Masters of Seduction: Books 1-4: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 19

  Rosamund completely bared to him.

  “Bellisima,” he murmured. “So pink. So wet.”

  He settled himself between her legs, his hands raking up her inner thighs, his thumbs opening her so he could see her swelling clit.

  “Oh, yes. It pulses for me, Rosamund,” he said, dipping his head, and flicking the bud lightly with his tongue. “Calls to me. It wants to be licked.”

  Her hips canted. “Yes!”

  “It wants to be sucked while I fuck you with my fingers,” he added, lowering one hand.

  “Yes, please, Scarus.”

  His name on her lips broke him entirely. Madness claimed him. Or perhaps it was the demon. But all the both of them wanted was her pleasure, her climax, her wet heat. As one finger entered her tight sex, Scarus covered her clit with his mouth.

  She cried out, her hands finding his scalp. She fisted his hair and rubbed herself against him.

  Scarus slipped another finger inside her and drove deep. Never in his ever-long existence had he wanted something—or was it someone?—so furiously. He sucked her clit gently as he pumped her, groaning every time his fingers were bathed in her arousal. She was his. Right now. This moment. She belonged to him.

  And then it began. The exchange of power. Heat and madness, glory and pleasure. But it wasn’t the same as it had been before. Even with the climax he’d given her beneath the desert moon last night. This was like the waves of a tsunami. Grand, awesome, terrifying. And all he wanted to do was stand beneath it and be taken over by it—destroyed, if that was its wish.

  Shocks of liquid heat convulsed around his fingers and the bud in his mouth swelled.

  “Scarus!” she screamed, her body out of control, spasming, electric and fraught with tension as she came.

  And then he was pulling away from her clit and latching on to her sex. Sweet, blazing-hot cream cascaded over his tongue and snaked down his throat. He hadn’t known how deep his thirst ran until now.

  Until her.

  Merda…

  Even though he blazed with the power of a hundred stars, there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to bury himself inside her and claim her body for his own. But he wouldn’t dare. Sex was for power only. Whatever he was feeling now had nothing to do with a Nephilim/Incubus exchange.

  Breathing heavy, his cock straining against his pants, he drew back and covered her glistening sex with her dress. Then he stood up and attempted to gain some semblance of control over himself.

  “I apologize, Rosamund,” he said through tightly clenched teeth.

  She was staring up at him, confused and flushed and unbearably sexy. “Why? I asked you to touch me—”

  “I speak of last night. It was not my intent to wound you.” The words felt strange on his tongue. The tongue that had only moments ago tasted Heaven. “Or perhaps it was.” He looked away. Cursed brutally. “I’m not sure anymore. Of myself or my intentions. Ever since you walked into this suite yesterday, I have felt strangely. Possessive, weak, insecure…” He growled at the word. Hated that he had admitted to it. “I feel compelled to tell you something, Rosamund—whether you believe it or not. I have known love. I have lost love.” His eyes lifted to meet hers. She looked enraptured, vulnerable. “A child.”

  She gasped, sat up. “Oh, Scarus—”

  He cut her off with a raise of his hand. He was not used to gestures or exchanges such as these. He had said what he felt needed to be said—what was owed to her—but there couldn’t be anything more if he was to preserve his dignity. “I will tell Constance that nothing has happened between us. I will tell her that you are not my choice.” He exhaled heavily, attempting to make his tone as consoling as possible. “I know you cannot have your human male. But frankly, he is not worthy of your grief. Any male who refuses to wait for a female such as yourself does not deserve her love.”

  Rosamund’s mouth fell open, and her eyes widened.

  “I’m going for a swim now,” he announced, formality heavy in his tone even though his cock remained stiff and hungry against the waistband of his pants. “It will give you time to shower and dress. Then I will speak with Constance. It has been a pleasure, Rosamund.”

  Without allowing her a reply, he inclined his head and promptly left the suite.

  CHAPTER NINE

  She was free.

  And yet she’d never felt more claimed in her life.

