Lucinda, Darkly Read online

  “You’ve seen me naked before,” Nico said, a little smile playing on his lips. Masculine, knowing.

  “Yes, but that was different. Before I was looking at you as food.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I am seeing you as a lover.”

  He stilled, his hands frozen upon the first button of his pants, but only for the barest instant. They resumed their nimble movements, pushing, releasing. Slowly revealing more of himself to me. He stood, pushed down his pants, and stepped out of them.

  I stared at him—fully aroused, fully male, fully warrior—and found him beautiful. All of him. His need, his desire, his strong and stubborn will, his ability to laugh at himself and others. And the loveliness of his form. Shoulders broad, chest wide and deep, arms strong and powerful, sloping down to neat hips, taut muscled thighs. My gaze lingered there, where he was most male. That part of him that would enter me. Appreciating now what I had not appreciated before when I had been more intent upon his blood. He was built like his height, his stout stature. Of average length, but wider, much thicker around. One and a half times wider than that of other men.

  “Oh.” My eyes rounded with surprise as I stared at his potent package.

  He lowered down to me. “I hope that’s a good ‘oh,’ ” Nico said as I felt the warmth and hard thickness of him brush against my thigh.

  I swallowed, laughed nervously. “Yes . . . I think it is.”

  “Tell me you’re not a virgin.” Mock horror was upon on his face, making me laugh again.

  “Far from it. I’ve had many lovers before. But that was long ago, hundreds of years ago.”

  “Before your mother declared you a bastard.”

  An accurate surmise. “Yes. Life, and even afterlife, had been joyous before then. Not afterward.”

  Braced on one elbow, he played his hand lightly over me. A featherlight touch here and there, roaming at random will. “Then let me reacquaint you with pleasure.”

  I wriggled a little beneath that teasing hand. “I thought this was all about your pleasure, not mine.”

  “Don’t you know,” he said softly. “Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

  “You said that all it took to bring you pleasure was to be inside of me.” Emptiness stirred my legs wider, inviting him to fill it with that delicious breadth. Need built suddenly. A desperate need to be stretched by him.

  “I lied,” he whispered. “Hush, darling. Let me learn you.”

  And he did. With ruthless thoroughness, with patient fact gathering. He learned the exquisite sensitivity of my neck, just behind my ears. That touching me just so along the ribs elicited a giggling ticklishness. That tugging on my nipple with lips and teeth brought forth a sweet sigh. That a bite, here and there, rougher and darker, brought forth cries of need, of desire. A wanting of more.

  “No blood,” I said, writhing in the pleasure he was making me feel with his hands, his teeth, his mouth racing over me, plunging my secrets. “All other things you may do, but you cannot taste my blood.”

  “I won’t,” Nico promised, and delved in for more treasures, more secrets, more desire. He found what few of my lovers had found, what I myself had not entirely known because none of my lovers before had dared do to me what he did to me. That I enjoyed a little pain. Not just giving it, because I could drink it down, but actually experiencing it myself. He found that sweet, licking nibbles combined with an almost bruising grip upon my breasts brought forth the sweetest moans. I enjoyed it a little rough, he discovered, and he enjoyed giving it to me. I enjoyed being dominated a little, so he dominated me. Commanded me. Made me do things I did not want to do.

  “Cup your breasts. Lift them up to me.”

  I did. So carefully, so dangerously, feeling my sharp nails brush my own skin.

  “Squeeze your nipples, darling. Show me how you like to be touched.”

  I did that, too, to his approving murmur. And it wasn’t the actions themselves that stirred me so, but that dark voice of his telling me to do them.

  I touched, I squeezed, I caressed. I obeyed him. And inside of me I cried, yearned to be filled.

  “Nico,” I murmured, and he kissed me. Drew my lower lip into his mouth and nipped me, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to please, my soft humming sigh his sweet reward.

  “Put your arms back over your head, darling. Yes, like that. Lovely,” he crooned, as my breasts stretched and lifted up to him as if begging for his attention, and they were. They were.

