Paranormal Erotica. Elizabeth Coldwell

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СКАЧАТЬ skill, and a dangerous heaviness built inside her. How could she save this situation?

      If she rode his fingers as she wanted to, countered his thrusts and fucked herself on his hand, the test would be over for her in minutes. She was already perilously close to joining in the chorus of moans wafting through the gym hall like a chant.

      ‘Do you like my fingers in your wet cunt?’ His whisper tickled her ear and she squirmed, her pussy clamping down on him. ‘Oh, yes, you do, don’t you?’

      He liked to talk; perhaps she could use that. Calling upon the hundreds of hours of B-grade porn they’d sat through in class, she conjured her breathiest starlet-cum-whorelet voice. ‘Oh, please, take me with your cock. I need you inside me. Please.’ Too corny?

      A snort of surprise and his fingers stilled. He narrowed brilliant yellow eyes at her. ‘What a terrible liar you are. If you were my student in lying, I’d have to change my name so no one ever found out I’d been your teacher. Still, this is human fucking 101, so spread your legs, candidate twenty-nine.’

      He freed her from the arm around her waist and slipped his fingers from her sheath, but she only dimly registered both as she frantically tried to remember the least sexually satisfying position from class, one that would allow her to keep control and not shift to demon form.

      She watched as he stripped his jeans off and stepped out of them, his heavy-lidded gaze on her raw with expectation.

      Control. She needed to be on top so she could control the depth of his thrust, the pace and the angle. But how to get him there? How to force a six-foot-plus, thousand-year-old arch-demon, meaner than cat’s pee, on to his back?

      She shuffled forward on her knees, smiling.

      He raised a withering eyebrow.

      With a sigh she gripped his shaft and his gaze flew to her hand as she fisted his cock, his sneer washed away by hungry need. She pumped her hand up and down his length with deliberate languor, delighting in the way his gaze lost a little more purpose and intensity with each stroke, grew a little more vacant with each squeeze.

      With her other hand she took his and tugged. ‘Come down here.’

      He dropped to his knees, the sight as awe-inspiring as an angel felled in mid-flight.

      His body so close she could bury her face in his thick column of a neck, could feel the oven of his muscles radiating heat, she breathed in his light, dry scent and watched his face tighten with each milking motion of her hand, watched his wild struggle not to succumb to his body’s need, to her control.

      It was a dangerous thing, this ability to beguile with the human form; it went straight to a she-demon’s head and almost made her forget she was fooling with a millennium-old arch-demon who wanted her to fail. Almost.

      She took her hand from his cock and gave him a sharp shove with both hands and grinned as he toppled onto his back with a chuff of surprise.

      Pouncing on him before he could recover, she knelt, straddling his chest, and stared down at him. Every young demoness, she reflected, should have the opportunity at least once to be in the wholly satisfying position of sitting buck-naked on an arch-demon and rubbing the proof of her arousal on his chest.

      His ochre eyes, once haughty, stared at her with a mixture of awe and confusion at her unspeakable boldness, an expression she found at once delicious and adorable. Oh, she’d never dreamed she’d enjoy her exam so much, not in a million years.

      She rubbed her palms over the broad planes of his shoulders, stroked him, tweaked him, kissed him, ground herself against him until his eyes glazed over in a half-crazed haze of horniness.

      Pheromones. She learned about them in class, but seeing them in action kicking Marchosias’s mighty butt was a different matter. Oh, how her frail human body’s pheromones had turned the tables …

      She wriggled lower down his length, hips taunting, and leaned forward to push her breasts towards his face and offer him a mouthful. She gripped his face between her hands, trying not to drown in the warm honey of his gaze, which was focused, most surprisingly of all, not on her nipples but on her eyes.

      ‘What’s your name?’ His words so ragged, so out of sorts at his unwilling arousal, stirred her more than the furnace of his breath on her breast.

      Her name. Did she feel inclined to give it? He didn’t care a fig about her name a moment ago when he tossed his careless comment at her about failing candidates …

      Still, the same firm lips that had sneered at her were now almost begging her for mercy. Perhaps she could afford to be generous? Or not.

      ‘What do you care?’ she mocked, just to see his reaction, just because she’d never get another chance to talk to an arch-demon that way.

      And, oh, the anger. His eyes hardened to tourmaline and fingers bit into the pillow of her hips, turning cruel. She ate it up. She didn’t want to be given any quarter on this battlefield; she wanted him proud, mean and hard as ever.

      His hands forced her further down his body, skin dragging against skin each delicious inch of the way until the head of his cock nudged her folds and he whispered to her. ‘Feel that, my nameless friend? That thing poking you, that’s your downfall.’

      She smiled. What a dramatic turn of phrase he had. ‘We’ll see. My name is Vanth.’

      Thirty minutes into exam time and he hadn’t made her lose human form yet, though she hadn’t made him come either, and to pass the test she must. For a demon can only steal a human soul at that moment of fused fever between two bodies. But. Only. In. Human. Form.

      He sat up, no longer obedient, and all she could do was quiver in anticipation of the rough ride instead of taking control as she should. Where was her ambition now? What of her lofty dream of joining the elite cadre of demons trained to steal souls from the careless lips of men, on God’s very own green earth, right under the noses of angels? What of her hunger for another century of existence for each soul scalped?

      Where was her ambition now? Why, in his thick, blunt hands. The hands between the junction of their flesh, gripping his shaft, searching her out, searching for a way in.

      She rubbed herself playfully along his length, heard a harsh intake of breath, smiled at the way his whole body tightened and coiled under hers, smiled a little less at the wave of lust that cramped her insides.

      His head poised at her entry, she teased him once more, gyrating her hips hula-hoop fashion to frustrate his cock. His hot, swollen head was too big to slide in without a large serving of stillness on her part.

      ‘Quit that,’ he hissed, then, in a low whisper that was almost a groan, ‘stay still, Vanth, please.’

      Please. Oh, how nice, what nice manners from her haughty demi-prince amongst demons, and what lovely desperation those manners hinted at, lovely desperation for her. Pleasure heated her from the inside, radiating to prickle her skin. Very well, she’d be still, but on her terms.

      She pushed his hand away from his shaft, wrapped her own hand around it and marvelled anew at the hardness grown from soft flesh, the battering ram encased in silk pulsing hot under her fingers. His big hand closed over hers, guiding her hand up and down his length with strokes rougher than any she would have administered, and his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

      Breathing СКАЧАТЬ