The Darkest Seduction

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

PARIS WATCHED AS SIENNA dropped her shirt on the floor, where she’d already kicked her pants. Now she stood in her bra and panties. Plain, white. And yet, clinging to her perfect little body, they were the sexiest garments he’d ever seen.

His erection stretched past his navel, the base wider than his wrist. Yeah, he wanted her that badly.

More, Sex pleaded.

“The rest,” he croaked. She was so beautiful…so strong. He’d come all this way, done all those terrible things, and yet she had freed herself from Cronus’s hold. When Paris looked past his own masculine pride, he was glad about that. She had fought her demon and won, something he had never been able to do. Whatever happened outside this realm, she would be okay.

What happened inside of it, however…

Shouldn’t do this, he thought, even as he repeated, “The rest. Now.”

She unhooked the bra, dropped the garment on top of the others. Rosy nipples pearled from the lingering coolness in the air, topping off breasts he wanted in his mouth. Her thumbs slid under the waist of her panties and tugged. Down the exquisite length of her legs, until she was a whole lot of naked. His gaze was riveted on the dark triangle of curls shielding his favorite place in this realm or any other.

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 breasts, caught on her nipples, 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.

We. You mean you. When you are done.

“I know,” she said, quieting both the demon and him.

No accusations, no making him unload the gory details. He liked that about her. A lot. She probably had no idea how rare that acceptance was, but he did. “The last time was a few days ago, I swear. I kept thinking I’d find you, and I wanted to be with you and only you when that happened.”

“Paris, we weren’t dating. We weren’t committed. The last thing I said to you was that I hated you. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. So don’t beat yourself up about your actions. You did nothing wrong.” Water splashed as she closed the distance between them. She stood and warm, wet hands wound around his neck, twirling the ends of his hair.

He rested his forehead on the curve of her shoulder. Soft, soft skin, scented so sweetly his head did that fogging thing. Sex went crazy, too, perhaps even more desperate to touch and taste her than Paris was. “I wouldn’t be so understanding with you. If you had slept with another man, even though we weren’t dating, even though we weren’t committed, I would…rage.” He still wouldn’t lie to her.

And what he would do afterward, when they split…

“At me?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” His arms shot out and dragged her closer, needing her closer. Water soaked his shirt to his chest. Her nipples rasped at him, creating the most sizzling of frictions. “I want you all to myself.”

She carried the sun under her skin, lighting him up every time he neared her. The jade and copper in her eyes were a lush, thriving valley he could lose himself in. Her mouth inspired every one of his most erotic fantasies.

Yes! This is what I’ve needed, what I’ve been craving.

What Paris had been craving.

“Since you,” she told him softly, “there’s been no one, and before you, years had passed.”

Years. The concept baffled him as much as it pleased him.

“He was…the only man I’ve ever… I thought I would marry him,” she said. “He was a Hunter, the one who recruited me.” A pause rife with a thousand sharp edges, then, “I’m changing the subject, but only a little. I would like to express one more doubt about, um, myself, before we continue.”

He stiffened, suspecting where she was headed and dreading it with every fiber of his being.

She hurried on. “I know we’ve been together before, and you know I’m just me. But this time it’s different, because I know you better, know myself better, and I’m afraid that you’ll… That I won’t be… That I can’t compare. To the others.”

Yeah. Exactly where he’d thought she was headed. He dropped a kiss onto her collarbone, licked where his lips had been, then sucked hard enough to leave his mark. She gasped.

“I’m afraid I won’t measure up, too,” he admitted. “Here I am, the keeper of Sex. What if I can’t please you? What if I can’t live up to your expectations? And Sienna,” he added before she had time to respond, “the others, they can’t compare to you.”

He’d been with thousands, yes, and he’d done his best to leave each one satisfied. He’d been using them, after all, so it was the least he could do. But making them come hadn’t been for their benefit; it had been for his, something to ease the sting of his guilt. Had he actually cared about their pleasure? No.

“Oh, Paris.” Those dainty, beautiful hands smoothed over his back. The motions were rhythmic, graceful, waking up parts of him he hadn’t known existed. “How about this? Today you’re just a man and I’m just a woman. There’s no past, no future, only the present. We do what feels good. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Ah, hell. She kept that up and he would blow before he got inside her. She’d offered him the sexiest words he’d ever heard, ever hoped to hear, and it was another reason to like her. She did more than arouse him. She comforted him.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” he said.

Me, too!

That’s enough out of you. He settled his big hands on Sienna’s tiny hips, lifted her out of the water and set her on the rocky edge beside him. The warmth of the water had flushed her skin, and now, droplets traveled all the places he wanted to go. He moved in front of her, crouching, rocking back on his heels before settling on his knees. Slowly he drew his hands along the tops of her thighs. He stopped at her knees, his thumbs dabbling underneath for several minutes before he applied pressure and opened her up as wide as he could get her. She was pink, wet and glistening.

He should tongue her nipples first, and he meant to. That had been the plan. Open her up, slide closer and pay proper homage to those sweet little buds. Except, now that he had a direct view of the prettiest feminine core he’d ever seen, there would be no starting up top and working his way down. He wanted that. Now. Wanted her dripping.

“I need you in my mouth. Down my throat. All over me. Tell me you need that, too.”

“I—”

“Tell me.”

“Yes. Please, Paris. Now.”