Keri Arthur - Fireborn

“Isn’t it?” His voice was little more than a deep rumble of sound. But I knew his gaze was on me rather than the view, and the heat of it had pinpricks of sweat skittering across my skin.

I swallowed heavily. God, I was a bundle of raw nerves and heady excitement—anyone would think I was a virgin on her first date.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

I nodded. “A glass of red wine would be lovely.”

I watched his reflection walk across to the minibar and tried to think of something—anything—other than the desire to rip the towel away from his waist and caress the body underneath.

“What time does Radcliffe usually get here?” I asked eventually.

“I’m told most nights it’s somewhere between ten and midnight,” he said, walking back.

He stopped and handed me a glass. The wine inside was dark red, its aroma rich and berry filled, with hints of chocolate and wood spices. I took a sip, but barely even tasted it. My senses were too attuned to the man now standing behind me.

“What about his guards? If he’s so security conscious, I doubt he’d walk into the room of a stranger—however much he might want to fuck her—without first letting his guards do a sweep.”

“I have prepared a hiding spot,” he murmured. “But let’s not talk about that right now.”

The sound of my dress’s zipper sliding down seemed abnormally loud in the brief silence. Expectation tumbled through me and my breathing quickened. I took a sip of wine and ignored the urge to just turn around and take what we both so obviously wanted. Sometimes, a slow seduction was infinitely better than the act itself—although I very much suspected that would not be the case here.

His breath brushed the back of my neck, and my nipples went tight. I gulped down some more wine, but it didn’t do a lot for the sudden dryness in my throat or the tension thrumming through my body. For several minutes, nothing else happened. There was just his breath on my neck, the heat of him rolling across my spine, and the growing tremble of expectation.

“What happened to your back?” he asked eventually.

“I had a slight disagreement with a car fire,” I said, half shrugging. “It won.”

“Slight disagreement is something of an understatement.” His fingers moved lightly over the ruined flesh. I could barely feel it, but even so, delight shivered through me. “But I would have thought a fire spirit would be able to control fire.”

“I can, but there were too many witnesses to even attempt it.”

“Damn shame.” He slid his arms around my waist, his lips branding my neck as one hand slid downward and skimmed the front of my panties. A moan escaped. He chuckled softly but explored no further, his caress sliding back up, not down. He hooked his thumbs under my bra and pushed it up over my breasts; then he cupped them, pressing them together as his clever fingers began to tease and pinch my nipples.

I leaned back against him and slid my free hand behind me, tugging the towel from his waist. I tossed it to one side, then caressed his shaft. He was big, gloriously so.

“I don’t think I should be the only one naked here,” he murmured, then plucked my wineglass from my hand and placed it on the nearby table. He slid my dress from my shoulders, and my bra and panties quickly followed. I was naked and standing in front of a window for all the world to see, and I couldn’t have given a damn.

He pressed close again, his cock sliding between my legs, thrusting gently, teasing but not fully entering. My nostrils flared, and I drew in the heat of him. It slid through me as sweetly as his caresses, fueling the hunger, feeding the fires. His hands slid down my body, his touch so hot it felt like he was branding me. This time, though, he didn’t retreat. His fingertips found my clit, his touch firm as he kissed my shoulders, my neck, my ear. My breathing sharpened, became moans of pleasure I couldn’t control as the pressure built and built from within. But just as I was reaching boiling point, he pulled away, gliding his hands back up to my breasts, pinching and teasing and caressing until the tremors eased.

Then he started all over again. And then again, until I was so tightly wound it hurt.

Time, I thought raggedly, for a little revenge.

I spun around, dropped to my knees in front of him, and took him into my mouth. He shuddered, his fingers tangling in my hair as his body tensed and a groan escaped. Slowly, I moved my lips down his shaft, gradually taking in more of him, teasing him with my tongue, playing with him as he’d played with me, bringing him to the brink and then pulling away, time and again, until the heat of his desire was so fierce my inner fires were becoming drunk on the taste of it.

And suddenly tasting him wasn’t enough. I wanted to claim all of him.

I rose and pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him back onto the sofa. His hands came to my waist as he sat down, guiding me down onto him but not allowing me to fully capture him.

“Kiss me,” he growled.

So I did. With all the desire, all the need and hunger that burned within me.

After several long minutes, he finally released his grip on my waist. His thick cock speared me, going so deep it felt like he was reaching for my very core. Sheer, intense pleasure tore a gasp from my throat, a sound that was quickly swallowed as his lips crushed mine a second time.

I rode him slowly, trying to prolong the glorious moment. My clit rubbed against him with every movement, heightening sensation, intensifying pleasure, until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only enjoy.

“Look at me, Emberly.”

It was a demand, not a request, but my gaze fell into his green eyes nevertheless, and I drowned in the rising urgency there. His heat swirled around me, through me, fueling the inner fires to breaking point, making them rage and want. I gave in to need and sipped from the furnace of his soul, and god, it was glorious.

Our movements became more urgent, more frantic, until it felt like I would shatter into a thousand different pieces. Then I did, the intensity of my orgasm making me moan in pleasure as my body shook and shuddered. He came a heartbeat later, his body stiffening underneath me, his release a hot stream so very deep inside.

I slumped forward, the side of my face pressed against his chest as I battled for breath and listened to the frantic pounding of his heart—a rhythm that matched my own.

“Good lord,” he murmured, after several long minutes. “I knew that as fire beings we would be good together, but that—”

“Was totally, fucking amazing,” I finished for him.

His laugh was a rumble that vibrated through the very core of me. His fingers lifted my chin; then he claimed my lips, his kiss tender and yet filled with a fire that was banked but not yet quenched.

“We should go to bed,” he said softly. “And mess up the sheets a little.”

“A little?” I teased. “If we only mess them a little, I shall be sorely disappointed.”

He laughed again, then swung his feet off the sofa and lifted me as he rose. “Then I shall make it my aim to ensure that over the next couple of hours you are not left disappointed.”

Needless to say, I wasn’t.

I smoothed down the sides of my silk dress with nervous fingers, then took a deep breath and leisurely entered the exclusive mahogany room. Normally, I wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near the place, but the same contact that had given Jackson all his information had also provided me with a VIP card.

I plucked a glass of bubbly from the tray of a passing waiter and kept walking, trying not to gawk at the plush surroundings and the heavy chandeliers that dominated the roofline. The tables were only half-full, and the bar and lounge area almost empty. Marcus Radcliffe III was easy enough to find—he was one of three men sitting at the second of the blackjack tables and the only one who had two rather stern-looking men standing at his back.