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Authors: Allison Pang
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taking some rather extreme liberties with my person, I would have thought it horribly cute.
I held the door open and gestured politely. “After you, I’m sure.” No way was I was going to let him walk behind me. Chest pushed out, he paraded into the courtyard, his silver horn glinting in the moonlight. I shut the door behind us, pausing for a moment until the edges began to glitter with the telltale sign of a Doorway. It melted away in a slurry of sparkles and fading witchlight. A few seconds later there was nothing left but bare stone and brick.
A prickle crept over the back of my neck and I turned to look behind me. The courtyard was empty, but I couldn’t quite help remembering the way that daemon had looked at me like I should have been something he found at a steakhouse. I hoped the pixie had gotten away.
The unicorn brayed at me and snorted. “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, chalking up my uneasy feeling to nerves and exhaustion. Scooping up the unicorn, I mounted the stairs to the apartment. It had been a hell of day.
Based on the way my head began throbbing, the night wasn’t going to be much better.
H is skin was silver, dappled in moonlight and shadows, a mastery of long lines and pale musculature rising and falling with each hurried breath. There was a rhythm to it, like the crash of the sea upon a hidden shore; it gave him away, belied the calmness of his elegant cheekbones, the arrogant arch of his mouth. The pulse at his neck flashed once, twice. I ached to run my lips over it, to taste that soft sheen of sweat at the hollow of his collarbone.
I took one step closer and then another, reached out to thread my fingers through his silken hair. It glittered beneath the light, twining over his broad shoulders to trail around my wrist like the ebony jesses of some exotic bird of prey. His hand slid over mine, capturing my palm to press it over his chest.
“Look at me,” he demanded, tipping my chin upward. I arched a brow at his tone of voice, but I didn’t pull away. I didn’t look at him either, not directly, and I could feel him tense in anticipation. My lips curved into a savage smile, and I wondered if my little act of rebellion would finally unleash what I knew was hovering beneath the surface. My gaze drifted to the standing mirror, slowly rising up the reflected length of his body; I lingered over the tempting curve of his ass, his taut muscles coiled and trembling. His grasp tightened around my wrist, and I chuckled, daring him to make the next move.
“Checkmate,” I murmured, as his breath came hard and ragged. He snarled softly, lips brushing over my forehead. His hand slid down the small of my back to press me up against his growing erection, pushed tight in the confines ofhis leather pants. I let my hand stroke boldly downward, my fingers aching to set him free, to grasp his turgid magnificence.
I rocked my hips into his groin as my gaze drifted up to feast on his sensual mouth before settling on his eyes, dark and golden.
Those . . . eyes . . .
I gasped in recognition, pulling away, falling as my name dropped from his lips in a seductive, knowing tone.
“Abby . . .”
I bolted upright, sheets tumbling to my quaking thighs, skating the edge of that last wave of pleasure. I knew all it would take was a slight movement and I would be tumbling into the realm of orgasm. My hips twitched violently, pushing upward, straining toward the hand that was already creeping down the flat of my belly.
“No,” I told myself firmly.
No.
I was
not
going to lie here and masturbate to the Prince of Broody Darkness. The
horribly
sexy Prince of Broody Darkness.
Even I have to draw the line somewhere. And getting off in my sleep to mysterious OtherFolk was where I drew it—especially with ones that insisted on being total asshats the night before. Besides, who the hell ever used the phrase “turgid magnificence” in the real world?
I cracked an eye at the clock and groaned. 8:00 A.M. Still too
I held the door open and gestured politely. “After you, I’m sure.” No way was I was going to let him walk behind me. Chest pushed out, he paraded into the courtyard, his silver horn glinting in the moonlight. I shut the door behind us, pausing for a moment until the edges began to glitter with the telltale sign of a Doorway. It melted away in a slurry of sparkles and fading witchlight. A few seconds later there was nothing left but bare stone and brick.
A prickle crept over the back of my neck and I turned to look behind me. The courtyard was empty, but I couldn’t quite help remembering the way that daemon had looked at me like I should have been something he found at a steakhouse. I hoped the pixie had gotten away.
The unicorn brayed at me and snorted. “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, chalking up my uneasy feeling to nerves and exhaustion. Scooping up the unicorn, I mounted the stairs to the apartment. It had been a hell of day.
Based on the way my head began throbbing, the night wasn’t going to be much better.
H is skin was silver, dappled in moonlight and shadows, a mastery of long lines and pale musculature rising and falling with each hurried breath. There was a rhythm to it, like the crash of the sea upon a hidden shore; it gave him away, belied the calmness of his elegant cheekbones, the arrogant arch of his mouth. The pulse at his neck flashed once, twice. I ached to run my lips over it, to taste that soft sheen of sweat at the hollow of his collarbone.
I took one step closer and then another, reached out to thread my fingers through his silken hair. It glittered beneath the light, twining over his broad shoulders to trail around my wrist like the ebony jesses of some exotic bird of prey. His hand slid over mine, capturing my palm to press it over his chest.
“Look at me,” he demanded, tipping my chin upward. I arched a brow at his tone of voice, but I didn’t pull away. I didn’t look at him either, not directly, and I could feel him tense in anticipation. My lips curved into a savage smile, and I wondered if my little act of rebellion would finally unleash what I knew was hovering beneath the surface. My gaze drifted to the standing mirror, slowly rising up the reflected length of his body; I lingered over the tempting curve of his ass, his taut muscles coiled and trembling. His grasp tightened around my wrist, and I chuckled, daring him to make the next move.
“Checkmate,” I murmured, as his breath came hard and ragged. He snarled softly, lips brushing over my forehead. His hand slid down the small of my back to press me up against his growing erection, pushed tight in the confines ofhis leather pants. I let my hand stroke boldly downward, my fingers aching to set him free, to grasp his turgid magnificence.
I rocked my hips into his groin as my gaze drifted up to feast on his sensual mouth before settling on his eyes, dark and golden.
Those . . . eyes . . .
I gasped in recognition, pulling away, falling as my name dropped from his lips in a seductive, knowing tone.
“Abby . . .”
I bolted upright, sheets tumbling to my quaking thighs, skating the edge of that last wave of pleasure. I knew all it would take was a slight movement and I would be tumbling into the realm of orgasm. My hips twitched violently, pushing upward, straining toward the hand that was already creeping down the flat of my belly.
“No,” I told myself firmly.
No.
I was
not
going to lie here and masturbate to the Prince of Broody Darkness. The
horribly
sexy Prince of Broody Darkness.
Even I have to draw the line somewhere. And getting off in my sleep to mysterious OtherFolk was where I drew it—especially with ones that insisted on being total asshats the night before. Besides, who the hell ever used the phrase “turgid magnificence” in the real world?
I cracked an eye at the clock and groaned. 8:00 A.M. Still too
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