  She slipped off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Her legs felt like rubber. Her skin was so sensitive she was almost wary of stepping under the shower spray. Scarus Vipera had owned her this morning. He’d crushed that dream she’d had nearly every night since coming to the Harem and showed her what true desire, true hunger, felt like.

  She slipped out of her dress, turned on the water, and leaned against the glass door. He’d said he was going to Constance, said he was going to tell her that nothing happened between them—that Rosamund was not his choice.

  It was exactly what she’d wanted. In four days, she would return to San Francisco and… And what? she mused, staring at the droplets of water snaking down the glass before her. Roger was married. He was her boss at the clinic so that would be remarkably uncomfortable if she chose to stay. She could move out, she supposed. Get a different job. Start her life fresh somewhere else.

  A flash of dark blond hair, gold eyes, and hot, skilled tongue erupted in her brain. Absolutely not, she admonished herself. Just because a sexually gifted Incubus made you feel complete and magnificently satisfied for the first time in your life doesn’t mean you should just abandon your life’s dream.

  Waves of steam started to escape the confines of the stone and glass shower. Get in there, Rosamund. Wash yourself. Wash the memory of his hands on you, his lips on you, his tongue in you, from your mind, and return to the life you know and understand.

  He was an Incubus. A sex demon. They didn’t want normalcy. They didn’t want family and children.

  I’ve known love, Rosamund. I’ve lost love.

  A child.

  His words washed over her. Said with such sincerity and vulnerability. Of course, Incubi made offspring. The females went to the Nephilim. The males to the Incubi. But she didn’t think the demons came to love them. Hers certainly hadn’t. She wondered if Scarus had lost a female or a male? Surely it had to be a female, as males were given over to the Incubus right away. Had Scarus Vipera, barbarian and sex god, actually wanted to keep his female child? And if so, had he truly felt love and loss for her?

  With a weighty groan, Rosamund reached for the faucet and turned off the shower. She grabbed one of the white silk robes hanging there and headed out of the bathroom. She felt so mixed up. Her emotions sliced in half. She wanted a family. She wanted her freedom. But she also wanted more of what she’d felt in that bed—and a chance to know Scarus Vipera’s Incubus heart.

  Crossing to the French doors, she swung them wide and stepped out into the cool desert morning air. Scarus was swimming laps in quick, sharp movements that accentuated his thickly muscled back and buttocks. A small aftershock erupted inside of her. Barbarian or not, this male was stunningly, knee-weakeningly gorgeous.

  After nearly five minutes of swimming the pool like a shark in search of blood, he finally came up for air near the steps. He noticed her at once, his jaw clenching when he saw what she was wearing.

  He heaved a sigh and rested his massive arms on the edge of the pool. “You haven’t showered.”

  Water droplets clung to his tanned skin. Rosamund’s tongue tingled with the need to capture one. “How do you know that?”

  “I scent you,” he said on a growl. “I scent the cream that still clings to your sex and inner thighs.”

  Rosamund’s legs threatened to give out underneath her. His words. His voice. The way his eyes never left hers when he spoke.

  He arched one wet eyebrow. “Coming to me like this will not help me give you up, Rosamund.”

  “Then don’t,” she said recklessly, the words spilling from her l
ips.

  A flash of heat crossed his expression. “What?”

  “Don’t tell Constance you don’t want me.”

  “You’ve changed your mind?”

  “Yes,” she said, impassioned. She couldn’t hold it back. It was inside of her. This need. This need for him.

  “Perche, bella?” he asked, then repeated his query in English, “Why?”

  Nerves skittered through her. She descended to the first step of the pool. Cool water rushed over her feet and ankles. She and Scarus were in such a strange, tenuous place. Yesterday, she’d fought him and he’d fought to keep her. Today he was letting her go, and…well, she didn’t want him to.

  “I was your choice,” she said shakily. “Right?”

  He nodded, his eyes heavy lidded, his jaw strained.

  “Well…” She slipped off her robe and tossed it aside. “I’m choosing you back.”

