The Darkest Kiss
CHAPTER TEN

ANYA COULDN'T BELIEVE LUCIEN had just tried to kill her. Truly kill her, and not in jest. Yeah, she'd known he'd been commanded to do it. Yeah, he'd claimed he meant to see it through. And yeah, he'd even tried before.
But his previous attempts had been halfhearted. This hadn't. He'd meant to slay her. Permanently, no take-backs. If she hadn't flashed from the couch when she had, he would have cleaved her head from her body. And now he was hot on her trail, still determined to take her out.
Hurt and anger flooded her as she flashed from one location to another, each blurring together as she tried to lose him. Today she'd shopped with him and laughed with him. She'd told him about the key. For once he'd seemed to like - and enjoy! - her presence. More than that, he'd promised to take her to the Arctic with him.
And then he'd tried to kill her.
The heat of her anger intensified, and the sharpness of her hurt cut deep. How dare he! She'd been nothing but kind to him.
Well, she thought, eyes narrowing, that was going to change. She was now going to kill him. No more desiring him. No more kissing him and imagining him inside her. Seething, she flashed to her apartment in Switzerland and quickly changed into a tee and black stretch pants that wouldn't easily stain with Lucien's blood, reminding her for years to come of what she'd had to do to him. Flashed to two other places, gathering weapons.
Once she was armored in knives, throwing stars and a Taser, she flashed back to his home in the Cyclades. She wasn't just going to kill him, she was going to have fun electrocuting him before slicing him up like a Christmas ham.
He was gone. Still looking for her, she knew.
He would appear soon enough.
She stood in place, feet apart, hands at her sides. Waiting...eager...
He arrived a split second later. His gorgeously scarred features were devoid of emotion. Seeing him, she remembered something she wanted to do to him and grinned evilly. Payback was going to be a bitch.
"Anya."
Rather than attack him, she flashed to his room in Budapest. She gathered the chains he'd used on her, flashed to that glacier in Antarctica and wrapped them around her waist like a belt.
"Bastard," she said as cold wind cut into her skin. Lucien hadn't known that she was the one immortal no chains could hold, no prison could contain. Thanks to her father, who had gifted her with the All-Key, she could escape any place at any time. She could escape anything - except her curse.
I will not give it up.
To give the key away was to chart the course of your own downfall, as she well knew. Her father had known he would weaken when he gave it to her, but he had done it. To make up for his absence most of her life, to prove he really did love her.
To her horror, he'd quickly begun to crumble. Now, all these years later, he was a shell of his former self. He did not remember who he was, what he'd done throughout his lengthy life, or that he had a wife. He could barely take care of himself. And because Anya had left Themis rotting in prison, Anya's mother had to see to his needs.
Both were happy, though, Anya liked to think. Dysnomia, because she had a man who needed her and didn't revile her. Tartarus, because the prison and his bitch of a wife no longer bound him.
That didn't mean Anya would reduce her father's sacrifice to a bargaining tool in her war with Cronus, losing everything she had gained. If she gave the key away, she would be vulnerable again. Her powers, gone. Her memories, wiped out. Her ability to escape any chain, destroyed.
Damn Cronus, anyway. She wished like hell he'd never learned of the key, but figured he had seen Tartarus, who had been blessed with the key as a child, give it to her. They'd been locked in the same prison, after all, so it made sense. And if she hadn't used it to free her parents after Cronus locked them up, the god would have most likely forgotten about it. But she had, and here they were.
"Chaser and chasee," she muttered.
Mostly Cronus wanted the key out of her possession to prevent her from using it against him again. She'd tried to tell him that she didn't care about the other gods and wouldn't return to the prison. Like the distrustful deity he was, he hadn't believed her. And to be honest, he was smart not to. If he locked her parents up again, she'd simply return and bust them out.
A scowling Lucien appeared in front of her. "Anya?" She didn't miss a beat.
"Ready to have some fun?" She didn't give him time to answer. Weighed down with the chains, she flashed to a busy street in New York - fingers crossed he would be run over - then to a gay strip club in Italy - fingers crossed he would be groped - then to a zoo in Oklahoma - fingers crossed the elephant shit was ripe.
"Enjoy," she muttered with relish.
Anya flashed one final time, back to where she'd begun: his home in Greece. Lucien was still following her trail. Lightning-quick, she hid the chains under the bed and palmed her Taser.
