Wicked Abyss (Immortals After Dark #17) - Kresley Cole Page 0,71

commonalities: they enjoyed reading. And they would both be in sore need of release again soon.

Pleasure would bond them, serving as their foundation.

All those years ago, when he’d been in Sylvan, he would lie in bed and dream that Kari was his. Staring at the ceiling, he’d imagined being able to touch her whenever he had the impulse.

To explore her naked body. Or bury his face in her hair for more of her scent. To kiss her lips and draw a moan from them.

His fantasies about her had changed, just as he had. Calliope too was different from Kari. He knew Kari would never have stroked his horns, receiving him with abandon. But Calliope . . . might.

He could almost be thankful to the hell-change curse for bringing him new ones.

If he was patient and gentle, in time he could train his wife’s body to crave more of his—

She rolled over in sleep, turning to him. He smoothed a lock from her cheek. Her eyes darted behind her lids, her expressions shifting from happiness to a brows-drawn look.

What is she experiencing?

Her active dream life was yet another part of her held separate from him. He could probe her mind, but the idea sat ill with him. She was his wife now; no one should take advantage of her.

Including himself.

THIRTY-THREE

Lila woke from a deep, dream-filled sleep, her body warm and rested.

Where was she? Not the cold stone floor of the tower. Not her bed in her apartment.

She blinked open her eyes, squinting against a bright light. Wait . . . That’s a glyph.

The demon lay on his back, and she was sprawled over him, her arm draped across his chest. Her knee was thrown over his torso, and her calf rested on his hard dick.

Her lips were an inch away from a pierced nipple; he had to feel her breaths. Her pussy pressed against one of his hips, and she might have been rocking her own.

Lazily petting her hair, he rasped, “In sleep, my wife can’t get enough of me.” His dick jerked, lifting her freaking leg.

She scrambled away from him, tripping out of the bed, too late realizing she was naked. She swiped her robe, yanking it on. “What were you doing to me?”

He raised his brows. “Doing to you? I haven’t touched you. I told you I wouldn’t.”

This didn’t even compute. A warrior demon would be expected to take what he wanted, especially from a female who was legally his. Especially when she’d been rubbing against him.

With his dick tenting the sheet, he put his hands behind his head, the corded muscles in his torso and arms flexing.

That body is too much. Demonesses must go crazy for him.

Smirk in place, he said, “I didn’t touch you—even though you used me as a masturbatory scratching post all night and morning.” Could he look any smugger?

“What are you talking about?”

“For hour after hour, you ground against me, moaning, all but coming. The worst torment I have ever known. Each time I attempted to get away, you would sink your nails into me and give this little growl of displeasure. I translated it to mean Please, oh glorious demon, stay.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said . . . though she had experienced graphically sexual dreams about him. Even now she was turned on like crazy.

“Yes, you do.”

Her lips thinned. “Then you just lay there and took it?”

“I forced myself to relive my most grueling battle campaigns. During the Buthidae offensive, I went without water for weeks in a desert teeming with giant scorpions. In the Quotoh invasion, my allies and I seized control of a strategically favorable but noxious swamp. Those campaigns were less torturous than your attentions. When I was at war, I fantasized about my mate. Now that I have you in my bed at last, I must fantasize about war.”

Again, does not compute. “Why did you?”

“The sooner you trust me, the sooner you’ll ask me to claim you.”

“So you were decent for calculating reasons?” Figured. “If I did rub on you, I probably mistook you for a body pillow.”

“Do you often rub yourself against large pillows to orgasm?” He was clearly imagining the visual; his shaft jerked again, drawing her attention. “Female, I would take on an army to see that.”

She made out the impressions of his piercings against the sheet before she focused elsewhere.

“Looking away? Even after last night?”

“Everything I see—or feel—just reinforces my belief that we are not anatomically compatible.” Among other issues. He’d been waiting to