  That position, leaving me so open, so vulnerable, so displayed, and those particular words, the look in his eyes as he said them. . . . Oh, that really did it for me. Wetting me so much that actual runnels of arousal trickled down my thighs and perfumed the air. I bit back a moan and he punished me with a light slap on the rear, startling me, using enough force to leave my skin red and stinging.

  “No,” he said, eyes glinting. “Let me hear you. I want to hear what I make you feel.” His eyes caught and held mine, and his voice lowered until it was whisper soft. “Do you like me telling you what to do?”

  Goddess help me.

  I swallowed, confessed in a small voice, “Yes.” No point trying to lie. My body would not let me. He knew. Oh yes, he knew. The knowledge was there in his storm gray eyes.

  “Tell me what you want most.”

  And what should have been easy was suddenly made hard, because he had asked it of me. Demanded it of me.

  “I want you inside of me.”

  Nico smiled, pushed away from me, and sat back on his knees. With hands that gripped my thighs hard enough to bruise, he pulled me to him, lifted my hips up, and plunged his tongue into me, bringing me screaming at the sudden, unexpected shock and pleasure of it, making me jerk in his hands. The roughness of his stubble abraded my dewy nether lips as he stabbed deeply into me, swirled around, pulled out.

  A deep slide in again.

  He pushed that agile tongue in and out of me for a few hard strokes, then retreated and ran the flat of his tongue along my outer lips, making me shudder wildly. Making me jerk and cry as he ran his tongue up and found my hidden pearl, the swollen nub of me, the nexus of my pleasure. He hummed, swirled his tongue around the tiny button, laving it with the flat rough surface, suddenly stabbing it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, making my body dance and jerk with tiny little spasms, with moans and groans and heaving shudders as he played with me that way, drawing me higher, winding me tighter, but leaving me hanging there, always, at the edge.

  “Please, Nico.”

  “I am.” He rubbed his chin, his bristly stubble lightly, exquisitely over my tender, swollen nub. A scrape, a brush. Almost, almost too much, skirting that line between. “I am pleasing you,” he rumbled, warm breath striking me. “You said you wanted me inside of you. I complied.”

  “Not like that,” I moaned, jerking like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. Strings of pleasure that danced with that sweet edge of pain.

  He shoved two fingers into me, and the sudden and abrupt way he did it made me groan, arch up into him, pushing me more against his mouth, rubbing me harder against that coarse stubble for one blissful moment that almost was enough to take me over the edge.

  Then he drew back. Away. “Like that?” he asked.

  “No.” I wanted to whimper with frustration, but growled instead. “No. Your fingers are nice . . .” He rewarded me with a deep push in, a leisurely slide out with those two aforementioned fingers, drawing forth another moan. “But it’s your big cock that I want inside of me.”

  “Ah.” Nico lowered my hips back to the ground, his fingers reluctantly sliding out of me. “For that, you have to say the magic word.”

  “What word?” I asked, feeling a bit desperate.

  “Darling. You have to call me darling.”

  I lifted my eyes to his and said the word. “Darling.” And saw what I had seen before pass once more through his eyes. Watched as his pupils ran wide and black, expanding to the very rim. I said it again, softer, huskie
r, and watched his skin ripple and shiver, as if the words had stroked him in a tactile caress, though it had not; my voice was as empty of power as I was. But I was discovering that I was not as devoid of influence as I had thought. Just that one word was enough to pull the light from him, to ignite that soft glow within him.

  “You like it when I call you darling. Why?” I asked.

  Nico shuddered and dropped back down on top of me, positioning the blunt end of himself at my gate. “No one’s ever called me darling before,” he whispered, and began pushing his way into me.

  “Darling,” I said again, and his body gave a hard involuntary surge forward into me, making my lids half close at the wonderful, stretching feel of him entering me like that.

  He groaned and shivered, with pleasure, with restraint, the muscles of his arms and back and thighs knotted tight. “Easy,” he murmured to me, to himself as he became a shimmering creature of light blanketing me. “That’s enough.”

