Satan Read online

  Kissing must once have felt like this, like paradise and heaven all rolled into one, but the memory had been buried deep in his subconscious. Though his cock and balls ached, he had a mad urge to learn the hidden crevices that prompted a small gasp from her and had her fingers tangling his hair and her nails scraping his scalp.

  He discovered tickling the roof of her mouth made her wild. She shuddered, grabbed his shirt, pressed her hips to his groin, and rubbed on his erection. He lifted his head and smiled at her obvious arousal, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, and lips swollen and wet. “We fit.”

  She blinked and tilted her head, a tiny frown marring the porcelain perfection of her brow.

  “The right height,” he explained. “Aside from the obvious benefits of getting horizontal, we could make love in this position.”

  A wicked grin danced about her mouth and was reflected in her twinkling eyes. “It’s a tempting proposition. Because we do fit. I’m five ten and you’re what, six two?”

  “Six three,” he corrected.

  “With these heels, there couldn’t be more than a mere inch between us.”

  He led her over to the sheepskin rug and helped her to sit. He poured two glasses of wine, offered her one, and sat on the floor, his back against a solid club chair. Her hips grazed his, and he longed to pull her onto his lap. Instead, he raised his goblet. “To beginnings.”

  “A toast? I didn’t think you were that kind of man. Okay. To beginnings.” She clinked her goblet to his.

  They both sipped their wine. A scarlet drop slipped from one corner of her mouth, and before she swiped at the wine with her finger, Satan pounced and lapped the bead of fermented grapes. He pried her wine glass out of her hand, put both crystal tumblers on the table, and pulled her to sit sideways over his thighs.

  She ran her delicate pink tongue across the seam of her lips.

  “Nervous?”

  Chapter Two

  “A tich.”

  He chuckled and crooked a brow. “A tich? Is that an actual word?”

  Angel did a delicate shoulder roll. “It could be a Trini word. I grew up in Trinidad, and we tend to make up words. Kind of a national hobby.”

  What a weird conversation.

  Had she finally lost any semblance of sanity?

  Why else was she still here? In a house in the wilds of Long Island with no neighbors in sight? About to have a hook-up with a total stranger?

  Okay, maybe not an absolute stranger because Jess Blaine, who had become a friend over the last four months, not only knew Lorcan—who went by the moniker Satan—but deeply respected him. Angel had heard enough tall tales about the vaunted Satan to know he was a man of strong convictions and ethics.

  A wave of guilt warmed her cheeks. She hadn’t lied to him, for her given name was Angelica. He hadn’t told her his nickname, so why should she share hers? Still, was it wise to spend the night with someone she’d never met before?

  Jess had mentioned Satan epitomized the image of a medieval warrior of yore. Dark, brooding, and menacing, in the sexiest way. Jess wasn’t wrong. The man oozed sensuality. Those inky shoulder-length curls, the black-as-sin eyes fringed with thick sooty lashes, his stubble-shadowed square jaw, and that wicked, wicked mouth, which hovered on a hint of a smile.

  God, she hadn’t felt any attraction to a man in ages, far less this overwhelming urge to jump his bones. Now she understood his nickname—Satan. The man was devilish temptation incarnate. She’d never had a one night stand. Was she totally off her rocker?

  Did it matter? If everything went the way she figured it would tomorrow, this might be the last time she ever had sex. That decided the matter. Go for it.

  “We? Are you visiting the U.S.?” His hand traced the length of her shin. “You’re cold. No stockings?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Always put my fingernails through the damned things, so I gave up on them a long time ago. No, I live here as of four months ago. And it’s not we, just me. The ‘we’ referred to Trinis collectively.”

  The man had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. But he wasn’t built like a wrestler. No—he was whipcord lean, lanky, and he moved with the grace of a stalking panther. He reached back for a throw slung over the back of the chair, smoothed the material over her legs, and tapped her knee.

  She frowned not understanding what he wanted. “Sorry?”

  “These shoes, while sexy as hell, could get dicey in a few minutes.”

