Cassiel, p.11
Cassiel, page 11
Oh boy. I pour several more ounces and turn around. Staring back at him over the rim of my glass, I sip my wine rather steadily and wait. Eventually, he’ll say or do something to get this show on the road. Men always do when they want to get laid. But not this man.
He prowls over to the trolley and pours several fingers of something golden into a glass. Blue eyes smoldering with heat burn down on me as he takes a sip… And says nothing. Nope. After sending another flash of heat my way, he takes that gorgeous ass back to the fireplace and folds that perfect body onto one of the oversized floor pillows sitting on a beautiful Persian rug.
The pause gives me plenty of time to take inventory. I’m not exactly twenty anymore, and chronic illness and stress over Troy’s illness have taken a toll. Maybe I can’t even keep up with three guys. Who am I kidding here? What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Compared to a lot of women my age, I’m not in half bad shape. Okay, my rigorous exercise regimen followed the geese south when Troy got sick. I made a few half-hearted attempts to get back into it since, but it was just easier to take some THC and veg. I’d lost interest in pretty much everything I’d loved to do with Troy, including eating. On the bright side, I’d shed twenty excess pounds. With those pounds went most of the pot belly and reduced the big ass … and my boobs, someplace I definitely could use a little more tissue. Not a lot. For the most part, I’d made peace with what nature gave me. After hearing the horror stories from my friends and watching their larger bosoms sag, I’d sent many silent prayers of thanks to the heavens for saving me from getting black eyes when I jog. I might not be willing to have a boob job, but there were times when I wouldn’t reject an inch or two more. Or, at the very least, have them lifted back to the perky stage.
That thought no sooner forms in my head, when two things happen almost simultaneously. Something shifts in my boobs, and I could swear they’re riding higher. But before I can make sure I’m not suffering from another menopause symptom, and I get a firm push from behind. Get on with it. I almost spill my wine as I lurch forward. The fucking house wants me to get it on.
Tristan’s eyes remain fixed on me as if he’s not sure what I’m feeling, so he’ll wait for me to make the first move. I move my hand to push my glasses up and remember I’ve lost my shield. I take another hit of the wine, close my eyes, and focus on Tristan’s chamber in my heart. A medley of emotion hits me—love, need, curiosity … and lots and lots of raw desire. I put down my glass.
“So, what are these plans of yours?” I start to move toward him.
“To get to know you.”
“So, no sex?” I take several more steps and do something brazen. Something I’ve never done before. I pull off my hoodie and T-shirt while I keep advancing on him. He wants me. I can feel it. And for once in my life, I’m going to follow my instinct and do something spontaneous. Well, semi-spontaneous.
“Is that what you want with me? Sex?” The husk in his voice damn near makes me combust.
With you? Hell yes!
18
TRISTAN
My heart plummets as she regards me. I’m getting a strong message that she’s having doubts. About me. About us. She’d made it clear I was in no position to speak for her, and I can’t touch her without her permission. What if I’m all wrong about the connection between us?
When she hears I want to get to know her, something flares in her eyes. Her next words tell me she’s disappointed.
“So, no sex?” She puts her wine down and comes toward me, pulling her hoodie and T-shirt over her head and tossing them on furniture she walks. Her jeans and panties follow before she steps out of her shoes and stands before me stark naked. She licks her lips as if getting ready to dive into a good meal. There’s not a modicum of curiosity about who I am as a person.
The bubble I’ve been floating in bursts. I’ve been here before. I recognize the signs. Ali needs me as her boy toy, nothing more. Using the time it takes to stand, I bury that blossom of hope that had sprouted when our mating brand engaged. I’d wanted so badly to have a great love like Troy has with Ali that I’d refused to see the signs. Now that I know, my role is clear, and I know what needs to be done.
“Do you want sex? Because I’m happy to accommodate.” Matching her movements, I rip off my T-shirt, displaying the full glory of my six-pack. When you add our angelic beauty to the sex angel charm, you get something few women can resist.
