Under His Wings(5)

Tonight he would have to settle for the oblivion of alcohol. Besides, sex eased the lust but not the isolation.

All the distilleries and brothels in the world couldn’t erase his loneliness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sweet scent of hyacinth teased him, urged him to open his eyes.

He accepted its invitation, lifting his lashes and zeroing in on the shadowed, petite figure across the room. A figure that had his blood imitating a witch’s cauldron in his veins. It heated, boiled. Overheated his body until he felt like a mercury thermometer that had reached hot-as-hell Celsius.

Nicolai shifted on the bed, hiking himself higher on the pillows at his back. The throbbing in his shoulder faded under the pounding in his cock.

“Come here,” he said, the lust thickening his dick having the same effect on his voice. He lifted his arm and flipped his hand over, palm up.

He needed her, craved her, this woman of dreams who granted him the solace that eluded him in real life. As she obeyed his summons, he tried to peer through the shadows that shifted over her face like pieces of an ever-changing puzzle. But her features remained hidden from him. A glimpse of the soft curve of her cheek or the arching bridge of her nose or the smooth sweep of her brow…

In contrast, the moon clung to her compact sexy curves, its glow a faithful lover’s caress. The pearly light transformed her short silky nightgown into a sheer film that revealed the dark tips of her nipples, the flat plane of her belly and the dense triangle of curls over her pussy. The sweetest, most beautiful pussy he’d ever had the honor and pleasure to taste, to touch. To fuck.

Her small, delicate palm slid over his and he closed his fingers around hers, drawing her closer. She emitted a low pained moan as her knee depressed the mattress next to his thigh.

“You’re hurt,” Tamar whispered, settling beside him. She traced the reddened, swollen scar that bisected the skin of his shoulder and the stylized geometric pattern of spirals and heavy lines that covered it. The tattoo that branded him a member of the royal line swirled down his arm, across the left side of his chest and over his abdomen to disappear beneath the waistband of his loose cotton pants.

Already the wound appeared several weeks old even though he’d received it hours ago. But he would have eagerly developed a masochistic streak and ripped his flesh open again to have her press another tender kiss to his skin. Her soft, sensual lips skimmed a path across his collarbone and up the column of his neck. She lifted a hand to his face, cupped it and swept the pad of her thumb over his cheekbone.

“I don’t like to see you hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Nicolai murmured, covering her hand with his and easing it from his cheek. He turned it over and nuzzled the palm. Her breath caught and the small gasp shot straight to his dick as if the gust of air had grazed the sensitive cock head. She rose on her bended knee, arching into the simple touch. He flicked his tongue out, tasting her. The shudder that rippled through her body shook the hand in his grip. Lust lashed out with a clawed hand, tearing at his gut, hardening his cock until he almost believed the stretched skin would burst from the hurt-so-damn-good pressure.

His beast roared, scored the inside of his chest with dagger-sharp talons. It demanded freedom to cover and penetrate the woman who trembled in need, whose sultry, floral scent called to man and beast to ride out their hunger between her thighs, in her tight pussy.

With a loud growl he clasped her waist and, with no strain or effort, lifted her high and settled her negligible weight over his legs. The heat from her inner thighs singed him through the thin material of his sleeping pants. The liquid fire from her wet sex burned him to a cinder. A groan ripped free of his throat and his hips bowed, bucking hard. The hard ridge of his cock ground between her pussy lips, the thick cream soaking his pants and dick. Her head fell back on her shoulders, her nails digging into his forearms. He loved the tiny pinpricks of pain, wanted them in his back, his ass. He fucking just wanted.

He fisted the hem of her negligee and bunched the gossamer material around her waist, revealing her thighs, the small triangle of springy hair that covered her sex and the smooth patch of skin directly above. His gaze lifted to her berry-dark nipples and he couldn’t retain the deep rumble that rolled up out of his chest, or keep his cock from taking another slick ride through her drenched slit. The distended tips were stiff points underneath her gown and he delighted in the evidence of her desire as well as her pride in it. She didn’t flinch or blush in embarrassment. She seemed to love his eyes on her.

Good. Because he loved having them on her.

He abandoned her waist to tangle his fingers in the wealth of curls that surrounded her head like a halo. The exact color was indistinct but the softness wrapped around him like skeins of silk. Even as he tilted her head forward and lowered her mouth to his, her features remained in shadow. He caught the trembling sensual bow of her lips and the graceful slant of her cheekbone. But as their tongues dueled, he didn’t care if every detail and line remained obscured. Touching her, inhaling her fragrance, sliding his cock in her hot cream—it was enough.