Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

He tackled me against the cool rock and kissed me thoroughly. His fingers roaming—oh yes, please—everywhere. They pushed up under my breasts, teased my nipples, circling them, plucking them, sending heat coursing through me until he did the whole thing over again with his tongue.

“E-yow,” I said, nearly banging my head against the rock. “If you’re trying to take my mind off things, it’s totally working.”

“Not well enough.” He slipped a hand down between my legs, stroking me, spreading me until the only thing I could think about was his fingers and where, oh where, they’d go next. His tongue tortured my nipples while he dipped one finger, then two inside me. I moved with him as his thumb rubbed, teased. Oh wow.

I felt his power surge, pure and white. He didn’t stop. Even when I tried to pull him to me, he kept rubbing, kissing like he couldn’t get enough. I didn’t know how long it went on, only I’m not the patient woman I thought I was. It had been too long. We’d been through too much. And I could feel him, hard and ready, against my thigh.

So close.

I wound my fingers into his hair and kissed him hard on the mouth. He pulled me closer, his erection pressed firmly against me. Slowly—ohh, eee—so slowly he ran himself along my slick flesh.

Over and over.

I traced a hard, flat nipple with my finger. “Dimitri.” He had to know this was cruel and unusual punishment.

And still he rubbed against me, showing me every inch of him, letting loose an avalanche of sensation. My entire body shook with the need to have him. Inside me. Now.

Mmm, the things this man taught me.

I twined my arms around his super-heated back, nibbled on his ear. “I want you.”

He chuckled against my neck and flipped me over. “I know.”

Splayed over the flat rock, I reached back and found the slippery tip of him. He groaned as I circled once, twice. He gripped my hand, slammed it against his brick wall of a thigh and drove straight into me.

He filled me to the hilt and I heard myself whimper with the sheer joy of it.

I opened myself to him and felt him fill me up with his strength, his power, himself.

“Trapped between a rock and a hard Dimitri. It feels soo good.” He proceeded to pound into me. He snaked his hands down my backbone, as if he could pull me deeper, push me harder. “There, there, there. Right there!” I dropped my head forward. He’d found the sweet spot. Lord in heaven above.

He gripped my hips and focused on that one spot. Filled it, ground against it, worked it until I was quite sure my legs weren’t holding me up anymore. He was. And he pinned me, pushed me until I came in a blind rush of sensation like I’d never felt before. It swamped me, ripped through me. Sweet griffins, it was almost like floating.

Dimitri collapsed warm and steady against my back. We lay there for a few minutes, spent. At least I was. Dimitri probably had a wicked case of blue balls.

“Hold on,” I said, trying to see if my knees still worked. I rolled out from under him and lay splayed for a second on the rock. Coolness seeped through me. Seemed like we’d really warmed up our section of rock. Dimitri, heavy-lidded with his streaked hair irreparably mussed, shot me a smart-aleck smile.

I lifted a finger to tell him to wait. “I’m going to—ohh.” A late orgasmic ping zipped through me from my sweet spot down to my curling toes.

“Are you all right?” he asked, quite amused for a man in pain.

I nodded, not trusting my voice—or the pings. “Are you?”

He nodded weakly.

“I’m going to take care of you,” I finally croaked.

He laughed and coaxed me into his arms. “Oh, that’s what you were moaning about over there? Well, in that case, you already did.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“You were busy.”

“No kidding,” I said against his sweat-slicked chest. Not minding, for once, that I didn’t have a complete grasp of the facts, or anything else for that matter.

He’d given me everything of himself that he could, despite the cost. I’d make sure it was worth it.

I curled up warm against him, trying not to think about what we had to face—the channeling ceremony, and worse, the demons tomorrow night. Now I’d robbed this beautiful man of his energy and strength, the very things he’d need to defend himself if I failed.

Dimitri’s mouth found my shoulder, the crook of my collarbone. I’d about closed my eyes when he yanked his mouth away and coldness flooded the places he’d just kissed.

A blue light shot out over the ridge and I fought the urge to burrow into Dimitri’s arms and never leave. “Please tell me it’s the Red Skulls.”

Dimitri rubbed my back, as if trying to keep away the chill. “It is.” He kissed me on the forehead. “It’s time.”

“Hup, hup!” Grandma ambushed us as we rounded the horse stables. “Don’t tell the Red Skulls about Armageddon.”

Yeah. No problem. It could be our little secret.

Her gray hair tangled in a cloud of Ziploc bags packed with spinning, twirling spells. “Move your keister, Lizzie. You think the Cave of Visions is open all hours like the Taco Bell drive-thru?”

Oh please. I’d been summoning my strength. And sacrificing my new-ish leather skirt. I wound my fingers a little more tightly into Dimitri’s grip.

“Nice outfit.” Grandma waggled her brows at the tunic I’d made out of Dimitri’s black T-shirt. Yeah, well lucky for me, the man needed plenty of material.

I’d told myself I wouldn’t get embarrassed, but the heat crept up my neck and I found myself blushing a dozen shades of scarlet. “I don’t want to hear it.” Not from my Grandmother. Not from anybody.

Where were those dark obnoxious powers when I needed them?

“Frieda!” she hollered over her shoulder, the cabins ablaze with light behind her. “Lizzie needs some underwear!” She turned back to me. “And make it snappy. No grandbaby of mine is going to channel with her whatnots flapping in the breeze.”

A devilish grin played across Dimitri’s features. I dropped his hand and inched my fingers up his sensitive rib cage, enjoying his sharp inhale. Don’t mess with me, babe . I wound my fingers through his hair, ignoring the way the sweat from our encounter made it curl at the ends, and dragged his luscious noggin down to my level. I ran my thumbs along his cheekbones. “Next time you rip my skirt clean up the middle, I’m going to do the same to your drawers.” He was so darned kissable, until his strong jaw twitched into a smirk.

He nipped my lips, sending a ripple of pleasure straight to the part of me that, hm, felt well loved. “That a promise?”

“She needs clothes too!” Grandma added, for the listening pleasure of anyone within a fifty-mile radius.

Oh for the love of Pete. “Can’t you at least try to keep a secret?”

Grandma paused in the middle of coaxing a glittering spell from one of the bags at her neck. “Why?”

Like I could explain the concept of privacy to a woman who spent Saturday nights tossing fart spells at her friends.

Well I refused to be embarrassed. Or at least I wasn’t going to admit it.

A flashlight broke through the moonlight, bobbing as Frieda crunched across the rocky soil, waving a pair of pink leather pants. I’d borrowed clothes from the blonde witch before. Being a demon slayer tended to be hard on the wardrobe.

I could smell Frieda’s cigarettes before I could even get a clear look at the pants. “Grabbed my lucky ones!” She dragged me behind the rough-hewn horse barn, chomping on spearmint gum. She shoved the pants in my general direction. Zippers crisscrossed the hot pink leather.