Wings of Fire (Guardians of Ascension #3)(44)
Author: Caris Roane

He didn’t say anything.

The trouble with walking such a great distance was that her mind had time to fill up with images again, but not ones that involved Antony’s throat or her newly created fangs.

Her thoughts started moving around, gnawing on problems she couldn’t solve right now, fretting over just how hard it would be to learn to do battle or to protect herself, worrying about … pregnancy.

She stopped in her tracks and turned to him. “Condoms?” she asked, her cheeks warming.

He nodded, then he smiled. “Come on. We’ll be okay.” He urged her forward with a tug on her arm but she still couldn’t move.

The trouble was—and this was so wrong,—she didn’t want him to use a condom. She wanted to feel him just the way he was, all of him, inside her.

“We don’t get diseases,” he said, “of any kind, in case you were wondering. No herpes or HIV.”

She hadn’t been wondering, but, “Good to know. That means me as well now.” Huh. Yes, there were definite advantages to ascension. She started walking again.

They reached the doors to his bedroom, a beautifully carved double set that had to be at least twelve feet high. He had his hand on the knob when she touched his wrist. “I had my period three days ago.”

She looked up at him, knowing full well that her cheeks were now flaming. Would he take the hint?

But his eyelids dropped a good half inch and a soft growl sounded deep in his throat. “You sure that’s what you want?”

The only thing she was sure of right now was that she just was about to die of embarrassment. She barely knew Antony. They’d only had sex once not counting mutual self-pleasure for three months, and here she was discussing contraceptive methods. And here she was saying she didn’t want a bit of latex to interfere with her pleasure. Oh, God.

She put her hands on her cheeks and squeezed her eyes shut. Okay, maybe she was being childish. She drew back her shoulders and met his gaze. “I want to have sex with you, we’re fairly safe right now, and I don’t want you to wear a condom.” There, she’d been brave and said exactly what she wanted.

He threw the door open, caught her up in his arms, and carried her to the bed, pausing only to kick the door shut. He tossed her on her back at the foot of the bed. Her legs dangled over the edge.

“Now,” he said, dipping down low and planting a hand onto the mattress on either side of her head. “Tell me how you want this. You’ve been through hell. Let’s see if we can make your life a little better.”

She writhed under his gaze, his dark brown eyes glittering in the dim light. The sun was on the wane, but the shutters drawn almost three-quarters created a twilight in his bedroom.

She smiled up at him and slid her hand along the side of his cheekbones. His face was almost sculpted, the bones strong and pronounced. He was so beautiful. She hadn’t been kidding when she said he looked like a god.

“First,” she said, wondering how she’d gone from completely embarrassed to ready to tell him exactly what she wanted and in what order, “I want your clothes off. I want to look at you.”

He smiled then grinned. He pushed away from the bed, drew up to his full height, waved a hand, and that was it, clothes gone.

Oh, yeah … ascension. She sat up and pushed at his abdomen. “Move back,” she commanded. “I want to see you.”

His smile remained. He stepped away from her and moved in a slow circle, his hands spread wide. Her gaze traveled up and down over a hard warrior body. Shivers moved along her shoulders and back, over her legs. He was lean, muscled, with broad shoulders angling to narrow hips and long powerful thighs. He was covered in fine black hair that made the tip of her tongue tingle as certain thoughts drifted through her head.

When he returned to facing her, she dropped her gaze to his c**k and to his heavy, rippled sac. Pubic hair covered a good amount of his groin. He was partially thick so that he hung long, broad, and just off to the right … as though with a touch or two, he would spring up, making all sorts of promises.

She had seen him stroke himself through her voyeur’s window. But she wanted to see him do it now in front of her.

“Touch yourself,” she whispered. She still sat on the bed, her feet flat on the floor, her white, flowered dress fanned around her hips.

He smiled, a small crooked smile, and his eyes looked knowing and very dark. He drew close, maybe a foot and a half away. His hand wrapped around his thick stalk and in a slow languorous movement rubbed himself from stem to stern and back.

“Closer.” Again she spoke in a whisper.

He moved to stand just inches away.

She put her fingers on his hand as he pumped. Then she leaned close and kissed the back of his hand. He stopped all movement and, groaning softly, let his hand fall away. Now she was kissing what she had wanted to kiss from the beginning.

She drew back and stared at the beautiful, broad head. She ran her thumb over the tip. He was wet. She leaned forward and licked the tip, the aperture where good things came from. Then she took the head in her mouth and sucked. He almost filled her.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered. As he groaned the room filled with sage. Shivers poured over her shoulders, tightening her br**sts and working like fingers down her abdomen and lower.

She planted her hands on his hips and moved in, taking as much of him in her mouth as she could until he hit the back of her throat. With her fingers, she played up and down with what remained outside. When she cupped him low, he hissed and pulled himself out of her mouth.

She looked up at him and smiled.

“It feels too damn good.”

She nodded.

His eyes swam with fire. His fists were clenched at his sides. “What would you like to do next?”

The question felt like chocolate mousse after an already rich meal, decadent, unholy, way-too-much, and yet perfect. She smiled again. A ripple of possibilities sped through her mind. As she picked one idea up and set it aside, then another and another, she stroked his thighs, carefully avoiding his raging erection.

Choices. Choices.

She looked up at him, way up. “Take your cadroen off. I want to feel your hair, all of it. I’ve been craving my hands in it more than I can say.”

He lifted his arms, swelling the muscles of his chest and upper arms. Her heart sped up. He was a god and right now he was hers as he released the cadroen and let his hair spread over his shoulders, down his arms, and down his chest.

She rose to her feet. “Now sit down so I can do this right.”