When she straightened he was there, just in front of her. Her breath caught. He was still scowling, teeth bared and sharp, Death glowing in his eyes. He had a bleeding cut on his leg and he smelled like shit.
Her nose wrinkled. "Step in something?" she asked innocently.
"That, I did not mind." He took a menacing step toward her. "What I did mind was being hit by a cab, then landing on the lap of a naked man. With an erection, Anya. He had an erection."
She grinned. She just couldn't help herself.
"Now," he continued in that outraged tone, "you are going to tell me why you flashed to my room in Buda."
"No. I'm not." Grin widening, she lifted her arm and Tasered him.
His entire body shook, his expression frozen in outrage and anguish. Only when the last volt escaped did she drop the weapon. Hissing, he jerked the plugs from his nipples. Her aim had been dead on.
"Anya!" he growled.
Careful not to allow her expression to betray her, she whipped out two silver-tipped throwing stars and launched them at him. The whoosh was the only warning he had before the stars embedded in his heart.
He howled. "Again in the heart? Where is your originality?" He winced as he yanked them out, and his jaw set stubbornly as he tossed it to the ground. "This doesn't have to be messy, Anya."
"Hell, yes, it does." She threw another star.
He ducked, and the tiny blade sailed over his shoulder. Then he took another step toward her. Brave man. "Why can't you give Cronus the key?"
"Why couldn't you pick me rather than Cronus?" she ground out. "Why couldn't you pick me rather than your friends?"
Oh, gods. Had she truly said that? Whined like that? Heat spread over her entire face. Of course he'd picked his friends. She might wish otherwise - even the night Ashlyn sacrificed herself for Maddox, Anya had dreamed of Lucien being willing to do the same for her - but that was the way of the world. Lovers, whether they'd done the deed or not, came and went. Friends were forever.
Lucien paused. "For all I know, Anya, you will forget me tomorrow. Why should I risk all that I hold dear for a few days with you?"
Because I'm worthy, damn it! Foolishly, selfishly, she would have liked to hear that he'd go through anything for her, no matter how little or long they'd be together. Punishment. Hell. Torture. A combination of all three. "I could have helped you find those artifacts. I could have helped you fight Hydra. I could have helped you find that godsdamn box."
His shoulders sagged slightly. "I know."
Her hurt increased. He'd rather kill her than to 1) risk getting to know her more and perhaps watch her walk away one day and 2) obtain her aid for an item he desperately craved.
Growling low in her throat, she launched yet another star. He wasn't fast enough this time and it sliced into his already injured thigh.
"Damn it, Anya." He jerked it out and tossed it aside, even though he could have tossed it at her. "Calm down."
"Calm down? Are you serious?"
"Yes."
Shithead. "You wanna kill me, you're going to have to work for it."
"Very well." Eyes narrowing, he allowed his long legs to eat up the rest of the distance between them.
She flashed to the living room, but he was right behind her. She whipped around and jumped backward, placing a coffee table between them. He simply picked it up and tossed it aside. The glass shattered on impact, raining shards all over the room. The wooden legs splintered.
Why, why, why did the force of his determination and strength arouse her? Now of all times? She wouldn't let that arousal affect her, though. From the beginning, he'd done nothing but insult her, smash her hopes and ignore her feelings. He deserved whatever pain she dished out.
"If we are going to fight, it might as well be honorable," he said, and then he disappeared.
She wasn't given time to wonder where he'd gone.
He reappeared a moment later holding two swords. He threw one in her direction, and she caught it by the hilt. Heavy, but that wouldn't be a problem. She was much stronger than she looked.
"There's no fun in honor," she told him, waving the thick metal back and forth.
"Try it. You might be surprised."
"Seriously, though. You want to swordfight a girl?" She tried to put enough censure in her voice to shame him, even though she hummed with excitement. Could he beat her?
"You are hardly a typical girl, so yes. I want to fight you."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Flowers."
"It was meant as one."
Lucien was on her in the next heartbeat. She raised her sword to parry and metal clinked against metal, the force of which caused her to stumble. He continued to surge forward, continued to push her backward, his thrusts quick and unceasing, but she managed to twist to the side, swing and slice into his shirt. Oopsie, flesh too.
Blood seeped through the cotton, soaking it to his stomach. The flow swiftly stanched, and the wound, she suspected, closed. Damn immortal warriors and their supernatural healing! Because they were designed for battle, they healed much quicker than even the gods.