  “No,” I said, and smiled up into his eyes. “It’s not enough. Not yet . . . darling.”

  Nico shuddered and heaved into me. Another delicious fat inch more.

  “Don’t, Lucinda,” he choked, his tense muscles vibrating above me. “No more. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t hurt me. Or maybe you will, just a little. Maybe I want you to.” And I whispered the word once more into his ear. His body jerked deeper, then stilled, trembling all over. I shook, too, with excitement, with near bliss. With stretching, stretching pleasure.

  “You fill me so sweetly,” I crooned, undulating my body beneath him, tempting him, urging him forward. “More,” I said. “Deeper,” I whispered. “Harder,” I breathed.

  He shook above me, trembling like a leaf blown by a ruthless wind, his eyes dark and wild. “No, Lucinda.”

  “Yes, Nico.” I said the word again. “Darling.” Stroked him with it. “You are my darling.”

  “Am I?” His voice was incredibly harsh as he looked down at me with eyes that were lost, almost hazed blind, though I should have been the one blinded. Dazzled by the brilliant light he shone with now.

  “Yes,” I said. “You are.”

  That tenuous hold over his control broke, as I needed it to break. With a cry, he plunged himself into me the rest of the blissful way, stuffing me full, cramming me tight. He heaved himself into me, thrust himself in and out as he glowed above me, within me. As I cried and sighed beneath him and urged him on in that wild ride.

  The tight friction eased as my wet juice coated him and anointed him, and then he was sliding in and out rapidly, desperately, with hard grunting force, pounding into me, taking me, giving himself to me, wildly, desperately, freely. A beautiful glowing thing above me.

  “Lucinda!” My name was a moan, a plea, a demand upon his lips. He shifted above me, angling himself so that his thick root rubbed against where I needed him most, and surged into me once, twice more. It was as he shafted not only himself into me but his light. Making me shudder and cry. Making me tighten around him. Tight, tight, so tight. Pushing me over, making me fall. Splintering me in a shattering release that convulsed my body in splendid rapture and drew him deeper still into me. I held him there for a deep blissful moment, mine, fully mine, as I came apart. As I milked him with my powerful contractions, squeezing him to his own release. Feeling him spurt hot and sweet within me. Feeling him burst within and without me, over me and above me, showering me with a rainbow of energy, of power, of light.

  I drank it all down.

  Renewed by his pleasure, by his light, my power stretched out and flexed gloriously . . . and sensed another watching from the deep shadows, a part of it. Talon. And it sensed not only his presence—that odd, cold-burning feel of him—but his need. The fullness, the aching of his groin.

  I knew that he required but the barest touch, the lightest stroke. And I gave it to him. I touched Talon with an invisible hand, squeezed him tight for one hard moment. And spilled him over, too. His cries and his release filled the air. Filled me. With power and with something else. Something that entered me and hovered, once inside, for an infinitesimal moment. Then it sank down, settled into place, fitting in seamlessly, smoothly, with an almost audible click, blending, merging, not only with me, but with the other person still within me. Nico. Melding us—all three of us—into one.

  Nico’s eyes rounded with surprise. And then as I watched, they rolled back in his head, his body growing limp and heavy above me.

  “No,” I cried and our world shifted. The dusky twilight left us and we were back in the plane. I was lying in the narrow aisle on the floor, with not just one man on top of me but two. Talon’s weight shifted off me, light and quick, leaving Nico’s heavier weight half-sprawled over me, still and unmoving. A sense of motion had me turning my head to the left, and I encountered Stefan’s blue green hazel eyes. Behind him, I saw Jonnie’s light brown curls.

  “Lucinda,” Stefan said, “are you all right?”

  “Yes, but Nico isn’t.” Gently, I lifted Nico up and eased out from beneath him, laying him flat on the floor in my place.