Ali hesitates a moment, and for a split second I think she realizes what I need, that she sees me. She places her tiny hands on my chest and kneads them slightly. I hold my breath, praying. When she reaches up and pulls my mouth to hers with hot demand, I lock my hope along with a healthy dose of hurt into a small chest and bury it deep within my psyche. I let go of love and slide into the snug fit of empty lust that’s so familiar. She consumes my mouth for just a moment before I tear myself away. Despite my despair, every neuron in my body leaps to attention at the sight of her naked body. My erection springs free as my jeans drop to the floor.
I give her a moment to ogle me, my excitement for her on prominent display. I know two things for sure. I look damned good naked, and it’s what women want from me. But Aleah has made it perfectly clear this is her rodeo, so I’m not going to make this easy. I stride over to the armchair and sit, letting my hard cock stand proud in invitation. She gives me a considering look.
“So let me get this straight. You’re going to make me work for this?” She smiles to take the edge from the words. It doesn’t work.
Oh yes babe, I sure as hell am. Women work to get a piece of this meat.
“Show me what you want.” I fill my voice with quiet command. The pressure increases in the chamber of my heart where Ali’s bond resides as she pokes and prods, trying to unearth my deepest secrets. But those walls are too thick for her to penetrate. Yet, I could swear that every time I strengthen the walls to block the onslaught of feeling spiraling through our mating bond, her indomitable willpower pushes back with equal force. But she’s already shown me her truth of seeing me only as a sexual object, and she’s right. Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t ignore it.
A small cloud of doubt crosses Ali’s face as she runs into my emotional walls. She gives a defiant shake of her head, tosses a throw pillow on the floor, and drops to her knees between my legs. For several long moments, she examines my junk as if she’s looking at a rare gem while her fingers tickle the fine hairs on the inside of my thighs. She cups my balls in one hand and bounces her hand as if balancing their weight as she looks directly into my eyes. I return her stare with my best it’s-only- sex look. She tosses back a small yeah-right smile as she grabs my shaft with her free hand and blows on the drop of precum oozing from the tip. My cock pulses in response. She gives it an extra squeeze before pulling the head into her wet mouth. I strain to suppress the reaction as my body begs to arch toward her, to let her claim me as her own. I could swear the chair groans as my grip crushes its arms.
As if she can feel my resistance, Ali plays my cock like a wind instrument using her lips, facial muscles, tongue, and teeth to tease every sensation known to humanity and a few that haven’t been invented from me. She plays my organ at its full range combining air, tightening of cheek and jaw muscles as well as tongue manipulation until I’m panting with exertion from the sheer force of holding back my orgasm. My balls and anus tighten, waving the white flag of defeat.
With the fluid grace of a dancer, she rises from the floor, kneels over me, and swallows my throbbing cock with her molten cunt. She stills as another wave of contractions hits my balls and fences with my control. Three pulses go by before her hot sheath responds, tightening around and then releasing my throbbing cock. She holds her body upright, arms clasped behind her head, open to my hungry gaze, balancing her weight on her right knee and left foot with knees spread wide, wet lips engorged with her desire. We stay like this, suspended in time, until the urgent need to come passes, her eyes never leaving mine, the Nephilim glow trying to speak to me. The onslaught is worse than any siren’s call urging me to succumb.
When she starts to move, her entire body becomes the instrument of my destruction. Her movements form a dance as she moves in time to some silent slow dance that slowly builds in intensity. She has superb muscle control and works me over with the athletic prowess of an Olympic athlete. If this were a competition, she would knock every one of the gods and goddesses off their thrones. The soft sheen of sweat covering her body draws my hands to her skin. I slide my hands over the smooth roundness of her belly and cup her breasts feeling the soft bounce against my palm as she performs athletic maneuvers on my cock. Her breasts pump in perfect rhythm with her cunt, like the two parts of a heartbeat, a heartbeat I desperately want to share.