"Luck," he said.
"Talent." Clink. She kicked a lily-filled vase at him, and it shattered against his chest. Droplets of crimson appeared, blending with the sweat that trickled from his temples.
"We shall see."
"Should we worry about visitors?" she asked, dodging as he lunged at her.
"This place was chosen for its isolation. More than that, we paid dearly to be ignored, no matter what was heard." He jumped backward, hunching to remove his stomach from her line of fire.
"Well, aren't you a Smartie McSmartpants." She went low, aiming for his ankles. Hobbling him would be amusing.
Unfortunately, he hopped out of the way. They began a dance of thrust, parry and retreat, moving throughout the entire home. Clank. Something fell to the ground and splintered. Clank. Another item followed suit.
Within fifteen minutes, the couch and love seat were destroyed, as was every knickknack and even the television. Curtains were ripped down, and holes were punched into the walls. Much longer, and the authorities would arrive. Anya was panting, growing tired, but she managed to cut Lucien on his upper arm, calf and again his stomach.
He'd managed to cut her not at all.
Oops. Take that back. The tip of his sword slashed across her left shoulder, causing the shirt to gape and reveal the lace of her favorite demi-bra. The skin above it stung.
"You cut me," she said, gaping at him.
"I am sorry." And he did sound apologetic.
She growled, a predator locking on the evening's meal. "Not yet, but you will be!" She withdrew a dagger and stabbed at his thigh.
Contact.
"Ouch!"
End this. There was only one sure way to do that. She spun on her heel as she chopped at him, forcing him to turn and backing him toward the bedroom. He was strong - stronger than her, she admitted, for she knew he had been pulling back every time his blade almost nicked her. Why he did that, she didn't know, since he'd finally gotten serious about killing her.
"I don't know why I hung around you so long," she said amid thrusts and parries. "I don't know why I helped you."
"That makes two of us." His straight, white teeth bared in another scowl.
"You know what? I'm sick of your poor-me routine. It's old, sweetcakes."
"There is no routine," he gritted out.
"Like hell." Spinning, she swung at him with her fist. Contact. "You have scars. So the hell what. That doesn't mean all women think you're ugly."
When she swung at him again, he batted her wrist away. "You cannot think me handsome, and so you cannot want me. Not really. You have even admitted it."
"People lie all the time, asshole. I believe I've mentioned that I personally do so on a regular basis."
He stilled, panting. His eyes widened with astonishment. And hope? "You lied about why you have stayed with me?"
"Wouldn't matter if I did. I hate your guts now." She dropped her sword and shoved him. "You were going to kill me."
He stumbled backward, finally past the threshold of the bedroom. He dropped his sword, too, and it clanked against the floor. "From the beginning, I meant to kill you. My intentions were never a secret."
"Yeah, but you weren't serious about it." When he made no move toward her, she pushed him again. Again, he stumbled. "Would you really have taken my soul?"
His knees hit the edge of the bed. "Yes. No. I don't know. You torment me like no other and I am constantly second-guessing my decisions about you."
She pushed again and his legs buckled. As his ass slapped against the mattress, she dove for his stomach, slamming her shoulder into him and knocking the breath from his lungs.
"Anya," he managed to gasp out.
"Nope. You don't get to talk anymore."
"You do not hate me," he said darkly. He had a hold of her wrists a second later and was jerking her on top of him, his mouth slamming into hers. His hot tongue thrust inside her mouth as surely as his sword had thrust at her body, only now his aim was deadlier.
Sweet lightning, she mused, a little dizzy. The man knew how to kiss, letting his tongue continue to invade her mouth with all kinds of electric heat. Her nipples hardened, and that damn moisture pooled between her legs. Every cell she possessed sparked to wild life.
You're not supposed to desire him anymore.
Well, he wasn't supposed to kiss me.
Grab the chains. Now!
As their tongues dueled, Anya forced herself into action. But she grabbed on to Lucien rather than the chains, gripping his head so tightly her nails scoured his scalp. Such an embrace would have killed a human, but Lucien seemed to revel in it, his erection pulsing under her.
Just a few minutes of play, then I'll lock him down.
He just...he tasted so damn good. Better than she remembered. Man and dark fever, power and roses. His touch was exhilarating, his hands kneading her ass as he ground his swollen shaft between her legs. Much more, and she would come. Then ask for even more. Beg.