  A low growling sound echoed across the water, but Scarus’s eyes remained pinned to hers. “Rosamund, you must think. Your plans, your future. What you want—”

  “What I want is in this pool,” she said, her heart slamming against her ribs. “Leaning against the stones, staring into my eyes instead of at my naked flesh.”

  “I am trying to control myself. Trying to control my demon.” He cursed and pushed away from the stones. “The thing wants to devour you.”

  She took another step down. “Then let it.”

  Eyes the color of liquid gold ripped away from her gaze and slowly traveled down her body. “As you stand there, Rosamund, you steal the beauty from everything around you, do you know that? The sky, the sand, the flowers. They pale in comparison.”

  His words made her heart beat right and true. Possibly for the first time in her life. But before she could say a word in response, he was gone from the center of the pool. Seconds later, he rematerialized—directly in front of her. She gasped as his hands wrapped around her waist, and with a primal growl he dragged her into the water with him.

  Rosamund immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. His skin was tight and hard and hot, and she melted into him with a deep sigh.

  Scarus groaned with appreciation and raked his hands up her back and into her hair. “This is madness,” he uttered.

  “I know,” she returned, feeling his hard cock near the entrance to her sex. “But I want you. So desperately I ache with it.”

  “And I you, bella.” His eyes searched hers. “I’ve never felt like this.”

  She smiled suddenly. “That’s good.”

  He smiled back.

  “Let’s not think, okay?” she said impulsively. “About anything outside of this pool, the suite?”

  “Yes,” he growled, his fingers threading her hair. “Only here and now. You and me.”

  She leaned in and kissed him. A soft, gentle kiss that made him moan—made him return it with a lap of his tongue.

  “I want to feel you inside me, Scarus” she whispered against his mouth. “So deep I can’t breathe.”

  “Oh, mia bella,” he uttered, then kissed her hard and hungry and long until she moaned and her breasts tingled. Then he dropped his hands to her ass and in one smooth move lifted her up and placed her down on his shaft.

  Rosamund cried out, and for a moment just remained still. She felt so full, so deliciously impaled. Scarus was staring at her, those gold eyes blazing into hers, taking in every ragged breath, every tremble of her lips. And then he started to move. Not himself, but her—guiding her hips away, then drawing her back in again. Slow and languid, stretching her, going so deep. Rosamund had only been with one man in her life. And only a handful of times. It had been sweet and gentle and quick. Just like the male himself. But this… Goddess, this connection, this invasion, this utter takeover of her limbs and breath, insides and brain…it terrified her in its wonder.

  Nothing would ever be the same after this.

  No one would ever come close to making her feel so—

  She gasped as he drew her back again, thrust into her and rolled his hips. Water churned and splashed over the lip of the pool.

  “Rosamund,” he said on a shudder of need. “What is happening?”

  She shook her head, her breathing shallow. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  “You have taken control of me, of this demon inside me. I will do what you say. Whatever you say.” His eyes probed hers. “Tell me what it is you want.”

  “Just you. Deeper. As deep as you can go.”

  His fingers dug into her backside and he pressed her firmly against him. Then, with a snarl of possession, he drove up into her, hard and shockingly deep.

  Rosamund screamed. His name. Out into the desert.

  But he didn’t stop or slow, wait for her to catch her breath or drift down to Earth. He surged up into her, over and over, the perfect rhythm, and so deep she lost herself completely. She clung to him, trying to hold on as her legs shook and her fingers fisted his hair. His eyes glowed as he battered her womb. He was like a man possessed—a demon—and she loved it. She was meant for it.

  For him.

  His mouth captured hers again, and he kissed her hard and hungry, stealing her thoughts and only allowing her to feel. And she did. Everything. Heat and rabid hunger, pain and pleasure, want and hope.

  But it was too intense to contain. The insides of her body were too small to hold such pleasure captive for long. She needed release, but she didn’t want it to end. Not just because the feeling was so amazing. But because she knew that with every climax Scarus took from her, used to sustain his demon magic, a bond was growing. She couldn’t allow that. Not with an Incubus.