I desperately try to hang onto my reserve, to keep that distance between us that will protect my heart. But I can’t do it. I want Aleah to shatter all over me. I want to be the one who drives her past the point of just pleasure to oblivion with emotional connection. I want for one fucking minute to believe she wants me for more than my body.
I slide a hand between her legs and over her engorged clit, a rare pearl on display for my eyes alone. Ali lets out a low moan and slides forward until her face hovers over mine, supporting her weight with one hand on my shoulder. Our lips don’t meet, but her breath mingles with mine as her eyes telegraph a message of hope, love, and light. I’m not fooled. It’s my body she wants, not my mind. But I can’t forget that glimpse of what could have been. I won’t let her rip my heart out. I close my eyes.
“Tristan.” Her low contralto is husky and raw.
I can’t resist the pull to look at her.
“Tristan.” Her breath blows the word over my heated skin. She cups the side of my face, and we have another moment while she holds my cock and my heart deep within her, refusing to let go. Maybe it’s enough that she loves my beauty.
This time when she moves, she’s insistent, demanding, pressing her clit into my finger. I increase the pressure and rub with short, deep strokes. She digs her fingers into my shoulders as she rides me fiercely. She’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. I roll her clit between two fingers. A low growl escapes, and I realize it’s mine.
“I want you.” Her thought slides along the channel that connects me to her. “Make me yours.”
I answer with another deep rub of her clit. The strength of the contractions as her pulsing cunt clamps down around my cock makes me gasp. Her body shudders and shakes as her orgasm explodes from her. I grab the cheeks of her firm ass and push into her, driving my cock into the throbbing tissue of her G-spot. Another orgasm tears through her on the tails of the last. I grit my teeth with the exertion of holding back my explosion. My body becomes a machine, responding to hers, refusing to allow this moment to end.
But I can’t make it last forever, so I give up and let go.
I try to stay lost in the moment, but a small hand playing with the fine hair around my nipple brings me back. It’s an innocent enough gesture. And too intimate. If I stay here one more minute, I’ll become a blubbering idiot begging her to see me. To love me. But sex angels don’t blubber, and we certainly don’t beg. And Troy’s right about one thing: love can’t be forced. Hurt wells within me along with the urgent need to run from the source. Ignoring the surprise on Ali’s face when I lift her off, I use magic to put my clothes on as I head out the door. I can’t think of anything to say, so I say nothing.
“Tristan.” Her plea stops me at the door, and the hurt in her voice nearly tears my heart out but I don’t turn around.
“Something’s not right. I can feel it. It’s like we’re not friends anymore. Please talk to me.”
And there it is, the “f” word. Friends. My heart breaks. I want her love, not her pity. I pull every shred of power in me to plaster a smile on my face and turn to face her.
“Of course we’re friends. I’m just worried about tonight, babe. Troy and Cass need my help.”
With that lame excuse, I walk away from the best and worst fuck of my life.
19
ALEAH
One instant, we’re sitting, breath mingling, heartbeats in sync, and I’m coming down from one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life. Then Tristan damned near tosses my ass on the floor in his rush to get out of the room. Something is wrong, but like a pesky insect, the problem flits out of reach when I swat at it. I try to figure out what the hell went wrong. Tristan’s pouty face is most definitely one way to kill post-orgasmic bliss.
Despite my best efforts to rationalize them away, my feelings are hurt … deeply. Tristan’s the first guy I’ve been with since Troy and I became a thing. Fucking around is not something I do. Not that sex can’t be just that, sex for sex’s sake. It can. In theory. Just not for me. And forget about post-coital warm fuzzies because there sure as fuck weren’t any today. I could swear the manor nods in agreement.
Another thought hits me, adding more weight to my distress. He didn’t call me mon chou.
That doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid pet name. My rational mind dukes it out with my emotions as I throw my clothes on and head to our bedroom to get ready for the big kink event tonight. I walk directly into the room-sized closet and start sifting through the clothes while deciding what to wear. In the emails I’d exchanged with the head dungeon monitor codenamed Maestro, he’d strongly suggested I wear black. It seems black and vinyl are the thing in the kink world.
“Well, that most certainly wasn’t your finest hour. You’re supposed to have the gifts of intuition and insight. Looks like we’ve got a lot more work than I expected to get you where you need to be.”
I startle as Nye’s voice sounds behind and above me. I look up, and there she is, floating above me in a seated position. Today, she looks as if she’s about to attend a party in the nineteen twenties. She’s sporting a silver dress with a very low neckline exposing loads of cleavage, two necklaces—one a choker and the other a double strand of white pearls, one elbow-length glove, and a headband. She taps what looks like a black carved chopstick against her bare palm.
“Awesome outfit.” I’m about to ask a ghost if she’s headed to a masquerade party and clamp my mouth shut.
“Right now, I’m the only thing keeping the spirits from thrashing poor Tristan and kicking his ass out of the manor, and if the manor rejects him, he won’t be able to get back.” Her pointed glare says this is all my fault.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“The Druid gods have bound the power of these sacred grounds to you. That means the manor will respond to your feelings. It can feel you’re unsettled. It thinks Tristan is the cause since this state overcame you after you had sex. The manor will respond by getting rid of anything that threatens you or makes you unhappy while you’re in residence here.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I didn’t sign on for all this nonsense. I push down the irritation starting to rise in me. I’m usually not this temperamental, must be my introverted nature. I haven’t had a minute to figure anything out. And why does everyone always expect me to know what’s going on?
Then what Nye said penetrates, and I look at her in horror.
“You were watching us?” Because one thing I know for damned sure is that I’m not into exhibitionism. My lady bits are not for public display. And if they were, it definitely wouldn’t be for someone who could be my grandmother.
I quickly reassemble my face from horror to polite curiosity. After all, I’m not about judging or shaming. Plus, she’s a ghost with magical powers and this is her house.
“No, I did not watch you. Voyeurism isn’t my thing. Tristan passed me in the hall. I know a man who’s been well fucked and then had his heart torn open. If I wasn’t in this ghostly state, I tell you one thing. I might help the lad get over the tear in his beautiful heart. Poor boy.” She thrusts her substantial chest forward, bringing to mind the erotic art surrounding us. Nye is definitely the woman in the living art. I close my eyes against the visual art inches from my face. One thing I don’t need is a cougar role model. That’s one image I’d rather not dwell on. Nothing to do with Nye, but I can’t stand the idea of anyone fucking one of my guys. “And it wouldn’t involve fucking.” She looks thoughtful. “At least not to begin with,” she adds as an afterthought.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but why is the poor boy any of your business?” Yup, my hackles are rising. I hold a jumpsuit that has promise, but before I can examine it, something snatches it from my hand and puts it back on the rack. “Not that one.” That strange echo of a voice sounds within me. Okie dokie, then. “Listen up.”
“Because you are our business. These gods have named you the chosen, and you’re protected by these sacred grounds and connected to their power. As the high priestess, I am the conduit between you and the magic, so think of it more as awareness than telepathy. Think of me as a mentor and guide.” Nye’s face frowns down at me in disapproval as if I’m her star pupil who has failed her entrance exam. “You’re here because you need protection from that bastard Syrael while you get your wits about you. And you need to find, release, and learn to control your powers, am I right?”
Another nod. I’m starting to squirm under her direct gaze. Not liking where this discussion is heading, I turn my attention back to clothing selection. Her pointed statements phrased as questions don’t fool me. I have been rather distracted with the guys instead of focusing on the threat to my life. She floats into my peripheral vision.
“The Rule of Three dictates there will be the third attempt on your life, and this one might be successful. That gives your situation some urgency. Would you agree?”
I give another reluctant nod. I knew I wasn’t going to like where this was headed, but I resign myself to going along for the ride.
