Larissa Ione - Rogue Rider

Frankly, it pissed him off.

Lilith floated to the shallows and gracefully eased out of the water and onto the shore. As she walked toward a blanket spread in the lush grass farther up the bank, she squeezed her hair, creating a stream of water that trickled down her breasts. Yenrieth wanted to lick her dry.

Then lick her wet.

Droplets on her skin shimmered in the sunlight as she sank down on the blanket and poured a cup of wine from the vessel beside her. She brought the cup to her lips, and as she drank, she looked directly at him.

Caught.

His heart beat faster. Harder. The throbbing pulse went all the way to his sex. In an almost dreamlike state, he moved toward her, his gaze fixed on hers, his mouth practically watering in anticipation.

Smiling, Lilith shifted, letting her thighs fall open to reveal her smooth female flesh, the delicate pink center glistening. His body reacted to the sight, hardening and buzzing with every step.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, patting the blanket.

“I wasn’t sure I would.”

Her knowing smile said she knew he was lying. “Sit.”

Her command, softly spoken, brought him to a stop. He didn’t like being ordered around, least of all by a human.

Again, she seemed to have intimate knowledge of his thoughts, and she reached out to him. “Please. I meant no offense. I simply can’t wait to have you next to me.”

He took her hand, marveling at how soft it was, and allowed her to pull him down. Her remarkable eyes darkened, and he swore that for a moment her entire body did the same. She held the cup to his lips.

In a husky voice, she said, “Please. Take what is mine.”

Yes. He already felt like he’d imbibed a barrel of wine as he allowed her to tip the cup up, spilling the sweet nectar into his mouth. A tiny rivulet dribbled down his chin, and she leaned forward to trace the stream with her tongue. He barely held in a moan as she followed the trail of wine to his lips, and then inside his mouth.

Unbidden, his hand came up to one of her breasts. That one touch undid him. In a powerful surge, he swept aside the wine flagon and cup and pushed Lilith onto her back. They both groaned as he covered her, her legs coming up to clench him around the waist. The next moments were a flurry of hands and tearing cloth, their desperation to get him as naked as she was all consuming.

Strange urges wracked him, desires to take her in ways he’d never indulged. Wicked, sinful ways. She knew, encouraged him. Time became a blur as he brought her to dozens of peaks, and somehow, he found the willpower to hold off his own climax. Or maybe he held off because she’d squeeze his sack at precisely the right moment, preventing his seed from spilling with only a touch and an odd trickle of heat from her palm.

“Not yet,” she kept whispering.

This time, when she cupped his balls while he was buried in the heat of her mouth, he rebelled.

“Not again,” he growled, pulling out and flipping her onto her back. Her eyes shot wide, and he resisted smiling at her dismay.

He mounted her, settling over her toned body, and when his shaft rubbed against her mound, she undulated, the raw hunger in her expression replacing her surprise at his defiance. As he dipped his head to suck a berry-red nipple into his mouth, he ground his hips, sliding the tip of his cock through her slit, drawing a cry from her sweet lips. He was so sensitized now that he had to pant through a near climax, because while he was so very ready, he would be inside her tight sheath when he spilled.

Pushing against her opening, he lifted his head to watch her as he slid slowly inside. He hissed as her inner walls clenched around him. Sweat broke out on his skin, and then she was tonguing his neck and tilting her pelvis to take him deep.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Give yourself to me.”

Surrounded by the rush of the waterfall and the rough slap of skin against skin, he pumped into her, the throbbing pressure in his shaft building beyond what he’d ever thought he could endure. White-hot pleasure seared him, and the sight of her full breasts bouncing with every thrust took him over the edge.

Ecstasy took him harder than anything he’d experienced before, penetrating to what felt like his very soul. He roared with the force of it, his seed filling her, flowing in a nonstop rush that made him dizzy. Lilith cried out in what sounded like a combination of pleasure and triumph, and suddenly, the bliss coursing through him morphed, tinged with an edge of darkness. Of shadow.

His head swam as he collapsed on top of her, dazed, a little confused by what had just happened. How could the best orgasm of his life turn into something that left him feeling not only exhausted, but… wrong?

Lilith pushed him aside, easily, as if he didn’t weigh twice as much as she did. Instead of being wrung dry, she seemed to be energized. Glowing.

Her smile was sensual but satisfied as she went to her feet, leaving him sprawled almost helplessly on the blanket.

“Thank you, Yenrieth,” she murmured. “Your angelic gift is going to take me far.”

Bewildered and still fuzzy, he watched her saunter away and disappear into the woods. And wait… Yenrieth? Angel? She’d known what he was?

Wobbling, he sat up. His palm came down on the spot where she’d been, and now that he was no longer vibrating with lust, a new vibration traveled up from his hand to his soul, a soul that seemed a little soiled now.

Demon. He was sensing a demon.

No. Oh, sweet Heaven, no.

Fury and anguish welled up from deep inside him. Lilith had seduced him, tricked him, used him. Sickened, he staggered to the pool, desperate to wash her touch from his skin.

He would never be able to wash her from the wreckage that was his soul.

As he scrubbed his body with an urgency that bordered on crazed, all he could think about was Verrine, and how right she’d been to run away. He was filth, and he wondered what the consequences of his actions would be… and who would pay the price.

Verrine spent several minutes vomiting, her heart aching. She knew Yenrieth wasn’t celibate—no battle angel was. Unlike some angels of other Orders who weren’t allowed to—or couldn’t—have sex, sexual need seemed to be part of the battle angel genetic code.

But to see him with a… succubus… especially after the kiss he’d shared with her, had torn Verrine wide open.

Nausea twisted through her again, but she fought the urge to spill what little was left in her stomach. Maybe this was her fault for not telling him how she felt about him. Maybe she should have confessed that she’d wanted to feel a male’s body against hers.

But not any male. She wanted Yenrieth to be the one to show her the wonders of making love.

And maybe she shouldn’t have run away from him like a frightened rabbit. She’d sent him straight into that female’s arms.

She wanted to scream.

When she’d come upon the pair in the final throes of ecstasy, it had been horrifyingly clear that he didn’t know the female he was releasing into was a demon. Damn him!

Verrine had warned him that his undeveloped ability to sense evil would get him into trouble if he didn’t work on honing the talent. Instead, he concentrated on learning to fight and turning holy fire into a powerful weapon—all admirable undertakings, but he’d neglected to develop other important skills.

And because he was a male, his reproductive instincts were blocked by a succubus’s charm, and he’d missed the most crucial fact about the demon: She had been fertile.

Trembling fiercely, Verrine had followed the demon to a Harrowgate, and just before the succubus stepped inside, Verrine had gotten close enough to feel her life force… and the four angelic life forces inside her.