The Darkest Pleasure (Lords of the Underworld #3)(71)
Author: Gena Showalter

They hadn’t spoken much. He barked an order every now and then – duck, run, be quiet – but that was the crux of their few conversations. She hadn’t seen any Hunters, but that didn’t mean anything and she lived in constant fear and dread. As usual.

They slept in cheap motels, always in the same room but never in the same bed. Sometimes, at night, after he’d fortified every exit of their motel room with extra locks, Reyes would barricade himself inside the bathroom. Like now.

Eyes narrowed, Danika peered at the closed door. She lay on a full-sized bed, the small, dingy room cast in shadows that were interrupted every so often by car lights streaming through the stained red curtains. She’d kicked off the stiff, starchy comforter and had propped herself against the headboard. Waiting. Reyes had been inside that bathroom for half an hour.

Oh, she knew exactly what he was doing. The knowledge didn’t disgust her, it…saddened her. Why did he no longer desire her? Why did he not come to her for relief from his demon?

Because he thought she was some silly artifact?

"Dummy," she muttered.

He and his friends kept in close contact. From the one-sided conversations she’d managed to "accidentally" overhear as he whispered into his cell phone – would have helped if she’d possessed Ashlyn’s ability to listen to any conversation – she knew Hunters had indeed attacked the fortress. Stefano had escaped unscathed. A few Lords had been seriously injured but were thankfully healing. Oh, yeah. And they wanted her to paint. Breathe, eat and paint. That’s all they wanted her to do.

A few months ago, that might have made her happy.

Reyes had given her a sketchbook, which she’d used every morning to purge herself of her riotous dreams. Dreams more violent than ever as demons clawed at the jagged, flame-drenched walls of hell. When she finished, Reyes would tear the pages and have her fax them to Lucien. She didn’t know if the drawings had helped their cause. No one would tell her a damn thing.

"’Cause I’m just the lowly painter girl," she grumbled.

The bathroom door creaked open. Reyes had turned off the lights, so she saw only his shadow as he strode out. The scent of sandalwood was laced with the metallic tang of blood, and both wafted to her. While she couldn’t see his features, she was bathed in moonlight and his to peruse. She felt the intensity of his gaze boring into her, sliding over her.

His heat – oh, she missed his heat. Since being with him, she hadn’t experienced any more of that mind-numbing cold. Still. Was it too much to ask of him to keep her well supplied in his mega hotness? Apparently.

"Worried about your family?" he asked, settling on the pallet he’d made on the floor.

She’d called her grandmother’s friends. They still denied seeing the woman, and she believed them. "No. They’re fine. Maybe I’m crazy, but I’ve convinced myself they’re fine. I am excited about seeing them tomorrow. Thank you for finally relenting, by the way."

"I did not relent for you. I relented because I have seen no sign of Hunters."

"Whatever. I’m still grateful."

One minute after another passed. He didn’t move. No sound – not even the whisper of his breath – rose from that floor. She hated the silence. It allowed her mind to wonder and churn, worry about what Reyes was thinking, fret about what would happen in the coming days, lament the fact that she’d once wanted only one night with Reyes but would now beg for another. And another.

The more she smelled Reyes, the more she desired him. The more her blood rushed and the core of her throbbed. "Distract me," she said, scooting down the mattress to lie flat. She pulled the sheet up and it rasped against her hardening ni**les. She barely stifled a moan. "Please."

"How?"

"I don’t know. Tell me something about you." Had she asked that of him before? She couldn’t remember.

"I thought you did not wish to know anything about me."

Oh, yeah. "I changed my mind. I’m a girl, I can do that."

Another minute of silence, then, "I do not want to play this game, Danika."

Something she’d noticed about him. He called her Danika when he wanted to keep distance between them. He called her angel when he wanted to draw her closer. She missed being called angel.

They’d had sex all those days ago, and it had been wonderful. She wanted, needed, more. Of him. Only him. He was an addiction. He’d believed her about not helping the Hunters when other men might have thought her disloyal. He’d rushed her to safety, covering her body with his own when gunshots blasted. He’d given her a taste of the paradise she sometimes painted, gently rocking her to orgasm.

Now, she wanted wild. Hard and rough. Yes, she’d once thought she would be too disgusted to participate in such an act. Thought she would not be able to hurt another being like that. Right here, right now, she knew better. There was nothing more satisfying than meeting a man’s – your man’s – needs. Being the one to please him completely, give him utter relief.

A few times on their journey, she’d tried to broach the subject of sex with Reyes. She’d even reached out and brushed her fingers through his hair, over his jaw and down his chest. The first time he’d stopped her by walking away. The second he’d snapped a terse warning.

"I can’t sleep," she said. "Talk to me about something. You’ve obviously been around a long – long – time." Okay. Now her frustration was showing. She’d basically called him an old man. "Surely you can regale me with some type of history lesson."

She thought she heard him snort.

Her lips twitched. "Not up for the challenge?"

"Tell me something about yourself first. How did you support yourself? In your old life."

Old life. Seemed an eternity ago. "I did portraits and murals. I was never rich, but it paid the bills. My mom was disappointed at first. Painting is how my grandmother earned a living for most of her life, and they wanted something different for me. Medical school, law school. Something more…important, I guess."

"Painting is important. It adds beauty to the world."

"Thank you." His words endeared him to her all the more. "My grandmother tried to kill herself once. Said her paintings were driving her insane. But then, after the unsuccessful attempt, her creative well dried up and she never painted again. That well must have sprung inside me, because I began having the dreams a few weeks later. Her life became peaceful and mine, though I was only a child, turbulent. I guess that’s why I always understood my mother’s reluctance to let me pursue the arts."

"What happened to your father? Did he stay home when you traveled to Budapest or is he…had he…"