Gods, she hated her curse.
And she hated herself for even thinking about fulfilling it. No way you want to be bound to this man, unable to love another, unable to kiss and touch or even dream about another. So why did the possibility excite her? Why did she want to smile at the thought of spending eternity with Lucien? Her heart belonging to him, even if he tired of her?
Don't think about that now. She straddled Lucien's waist, pressing his cock closer...closer...hitting exactly where she needed. She gasped in ecstasy, her entire body rejoicing.
"Take off your clothes," he commanded. "I want to feel your skin."
Yes, yes. "No." Common sense spoke for her. Her desire for him wasn't going to change the night's ending: Lucien chained to the bed and at her mercy, to be punished for trying to take her head.
That doesn't mean you can't enjoy him for a little while longer and take off something. Her hands fisted on Lucien's chest. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who second-guessed himself.
"I want you, all right?" he said. "I can deny it no longer. Know that I am not going to try to kill you during the act. You have my word."
But there was shame and guilt in his voice.
"Fuck me now, kill me later, hmm," she said, not offended when she probably should have been. "Well, you can take off your clothes." Oh, to feast on his glorious body. "Mine have to stay on."
He stilled, stared up at her, passion receding from his face and leaving that blank mask she hated.
She almost sobbed. She wasn't ready for the make-out session to end.
"Why will you not strip for me?"
"Why are we talking? I thought I told you that you weren't allowed to do so anymore," she hedged, pressing closer and sliding her tongue back into his mouth. She didn't want to tell him the truth, but she didn't want to lie to him, either. Not about this. She would much rather enjoy him.
He returned her passion for a few minutes more, hands tracing over the curve of her spine. There was desperation in his kiss. A desperation that was reflected in her own, she was sure. She never wanted it to end, could have stayed in his arms forever. But he finally cupped her jaw and forced her to look at him.
Tension lined his mouth. "You led me to believe my scars did not bother you," he said softly.
"They don't," she replied just as softly.
"Anya. Of all the times to tell me the truth, this is it. Please."
"They don't!"
His eyes tapered, nearly shut, feathered lashes pointing at her like spikes. Suddenly there was an evil glint in both the blue and brown iris, as if the demon of Death had taken over. Lucien gripped her hips and moved her off him.
Confused, she perched at the edge of the bed.
"You want me, but you will not take off your clothing for me," he said. Actually, he growled. "I do not think you really want me, after all."
"I do."
Staring at her, he unsnapped his jeans.
She pulled her gaze from his face, watching the movement of his fingers. Breath caught in her lungs. What was he doing? Stripping for her, as she'd requested? But why would he -
Unziiip.
Her jaw fell open as his erection sprang free. Huge, swollen, long, with a rounded tip already beaded with moisture. Her tongue nearly rolled out of her mouth. Was she drooling?
"You want me," he repeated flatly. "Well, now you're going to have to prove it."
"Wh-what?" So damn big.
"Prove it. Suck my cock."
At his uncharacteristically crude language, her gaze jerked back up to his face. Anger was banked there, as was self-deprecation. His cheeks were flushed with shame. Did he expect her to scoff and walk away? Did he think to teach her a lesson about playing with him?
"What's the problem? Do you not want me?" he mocked. "Can you not bring yourself to do more than kiss me?"
Oh, yes. He expected her to walk. She'd never performed this act before, considering it too humbling and too intimate in light of her curse. With Lucien, however, she was aroused by the thought. His pleasure would be a thing of beauty, she had no doubt.
"Was this to be my punishment for trying to kill you or was this just another attempt to soften me?" he demanded before she could respond. "Either way, we both know you never meant to take it any further. Your cruelty astounds me."
Cruel? When she ached for him? When part of her wanted to finally forget her curse and spend an eternity in his arms? "I can keep myself alive, thank you very much. I don't need your help, and I've never needed to soften you. Didn't I admit that already? And FYI, you don't have any room to talk about cruel intentions."
"You are stalling," he said. "Do it. Suck me."
He thought he was being harsh, forcing her hand to make her leave. He should have known better. She never would have guessed it, but she truly wanted to do this. Had craved it, perhaps, from the very first.