  Surprised and taken aback, that a man who looked like danger personified would perform the mundane task of removing her shoes, Angel couldn’t drag her gaze from his tanned hands on her white skin. His movements were confident and unhurried. He unbuckled first one shoe, then the other, and rearranged her so she straddled his thighs.

  He plucked a large cushion from the couch and set it against the coffee table. “Lie back.”

  “What?” Not for the first time since meeting Satan, Angel wondered if she’d fallen into a rabbit hole.

  “Cushion. Lie back on it.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You will.” He reached over and gave her a gentle push.

  She leaned into the downy over-sized pillow and sent him a wary glance. He palmed both of her feet. When he began to knead her heels and soles, she decided insanity was a small price to pay for the heavenly massage. “Oh, Lord. That’s sheer ecstasy.”

  “You limped a tad on the way to the bathroom. Figured you’d been wearing those wicked red stilettos all day.” He worked his thumb along the arch of one foot, the pressure intense almost to the point of pain, but so incredibly soothing at the same time.

  She sank into the cushion and closed her eyes. No one had ever massaged her feet before. He rubbed the backs of her ankles, and she nearly swooned in ecstasy. She moaned aloud when he pressed the pads of his fingers along her arches. “You have magic hands.”

  “And you haven’t even seen or felt the magic yet. Wait ’til you feel my thumb here.” He shifted, leaned over, slipped his hand under her dress along the inside of her thigh, and unerringly found her clit. “Fuck. You’re drenched.”

  Angel’s cheeks heated. She sucked in her lips and focused on a spot to the right of his shoulder.

  “Don’t.” He pulled her forward so her knees rode his thighs, and snagged her chin so their gazes met. “Don’t be embarrassed. Makes me feel like a stud to have you so wet for me.”

  “A stud? Love your word choice. I noticed you haven’t removed your hand.” His thumb worked her insistently, tracing a slow circle around her clit.

  Angel shuddered. She hadn’t had an orgasm in forever, not a single, lonely spark of desire to have sex for too long to pinpoint the time. One touch from him, and he had her on point. He pressed down on her clit, she shivered, and her breath came out in fast hitches. She lifted to his touch.

  “Not going to. Christ, you’re passionate. I wanted to take this slow. Not going to happen now. I’ve been wanting to undress you from the second I saw you on my doorstep.”

  He stretched out, shifted them so they lay face to face on the sheepskin rug, and combed her long waves around her shoulders. He kissed the cusp of first one and then the other. “Elegance and siren all rolled into one.”

  He slipped one strap of the black dress down and nibbled his way to her elbow. The slight, grazed kisses had her on fire. Who knew a forearm could be erotic?

  By the time Satan tongue-tickled her open palm and placed a hot, wet kiss in the middle, she was squirming on the plush carpet.

  Two could play this game.

  She licked the pulse at the hollow of his throat. Her range of movement was limited by his arm curved around her back, so she nuzzled his neck, and reached up to nip his ear.

  He grunted and slid up the length of her. She found his mouth and ate at him, running her hands over his sinewy deltoids, and tugged the sweater over his ribs to feel his hard, hot chest. God, he was ripped. She couldn’t drag her greedy gaze from pectorals so perfect, every muscle so de
lineated, the statue of David would weep in shame.

  His hand slid down the length of her leg, and the roughened tips of his fingers left a trail of smoldering embers on her skin,

  She struggled to sit up, and he helped her. She shimmied the other strap of her dress down and reached for the half-zip in the back.

  He caught her hand and nipped the base of her neck. “No way. You’re my present, and I’m unwrapping you.”

  “Up a bit.” He offered her his hand.

  Puzzled but curious, she allowed him to pull her to kneeling. “What now?”

  “This.” He tightened his hand around her waist and turned her around.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. His black eyes smoldered, and she knew he was on the edge too. “Hurry.”

  He didn’t hurry. He tugged the dress off her in increments so slow she expected to implode. Her nipples hardened into burning peaks. Her breasts ached and felt too heavy.

  She wanted to brain him. “Hurry, hurry.”

