deserved what he got. After all, he wasn't just making Bianka suffer. He was making her sisters suffer. Maybe.
Was Kaia still looking for her? Still worried or perhaps thinking this was a game as Bianka had first supposed? Had Kaia called their other sisters and were the girls now searching the world over for a sign of her, as they'd done when Gwennie went missing? Probably not, she thought with a sigh. They knew her, knew her strength and her determination. If they suspected she'd been taken, they would have confidence in her ability to free herself. Still.
Lysander was such a turd.
And most likely a virgin. Eager, excited, she rubbed her hands together. Most men kissed the women they bedded. And if she had been his first kiss, well, it stood to reason he'd never bedded anyone. Her eagerness faded a bit. But that begged the question, why hadn't he bedded anyone?
Was he a young immortal? Had he not found anyone he desired? Did Sent Ones not often experience sexual need? She didn't know much about them. Fine, she didn't know anything about them. Did they consider sex wrong? Maybe. That would explain why he hadn't wanted to touch her, too.
Okay, so it made more sense that he simply hadn't experienced sexual need before.
He'd definitely experienced it during their kiss, though. She went back to rubbing her hands together.
"What are you wearing? Or better yet, not wearing?"
Heart skidding to a stop, Bianka whipped around. As if her thoughts had summoned him, Lysander stood in the room's doorway. Mist enveloped him and for a moment she feared he was nothing more than a fantasy.
"Well?" he demanded.
In her fantasies, he would not be angry. He would be overcome with desire. So...he was here, and he was real. And he was peering at her breasts in open-mouthed astonishment.
Astonishment was better than anger. She almost grinned.
"Don't you like it?" she asked, smoothing her palms over her hips. Let the games begin.
"I-I-"
Like it, she finished for him. With the amount of truth that always layered his voice, he probably couldn't utter a single lie.
"Your skin...it's different. I mean, I saw the pearlesque tones before, but now...it's..."
"Amazing." She twirled, her gown dancing at her ankles. "I know."
"You know?" His tongue traced his teeth as the anger she'd first suspected glazed his features. "Cover her," he barked.
A moment later, a white robe draped her from shoulders to feet.
She scowled. "Return my teddy." The robe disappeared, leaving her in the white lace. "Try that again," she told him, "and I'll just walk around naked. You know, like I am in the portraits."
"Portraits?" Brow furrowing, he gazed about the room. When he spotted one of the pictures of her, sans clothing, reclining against a giant silver boulder, he hissed in a breath.
Exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for. "I hope you don't mind, but I turned this quaint little cloud into a love nest so I'd feel more at home. And again, if you remove anything, my redesign will be a thousand times worse."
"What are you trying to do to me?" he growled, facing her. His eyes were narrowed, his lips thinned, his teeth bared.
She fluttered her lashes at him, all innocence. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Bianka."
It was a warning, she knew, but she didn't heed it. "I think it's my turn to ask the questions. So where do you go when you leave me?"
"That is not your concern."
Was he panting a little? "Let's see if I can make it my concern, shall we?" She sauntered to the bed and eased onto the edge. Naughty, shameless girl that she was, she spread her legs, giving him the peek of a lifetime. "For every question you answer, I'll put something on," she said in a singsong voice. "Deal?"
He spun, but not before she saw the shock and desire that played over his harshly gorgeous face. "I do my duty. Hunt and kill demons. Guard humans. Now cover yourself."
"I didn't say what item of clothing I'd don, now did I?" She gave herself a once-over. "One shoe, please. White leather, high heel, open toe. Ties up the calf." The shoe materialized on her foot, and she laughed. "Perfect."
"A trickster," Lysander muttered. "I should have known."
"How did I trick you? Did you ask for specifics? No, because you were secretly hoping I wouldn't cover myself at all."
"That is not true," he said, but for once, she did not hear that layer of honesty in his voice. Interesting. When he lied, or perhaps when he was unsure about what he was saying, his tone was as normal as hers.
That meant she would always know when he lied. Did things get any better than that?
This was going to be even easier than she'd anticipated. "Next question. Do you think about me while you're gone?"
Silence. Thick, heavy.
Wait. She could hear him breathing. In, out, harsh, shallow. He was panting.
"I'll take that as a yes," she said, grinning. "But since you really didn't answer, I don't have to add the other shoe."
Again, he didn't reply. Thankfully, he didn't leave, either.
"Onward and upward. Are Sent Ones allowed to dally?"
"Yes, but they rarely want to," he rasped.
So she'd been right. He didn't have firsthand knowledge of desire. What he was now feeling had to be confusing him, then. Was that why he'd brought her here? Because he'd seen her and wanted her, but hadn't known how to handle what he was feeling? The thought was almost...flattering. In a stalkerish kind of way, of course. That didn't change her plans, however. She would seduce him-and then she would slice his heart in two. A symbolic gesture, really. An inside joke between them. Well, for herself. He might not get it.
Still, she couldn't deny that she liked the idea of being his first. None of the women after her would compare, of course, and that- Hey, wait. Once he tasted the bliss of the flesh, he would want more. Bianka would have escaped him and stabbed him-and he would have recovered because he was an immortal-by then. He could go to any other female he desired.
He would kiss and touch that female.
"I'm waiting," he snapped.
"For?" she snapped back. Her hands were clenched, her nails cutting her palms. He could be with anyone; it wouldn't bother her. They were enemies. Someone else could deal with his Neanderthal tendencies. But oh, she might just kill the next woman who warmed his bed out of spite. Not jealousy.