Slowly, she crawled up his body until her mouth was level with his shaft. His breath caught, the room again going silent. "Anya, you - "
"I'm not doing this to prove anything," she told him raspily. "I'm doing this because I can't seem to stop myself. I must. Your taste...I have to know...can't be as good as I imagine." And with that, she took him into her mouth, fully, completely, sliding all the way down and feeling him hit the back of her throat. Odd, the sensation, but she liked it.
He groaned in pleasured agony, and the sound poured over her skin like a caress. His hands tangled in her hair. "Anya. Don't. I shouldn't have...Anya."
Up, down, up, she moved, the way she had seen in the naughty movies she sometimes watched.
"You don't...you don't...Ah, gods. Anya. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
From commanding to begging. She reveled in her power, in the need emanating from him. Need that was filling her up, ratcheting her own pleasure up another notch. Mine.
Up and down she continued to move. Her tongue swirled all the while, stroking everything it touched. She cupped the heavy weight of his testicles. He arched into her movements, going deeper, his every muscle clenched tight. She could feel the passion-hum in his blood. Wanted more. Had to have more.
"Changed my mind. Anya, stop. Stop!"
Merciless, she continued her upward glide, flicking her tongue over the swollen head. Sucking. Scraping with her teeth. She treated his cock exactly as she treated her favorite lollipops. Only she liked the taste of him more. Such desire...oh, his desire.
He was hard for her, and only her.
"I'm going to - Anya!" He roared her name as the climax ripped through him, shooting hot seed into her mouth.
She swallowed every drop and even licked the last little bit away, instinctively knowing that would please him. As she sat up, he continued to spasm in pleasure, even though he was spent. His eyes were closed, his mouth open in wonderment. I did this, she thought with pride. Never had she felt more powerful and never had she seen a more erotic sight.
Her own need reaching a new level, she straddled him. She was so wet her panties were soaked.
His eyelids slowly opened and he peered up at her, his expression sated. "Anya. You did not have to do that."
"I wanted to," she said. "And I want you. Don't ever doubt that again."
Tenderness glowed on his face. "What are you keeping from me, then? Why can I not strip you?"
That tenderness...Vulnerability claimed her, for no one other than her mother and her father had ever looked at her like that. As if she were precious. As if she were a treasure. Anya's heart lurched in her chest.
Lucien reached up and caressed her cheek. A shiver traveled through her.
"Why, Anya? I've tried to resist you since the moment I first smelled your strawberry scent," he said. "As you can feel, that has not worked out for me."
Even now, his shaft was growing, thickening with renewed desire. Her eyes widened, and she tried so very hard not to soften even more toward him. If what he said was true, he'd wanted her from the very beginning and had been fighting it. Every unkind word and action had been a means of keeping her at a distance.
He'd hinted at such a thing before. Now, with him underneath her...
She was suddenly conflicted and didn't know what to do with him. Shit. This really complicated things because the basis for her - forced, damn it - dislike and anger had been obliterated.
Still, he wouldn't stop trying to kill her. He couldn't. Unless he chose her over "all the things he held dear." How selfish of her to have asked that of him, when she had nothing to give in return.
"Anya."
"What?" She blinked, returning her focus to Lucien.
His lips twitched. "Concentrate."
"Oh, sorry. Did you say something?"
He arched his hips up, rubbing his erection against her clitoris. "I asked why you want to keep your clothes on. Are you scarred?"
Shiver bumps dotted her skin. "No." Not physically, at least.
"It will not bother me if you are. I swear. I will kiss them better," he said huskily.
Her stomach quivered. What a delicious man. She braced her palms flat on his chest, felt the wild drum of his heartbeat through his tattered shirt. She was going to tell him, she decided. After everything they'd been through, he deserved to know.
"I'm cursed," she finally admitted. If he reacted poorly, she might be able to loathe him in truth. Her obsession might wane.
His brow furrowed. "You, too, are possessed by a demon?"
"No. Mine's just a run-of-the-mill curse."
"Ah, yes. Reyes mentioned a curse, but could not figure out what it was."
"That's because only a select few know and they are currently in hiding to avoid being locked up by Cronus. Well, and the one who did it knows, but that frigid bitch is behind bars."
"Who cursed you and why?" There was anger in his tone, as if he meant to kill whoever it was. "Reyes said it might have been Themis."
Her stomach did that quiver thing again. "It was. My mother and Tartarus, Themis's husband, got it on and nine months later - hello, baby Anya. Themis didn't know until she saw me, for I am the female version of my dad, you could say."