  Even one she knew she was falling for.

  “Oh, Rosamund,” he growled, pounding into her. “I feel you all around me. So hot and tight, your walls fisting me.”

  His words…his voice, they drove her over the edge. She couldn’t hold on.

  “That’s right, bella. Come,” he commanded, his thrusts gaining in speed. “Come for me. I want to feel your body weep, the sweet cream I tasted last night bathing my cock.”

  Waves of electric pleasure crashed over her and she gasped, her pussy clenching around him. Her eyes filled with tears—beautiful, wonderful, painful tears—and she moaned and cried out his name, coming so hard she forgot everything except the pleasure of the moment.

  And him…

  Him.

  “Sì, my beautiful Rosa,” Scarus roared. “There it is. That’s what I wanted. What I had to have. Fuck!” His groan was guttural as he drove up into her over and over, again and again—until her sex was bathed in hot torrents of his powerful Incubi seed.

  They remained like that for long seconds, clinging to each other, Scarus twitching with the power he’d just received, rolling his hips to make her shiver and gasp. Then he started to kiss and nuzzle her neck. The feeling was so divine, Rosamund nearly purred.

  “Oh, Rosa,” he uttered between kisses, moving up her neck to her ear. “Ho bisogno di te.”

  She sighed with happiness. “What does that mean?”

  He eased back so they were face to face, their bodies still connected. “I need you.”

  A slow, satisfied smile crept over her features. “Good.”

  His gold eyes impaled her. “No, Rosamund. I need you.”

  “But you just had me.”

  “I know.” Though his expression darkened, his hold on her tightened. “Dea, I know.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Scarus stood in front of the desk in the Head Female’s office.

  “Master Vipera, I’m not sure I understand,” Constance said, her eyes nervous as she stared up at him. “Rosamund has been in your company all night.”

  “And nothing has occurred,” he said coldly.

  The female’s face went ashen. “Did she reject you?”

  Scarus sniffed with irritation. “She didn’t get the chance.”

  “Oh.” The female sat back and appeared thoughtful. “How disappointin
g.”

  “I made the wrong decision yesterday, signora,” he explained as sunlight blazed in through the large window to his left. “A hasty decision. I kept the Nephilim for the evening, hoping my desires would change.” He lifted his chin imperiously. “They did not.”

  Constance swallowed thickly. “Where is Rosamund now?”

  “Sleeping.” Just the word—no, the mental picture—sent a wave of desire running through him. Rosamund was asleep. No doubt still wrapped in the silk sheet he’d laid over her before leaving the room. After their time in the pool, he’d carried her inside to his bed. Made love to her again. Much slower this time. Exploring, tasting… His skin tightened around his muscles as he recalled her cries for release. That was what he craved now.

  Not her power.

  Her pleasure.

  “I will have someone fetch her immediately, sir,” Constance said, tearing into his thoughts and reaching for the phone.

  “No,” Scarus said, his tone so sharp the woman flinched. “I wish to talk with her first. I don’t want to embarrass her.”

  “You needn’t be concerned with her feelings,” Constance stated evenly. “A Nephilim understands her place here. If she does not suit one Master, she’ll most certainly suit another. She will be fine. Trust me.”

  Scarus’s hands curled into fists at his side. Another Incubus? Touching her? Kissing her? Making her moan? Feeling the beginnings of a bond forming as he thrusts inside of her?

  Fury coursed through him. He wouldn’t allow that. Couldn’t.

  Not with himself—not with anyone.

  “Now,” Constance began gently, deferentially. “Would you like the remaining Nephilim brought before you once again? Or would you prefer I choose the female for you? Cleo, Margaret and Absinthe are all stunning creatures. And such gay personalities.”

  Scarus’s lip curled. The idea of even looking on another female repelled him. It was strange—this feeling. He wanted no other. Craved no other. Only Rosamund. But instead of taking her, claiming her as his body wished, he was sending her away.

  No. No. That wasn’t right. He was gifting her the life she wanted. Had wanted since she was a child. He cared for her that much.