  With just that small movement, Nico stirred. His lids fluttered up. He saw me hovering over him, saw me awake and well, and smiled. Then a ripple moved over his flesh as if his skin was water and a rock had been thrown in, breaking the calm surface. The smile fell away. His eyes widened. A moment of hushed stillness. Then he began to convulse.

  TWENTY

  IN THAT CALM bliss of nothingness, Nico was born again. A distant rushing sound filled his ears, vaguely familiar. If he reached for it, he would know what it was. But why reach for it when it was so calm, so comfortable here? Peaceful like he had never felt before.

  He frowned.

  What had he felt before? Nico wondered curiously, a part of him reaching out for that memory. Then it all came back to him . . . sadness. Not tall enough, not handsome enough. Never the one most beloved, although some queens had appreciated his skill in bed, his adaptability, his enjoyment of what they most enjoyed. But they had tired quickly of him once the novelty had worn off, and he had been passed down as he had grown older and his power stronger to queens less and less desirable until he had come under Mona SiGuri’s rule. Became just another one of her less beautiful people, existing in her rustic mountain court, lasting there for over a decade. Longer than he had expected.

  Nico thought he was back there, up on the mountain, for one moment before his eyes fluttered open, because he ached all over. A whole body soreness and twinging pain that usually came from severe punishment.

  Then he opened his eyes and saw a beautiful face hovering above him. A golden, sultry angel.

  “Lucinda,” he murmured. “Am I still dreaming?” Because if he was, he did not want to wake up just yet. He did not want to return to Mona SiGuri. To that harsh, barren reality of tantrums and flogging, of punishment and petty jealousy.

  “No,” someone said to his left. Nico turned his head slowly, achingly, and saw Stefan, who, oddly enough, was holding down his arm. From the periphery of his vision, Nico glimpsed the solid blackness of Talon down by his feet, holding those two leaden limbs down. And he not only saw him but sensed him somehow.

  “Why are you restraining me?” Nico asked, then realized where they were—in a small jet, flying high in the air, cutting through it. That was the rushing noise that filled his ears. And suddenly, he remembered it all. Everything that had passed.

  “Not dream. Reality,” Nico mumbled. “And far sweeter than any of my dreams ever could be.”

  “Then your reality must have really sucked,” Jonnie said, his youthful face peering down at him from over a seat.

  “It did.”

  “You were convulsing,” Lucinda said, her voice oddly strained. “So badly that I thought you were going to break apart.”

  “Was I? Is that why I feel so sore?”

  “Do you remember what happened?” she asked.

  Nico remembered a lot of things. But most searingly, he remembe
red being inside Lucinda, stroking in and out of her as she lay stretched beneath him like a golden offering. He remembered that wave of power . . . of something that had filled her, entered her, then entered him, too. Passing up through her body into his. An unsettling weight that had filled him with crushing heaviness, smothering him like death.

  His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “We bonded, Talon and I. And . . . I think you bonded with us.”

  Her words surprised, no, shocked him. Because he could feel the truth of her words . . . a tugging, invisible line spooling out between the three of them.

  “That is not possible,” Nico said. “Is it?” Because he was alive, and they were, well . . . not alive. More than just different realms separated them. Life itself did.

  A ripple flowed over his skin, or rather under it. Like how the ground trembled a split second before an earthquake. Nico’s eyes widened. “Oh shit,” he muttered, as one of his lovely human ladies liked to say, when that heaviness stirred within him again. Something foreign, unsettling. Something Nico felt his body reject and prepare to rid itself of.

  That something flowed within him again and his body tensed, rippled, knotted up unbearably tight as if iron flowed over his muscles and molded them crampingly taut in an unrelenting grip. Hands held down his arms, his legs, and a giant heaving convulsion shook him. Then another, and another. And this time he was awake and aware.

  Nico felt as if his body would break apart. As if he would break apart. And all that anchored him, kept him from flying up and shattering apart into a million brittle pieces were those hands holding him down. A shuddering paroxysm took him over, shook him like a rag doll for a long, breathless time. And then it stopped and something worse started.