"I remember Tartarus," Lucien said. "I used to bring him prisoners. He was an honorable man, even handsome, but I did not want to strip him."
"Lucien just made a funny." She grinned. She couldn't help herself. "When Themis realized what had happened, she kind of freaked out. I didn't understand the full consequences of her curse until days later when the numbness wore off. Gods, I wanted to cut off her head."
Lust flashed in Lucien's eyes, brief, gone in an instant, but undeniable. "I do not know why it turns me on to hear you talk like that."
She thought she knew why. He was Death. He saw weakness and human infirmity on a daily basis. She was a woman who gave as good as she got. She was strong. Determined. And that had to be a welcome change. At least, she hoped so - because that's who and what she was, and she wanted so badly for him to like her.
"Tell me about the curse." His gaze lowered to the waist of her pants and his fingers soon followed, tracing a line over the upper hem.
Sweet heaven. Here goes. "If ever I allow a man to penetrate me, I'll be tied to him forever. No other man will appeal to me."
Lucien's brow once again furrowed. "That - "
"Is terrible, to think of losing my free will to a man." Except with Lucien, the thought did not carry such a stigma. "I will never be able to leave him, no matter what he does to me. If he falls in love with another, all I can do is watch him, longing for him to no avail."
The more she spoke, the more he radiated sympathy. "For a long time, my will was bound to Death's. What he wanted to do, I did, unable to stop him."
"So you know how bad it can be, yes?"
"Yes. Which is why I would never force my will upon yours. Not in something like this." He licked his lips, leaving a glistening sheen she wanted to taste. "So you have never..."
"No," she gritted out with a single shake of her head.
He was still and silent for a long while, just looking at her. She didn't know what was rolling through his mind. His expression was once more blank, unreadable.
Finally he said, "I judged you harshly and for that, I am sorrier than I can ever say. Anya..." Whatever he meant to add, he must have changed his mind. There was a pause, then, "Have you ever climaxed?" The words were croaked.
What reaction she'd expected from him, she didn't know. She only knew that wasn't it. An apology? Amazing. "Only by myself," she admitted without shame. "I'm not sure if fingers count as penetration, so I've never allowed a man below the waist."
"Do you trust me not to penetrate you?"
"I - maybe." Silly girl. Shouldn't trust him even a little.
An intense fire suddenly banked the contours of Lucien's features. "Take off your clothes for me, Anya. I won't penetrate you in any way, I swear it. But I do want to touch you. Everywhere. I have to touch you."
He disappeared before she could reply. Losing her anchor, she crashed facefirst into the mattress with a yelp. She rolled to her back, scowling. That bas -
He reappeared on top of her. And he was naked.
She sucked in a breath, waiting for him to try to shove inside her as Aias had done. There was a storm of panic, but a moment passed and he did nothing. Gradually, the storm receded and she relaxed. As she did, she realized the feel of his weight was divine, the touch of his bare skin pure temptation.
"Let me," he said.
"I - I - " Her mouth watered. To be pleasured and not fear the consequences...
"Let me have you in every way that I can without actually penetrating," he said, nuzzling her neck. "Please. I want to taste you."
Of all the men she shouldn't trust, Lucien topped the list. But gods, she wanted his mouth on her. She wanted to at last experience a climax with a man. With this man. Only this man.
Decision made, she flashed to the side of the bed. She stripped as fast as she could, Lucien's gaze burning her, then she flashed beside him. He was lying on his back now, giving her a full view of him. Scars stretched from his face all the way down to his right leg.
The overhead light shone brightly, caressing his entire length. And there was a lot to caress. Velvet skin poured over hard steel. He had no chest hair and only the slightest sprinkling on his legs. That black butterfly tattoo still mesmerized her and even seemed to pulse under her scrutiny, as if seeking her touch.
She reached out, grazing her fingertips over the edges as she'd longed to do since first seeing it. Heat seared her. Lucien must have felt it, too, because he arched into her stroke with a groan.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time," she admitted.
"And I've wanted you to do it."
Tracing the jagged black lines, she asked, "How did you get the scars?"
"I carved myself with a poisoned blade," he admitted with only the slightest hesitation, "and set myself on fire. When I healed, I did it again. And again."
Gods. The pain he must have endured..."Determined to die?"
"At first, perhaps. The woman I loved had died, and I was the one to escort her soul to the heavens."