  Satan was on his knees behind her. He cupped her breasts.

  “Yes. Yes. Pinch them.” She arched into him and threw her head back.

  “Glorious. Fucking glorious. And so fucking sensitive.” He rolled and tugged her nipples. She writhed on him, pressed her butt into his groin, and then reached behind to cup his balls through the rough fabric of his jeans.

  He propped one sneaker-clad foot on the sheepskin, scooped her into his arms, stood, and started to march out of the room. “Bedroom. Condoms.”

  “Yes. Yes.” She kissed his chin, his temple, and when she tongue-traced the whorls of his ear, his breathing went raspy. Good. She wanted to turn him on as much as he did her. To have him hot, bothered, and on fire. She went to town on his ear, bit the lobe, soothed and suckled his flesh, and feathered kisses down his neck.

  He smelled of soap and the sea. She loved the slight burn of the stubble on his jaw and worried the corner of his mouth.

  His fingers worked her nipple while he stomped up the stairs.

  Her vision went blurred when he sprinted over the landing, jogged down a hallway, and turned on a dime into a large, shadowed room. He walked to an enormous, canopied bed, and placed her in the middle of the mattress.

  When he whipped his sweater off, she licked her lips at the broad expanse of his delicious chest. Dazed and beguiled by the way his muscles rippled when he unbuckled his belt, she held her breath, and waited for the brass zipper to slowly ride down.

  “Fuck. Shoes.” He shot her a wry glance. “You’re turning my mind to mush, woman.”

  She preened, glanced down at her half-undressed body, and skimmed the little black dress off, tossing the stretchy fabric with one pointed foot. When she looked up, there he was in all his warrior glory kneeling naked on the bed right by her side. Black curls tousled, onyx eyes lasered onto her, he had a condom in his hand. “I can’t believe you’ve been naked from the start.”

  She cupped his face. “I want you.”

  “I want you too.”

  “Now. Now.” She spread her legs wide, helped him roll on the condom, and he positioned himself at her core.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” His teeth were bared in a snarl, sweat beaded his brow, and he wore an expression of absolute agony.

  “You won’t.” She wrapped her legs around his back and thrust her hips up. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

  His cock was thick and long and stretched her pussy to bursting. She shifted to try and accommodate his girth, and his dick hit a sweet spot that had her vaginal walls clenching.

  He reached down between their joined bodies and tweaked her clit.

  Never had a climax been so mind-blowing. The contractions came harder and faster when he hammered into her. Just when she thought no more, no more, nooo more, he pounded her G-spot. She exploded in another white-hot earth-shattering orgasm.

  She clung to his sweaty arms when he drove into her one final time and grunted.

  He collapsed on top of her and immediately half-rose onto his forearms.

  “Lie on me.”

  “Too heavy.” He kissed her cheek.

  “Please. Just for a few moments.” She slid her arms around his waist and caressed his taut muscles. Her mouth curved in a cat-ate-the-canary grin when her hands couldn’t span his broad, sinewy back, and she blew out a fat, sated-woman sigh.

  He was heavy, no doubt about that, but he felt incredible. She trailed her fingers over the lean, corded ridges that delineated his trim waist.

  A thin film of sweat coated her breasts and his chest. Unable to resist, she sniffed the musk of their fucking and licked a small drop of salty perspiration. This was sex at its best with all the raunchy aromas of semen and pussy cream.

  “Okay. Now you’re getting a little heavy.” She tapped the ridge of his shoulder.

  At once, he lifted his upper torso. The sudden movement seated him deeper inside her and triggered a series of orgasmic aftershocks. She dug her fingers into his biceps and rode the mind-blowing climax to the end.

  She opened her eyes to find him staring at her and wearing a sexy, lop-sided grin. He flicked her cheek. “Nice to meet you, Angelica O’Malley.”

  “Back atcha.”

  “I should—”

  “Stay right where you are.” She tightened her hold on him.

  “No objections here.” He brushed his lips to hers.

