The Darkest Seduction (Lords of the Underworld #9)(51)
Author: Gena Showalter

She shifted uncomfortably, her arms lifting and lowering as if she wanted to cover herself but kept talking herself out of doing so.

“You’re perfect. So sweet and perfect.” Slender, finely boned, with that deliciously freckled skin, each mark reminding him of a little drop of candy. He was going to lick her from top to bottom.

When they parted, there would be no part of her he hadn’t tasted.

Frowning, she looked herself over. “How can you say that about me?”

“If you’re about to insult yourself, I suggest you zip your mouth and get in the water.”

His waspish tone had her blinking. “You’re mad.”

Hell, yeah, he was mad. “When I tell you how beautiful you are, and you express doubt, you’re basically calling me a liar.”

“No, I don’t mean… It’s just that…” She paused, reminding him of the babbling, uncertain woman he’d smacked into in Rome. The one who had fascinated him so completely, the one who’d prattled so charmingly. “Men just don’t…”

Men. He cursed with enough heat to blister. “That’s good, because otherwise I’d have to kill them.” She was his and anyone else who looked at her, anyone else who thought to touch her— Stop right there. Keep the possessiveness to a minimum. This is temporary. Has to be temporary.

“Paris,” she said, a hitch to her voice.

“Yes.” He wanted to look away, couldn’t look away.

“I think you’re beautiful, too.” With that, as if she hadn’t just undone him, she turned toward the spring. He saw the elegant, and bruised, line of her back. Saw where those violet-and-jet wings grew in two perfect rows, saw the obsidian butterfly tattoo etched between them.

The curve of her spine made his mouth water. There were two indentions at the base, just above her ass. And speaking of her ass…had he ever seen anything more lovely? Enough to grab while he pounded deep inside her, toned, four freckles forming a starlike pattern on the right cheek.

He could worship there for hours, days.

More. Please, more. Need to touch.

A moan of bliss left her as she sank into the steaming water. She disappeared underneath the surface, saturating her hair, then came back up sputtering.

“Here.” His arm shook as he withdrew a thin, wrapped bar of soap from his pocket. Embarrassment doused him when he noted he was trembling.

She accepted gratefully, her fingers brushing his palm. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow. “Thank you. You were smart to travel with one of these. I’ll have to remember to do that.”

Yeah. He wasn’t going to explain his reason for doing so. He wasn’t going there with her. Ever.

Telling her that he always carried a bar, that he never knew whose bed he’d end up in, or what kind of person he’d be with, or how dirty he’d feel afterward, or that he carried soap like other men carried condoms…not smart. A mood ruiner for sure.

And speaking of condoms, could he tell her the truth? He couldn’t catch an STD, so he couldn’t pass one on; pregnancy was rare between an immortal and a human, much less a dead human; and while he hated sleeping with strangers, hated being so intimate with them, his demon needed the skin-to-skin contact. So, no condom, even though his shaft had come into contact with thousands of people. She would be disgusted.

He shouldn’t have pushed her for a sexual relationship when he had nothing more to offer her. He should have given her time to make a more informed decision, but he didn’t have time. They didn’t have time. In two days, he would lose her. And the thing was, Sex needed fulfillment now. So, yeah, if she would let him, he would take her.

He settled at the spring’s ledge, need for her clawing at him. If they did this—they were so doing this—and Sex wasn’t satisfied immediately afterward, Paris would…what? Do what he’d told her he would do and find someone else?

Don’t think about that right now. He would lose control of his temper.

Already the darkness inside him swirled, craving a release of its own, making him feel as though he were possessed by two demons, each with separate needs. Sex, needing sex, and Violence, needing bloodshed. But Maddox carried the demon of Violence, so there went that theory.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Only Sienna and this moment matter.

Sienna.

Soon she would leave this realm, the heavens, and hide from Cronus. No way would Paris allow her to hunt Galen. He would convince her to remain tucked away, and that was that. She would be safe, and Paris would return to his friends. To his war. To his old life.

A sick, pitiful existence, but, hell, after all the people he’d hurt throughout the centuries, he deserved it. Especially for what he’d done to Susan.

He’d truly admired and respected Susan. Had promised her fidelity even though he couldn’t give it, and had slowly broken her heart. He wouldn’t do that to another woman.

But… He yearned for more than random couplings. He yearned for monogamy.

He yearned for Sienna.

You can have her, Sex said.

Only to lose her.

No argument there.

Why have you allowed me to harden for her on multiple occasions, even though we’ve had her, yet you have never done the same with another? Over and over he’d asked this question, and always the answer was the same.

I don’t know. It just happens.

A lot of things “just happened.” While Paris hated the prospect of the upcoming separation from Sienna, she had easily agreed to their two-day limit. Had to be that way, yeah, but damn. Would a little fight about it have killed her?

Shit. He was being unreasonable, the darkness still driving his emotions. If he wanted this woman, he should have her. If he wanted to keep her, he should have her always. End of story.

Should, should, should. You couldn’t live with shoulds, could you. Only woulds.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He had a direct view of Sienna as she bathed. She lathered herself up, and damn if he wasn’t transfixed as the bubbles cascaded down her br**sts, caught on her ni**les, then resumed their journey to her navel.

“Sienna, I have to tell you something.” He ducked his head, too humiliated to face her. After this, she might walk, no chance of sex, but he had to do this or his conscience would never forgive him.

“You can tell me anything.”

They’d soon find out. “After your death I had to…you know…and even on my way here, I…”

What are you doing? You know it’s better if they never know what happens when we’re done with them.