He'd been in love? Anya hated the thought, but she liked the thought of his suffering even less. "I'm sorry for your loss."
He nodded in acknowledgment. "When I realized that I would live, I prayed for the scars to remain. Someone must have answered that prayer - who it could have been, I do not know - because they finally stopped healing."
Sounded like the kind of prayer her mother might answer, since physical imperfection defied the natural order of immortality. "Why would you pray for such a thing? I'm not complaining, I'm just curious."
"I wanted them to remain so that women would turn away from me and I would never again be in danger of falling in love. I wanted them so that I would always remember to do my job, never falter."
"I didn't turn away from you."
"No, you didn't."
"You faltered."
"Yes. I am glad."
So was she. Anya returned to her studies. His erection was huge. Thick and perfectly tipped, just like before. Mine, she thought.
"Come here," Lucien said, his voice heavy with arousal.
Last chance to resist.
Shaking, she crawled up his body, so hot, so needy. She was bare and wet and slid up his cock. Both of them sucked in a worshipful breath. Amazing! Oh, what other delicious things had she been missing?
"Closer," he said.
She leaned down. When her breasts were smashed against his hard chest, he melded their lips together in a white-hot kiss. He even rolled her over. Again she experienced a moment's panic that he meant to break his word, but he merely kissed a path to her pebbled nipples.
His hot tongue traced a circle around them, making her shiver. Then he blew a cool breath, hardening them further. Then he sucked them into his mouth, one at a time, lancing pleasure straight to her core. It was the most stimulation she'd experienced in...forever.
In minutes, she was writhing, tugging at his hair, arching her hips, needing more. "Lucien," she panted.
"I haven't pleasured a woman in a long, long time," he said, his voice broken. "Tell me if I do something wrong. Something you do not like."
"I like. I like, I swear!"
He trailed kisses down her stomach, getting closer and closer to the juncture between her thighs. "Lucien," she said again. Stop him. No, don't let him stop. More. More! No, no more. "Lucien." She squeezed her knees together.
"No penetration, not even with my tongue. I'm just going to lick you."
Oh, gods. Her legs fell open of their own accord, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. If she didn't come soon, she would die. Erupt into flames. Something, anything to end the torment.
Maybe that was the point of this encounter. Kill her with pleasure. But she couldn't make herself care.
He gripped her knees and spread them farther apart, pushing them up and making her as vulnerable as a woman could be. If he tries to sink a finger inside of you, just flash.
Leaving him might kill her, too, she decided.
Besides, she forgot her own advice the moment his tongue stroked her. The pleasure was so intense, she screamed. So startling, so real, so wondrous, she gripped his head and drew him back when he tried to pull away, most likely to ask if she enjoyed it. Nothing, in all the centuries of her existence, had ever felt so miraculous.
"More?" he asked.
"More. Please."
"You taste so good. So damned good. Can't get enough." He licked and he sucked and he tormented and he teased, and she loved it all. She arched against his face, letting him tongue her until she was sobbing with need.
She would have given Lucien anything he asked just then, but he never asked for anything more than her enjoyment. He gave and gave and gave, his mouth working her with nips and licks, and it was heaven, pure and right and so wondrous she would never be the same.
And then her entire body simply exploded.
Pleasure shot through her with the force of a bullet, grazing parts of her she hadn't known existed. Stars winked behind her eyes, and her spirit might even have left her body to soar through the heavens. How fitting that Death should be the one to spark such a sensation. She alternated between stiffening and relaxing in the most intense orgasm of her life, babbling incoherently, perhaps shouting Lucien's name.
When she collapsed against the mattress, he said, "Not done. Not even close," and then his tongue was expertly riding the waves of another orgasm, taking her over another incredible hurdle in a matter of seconds.
"Lucien, Lucien, Lucien." A benediction. In that moment, he was her savior. She was free. Blessedly free.
When the last of the tremors left her, she was boneless. Sated and resplendent. He could have sunk his fingers inside her, and she couldn't have stopped him. Wouldn't have cared. But he climbed up her body and rolled them over, propping her on top of him, keeping his word.
"Still not done?" she said, panting and gazing down at his glowing eyes. She had to put a stop to this soon, had to figure out what to do with him, for she was softening toward him. Wanting what could never be. Wanting what he could not give her and she could not give him. Yet she couldn't have moved upon threat of death.
"No," he said. "We're not done."