  “Are you one of those men who likes to have their partner leave right away?” Now why had she asked that question? It wasn’t as if she had any intention of staying, even though he’d mentioned running her back to town the following day.

  “You bet. But not in this case.” He leaned onto one forearm, cupped her breast, and tongue-tickled her nipple. “Not when I haven’t had a chance to taste every inch of you.”

  “I can stay a little longer, but I really do have to get back to the city tonight. I have a meeting at ten.” She finger-combed a lock of hair back from his forehead, surprised at how easy and familiar he felt. How right this strange intimacy seemed.

  Angel contracted her vaginal muscles once she felt him go flaccid inside her and grumbled her disappointment when he withdrew.

  “Be right back.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

  She traced the contractions of his powerful butt cheeks when he ambled across the bedroom and disappeared into what must be the bathroom. Only then did she begin to absorb the opulence of the enormous bedroom.

  He had either inherited or created a significant fortune. She recognized an ornate Rolex clock on an antique writing desk in the corner of the room.

  The bedroom didn’t fit him. Too fussy, with too many knickknacks everywhere. A warrior like Satan didn’t collect expensive model cars, and certainly not Russian peasant dolls. A half decade spent as a journalist meant she could pretty much glance at a person and read their personality. Clothes, stance, body movements were dead giveaways, but a bedroom—that was where deep secrets were revealed. She’d bet any odds that nothing, not a single object in this bedroom, had been purchased by him.

  She heard the toilet flush.

  He strolled through the doorway not two seconds later and gestured to the bathroom. “All yours.”

  Angel rolled onto her side. “Can you toss me my dress?”

  He bent, snatched the dress, and offered the fabric to her. “Want to borrow a T-shirt and sweats? Be more comfortable.”

  “I’ll definitely take you up on that.” She hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean, I really should leave.”

  “You’d never get a cab at this hour. And a limo’s highly improbable. I’ll run you into town tomorrow. No problem.”

  He was probably right on both points.

  “There are six bedrooms. We don’t have to sleep together if you’d prefer otherwise.”

  She laughed. “I’d definitely not prefer otherwise. I’ll take the sweats and the T-shirt, thanks.”

  “Hang on.” He pivoted, went over to a mahogany dresser, opened a drawer, retrieved two gar
ments, hip-bumped the drawer shut, and returned to her side. “Black definitely suits you.”

  “Thanks.” She took the clothes from his grasp. “Kind of cliché—you know, redhead dressing in black. I’ll be right back.”

  While Angel had no illusions about her body and knew she had a good figure, getting off the bed and walking to the bathroom knowing his gaze would be locked on her ass proved unnerving. She washed up, used some of his toothpaste to finger-brush her teeth, and donned the sweats and T-shirt.

  He was sitting on the bed, dressed in the same manner, when she exited the bathroom. Immediately, he stood and drew her into his embrace.

  Her stomach picked that moment to complain its emptiness. She coughed to cover the embarrassing growl.

  “Ten is your meeting? Can’t reschedule?”

  “No. Not this one, but it’ll only last a couple of hours, I hope. After that I’m on vacation for four days, and definitely available” Shit.

  That was so not what she’d meant to say.

  Only a crazy woman would offer to spend Christmas with a man she just met. And fucked.

  Chapter Three

  Satan schooled the surprise out of his face. Angelica had just offered to spend Christmas with him, and even more shocking, he wanted her to. A desperate need to have her stay with him over the holidays blasted the brick wall he’d built around his emotions. What was it about this woman that had him breaking his self-imposed rules regarding hookups?

  “It’s a deal.” He kissed her to seal the agreement, got lost in the sweetness of her mouth, savored the slight hint of mint on her teeth, and suckled the tip of her tongue. She sank into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, deepening his exploration.

  Their tongues tangoed, at first slow and languid, then heated and fast. Satan’s breathing turned erratic when she snaked her hands under the waistband of his sweats and caressed his thickening cock. He stayed her questing fingers, broke the kiss, and rested his forehead on hers.

  “What?” She had the sultriest half-hooded glance in the universe, those baby blue eyes darkened by her dilated pupils.