"Wh-what?" So damn big.
"Prove it. Suck my cock."
At his uncharacteristically crude language, her gaze jerked back up to his face. Anger was banked there, as was self-deprecation. His cheeks were flushed with shame. Did he expect her to scoff and walk away? Did he think to teach her a lesson about playing with him?
"What's the problem? Do you not want me?" he mocked. "Can you not bring yourself to do more than kiss me?"
Oh, yes. He expected her to walk. She'd never performed this act before, considering it too humbling and too intimate in light of her curse. With Lucien, however, she was aroused by the thought. His pleasure would be a thing of beauty, she had no doubt.
"Was this to be my punishment for trying to kill you or was this just another attempt to soften me?" he demanded before she could respond. "Either way, we both know you never meant to take it any further. Your cruelty astounds me."
Cruel? When she ached for him? When part of her wanted to finally forget her curse and spend an eternity in his arms? "I can keep myself alive, thank you very much. I don't need your help, and I've never needed to soften you. Didn't I admit that already? And FYI, you don't have any room to talk about cruel intentions."
"You are stalling," he said. "Do it. Suck me."
He thought he was being harsh, forcing her hand to make her leave. He should have known better. She never would have guessed it, but she truly wanted to do this. Had craved it, perhaps, from the very first.
Slowly, she crawled up his body until her mouth was level with his shaft. His breath caught, the room again going silent. "Anya, you—"
"I'm not doing this to prove anything," she told him raspily. "I'm doing this because I can't seem to stop myself. I must. Your taste…I have to know…can't be as good as I imagine." And with that, she took him into her mouth, fully, completely, sliding all the way down and feeling him hit the back of her throat. Odd, the sensation, but she liked it.
He groaned in pleasured agony, and the sound poured over her skin like a caress. His hands tangled in her hair. "Anya. Don't. I shouldn't have…Anya."
Up, down, up, she moved, the way she had seen in the naughty movies she sometimes watched.
"You don't…you don't…Ah, gods. Anya. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
From commanding to begging. She reveled in her power, in the need emanating from him. Need that was filling her up, ratcheting her own pleasure up another notch. Mine.
Up and down she continued to move. Her tongue swirled all the while, stroking everything it touched. She cupped the heavy weight of his testicles. He arched into her movements, going deeper, his every muscle clenched tight. She could feel the passion-hum in his blood. Wanted more. Had to have more.
"Changed my mind. Anya, stop. Stop!"
Merciless, she continued her upward glide, flicking her tongue over the swollen head. Sucking. Scraping with her teeth. She treated his cock exactly as she treated her favorite lollipops. Only she liked the taste of him more. Such desire…oh, his desire.
He was hard for her, and only her.
"I'm going to—Anya!" He roared her name as the climax ripped through him, shooting hot seed into her mouth.
She swallowed every drop and even licked the last little bit away, instinctively knowing that would please him. As she sat up, he continued to spasm in pleasure, even though he was spent. His eyes were closed, his mouth open in wonderment. I did this, she thought with pride. Never had she felt more powerful and never had she seen a more erotic sight.
Her own need reaching a new level, she straddled him. She was so wet her panties were soaked.
His eyelids slowly opened and he peered up at her, his expression sated. "Anya. You did not have to do that."
"I wanted to," she said. "And I want you. Don't ever doubt that again."
Tenderness glowed on his face. "What are you keeping from me, then? Why can I not strip you?"
That tenderness…Vulnerability claimed her, for no one other than her mother and her father had ever looked at her like that. As if she were precious. As if she were a treasure. Anya's heart lurched in her chest.
Lucien reached up and caressed her cheek. A shiver traveled through her.
"Why, Anya? I've tried to resist you since the moment I first smelled your strawberry scent," he said. "As you can feel, that has not worked out for me."
Even now, his shaft was growing, thickening with renewed desire. Her eyes widened, and she tried so very hard not to soften even more toward him. If what he said was true, he'd wanted her from the very beginning and had been fighting it. Every unkind word and action had been a means of keeping her at a distance.
He'd hinted at such a thing before. Now, with him underneath her…
She was suddenly conflicted and didn't know what to do with him. Shit. This really complicated things because the basis for her—forced, damn it—dislike and anger had been obliterated.
Still, he wouldn't stop trying to kill her. He couldn't. Unless he chose her over "all the things he held dear." How selfish of her to have asked that of him, when she had nothing to give in return.
"Anya."
"What?" She blinked, returning her focus to Lucien.
His lips twitched. "Concentrate."
"Oh, sorry. Did you say something?"
He arched his hips up, rubbing his erection against her clitoris. "I asked why you want to keep your clothes on. Are you scarred?"
Shiver bumps dotted her skin. "No." Not physically, at least.
"It will not bother me if you are. I swear. I will kiss them better," he said huskily.
Her stomach quivered. What a delicious man. She braced her palms flat on his chest, felt the wild drum of his heartbeat through his tattered shirt. She was going to tell him, she decided. After everything they'd been through, he deserved to know.
"I'm cursed," she finally admitted. If he reacted poorly, she might be able to loathe him in truth. Her obsession might wane.
His brow furrowed. "You, too, are possessed by a demon?"
"No. Mine's just a run-of-the-mill curse."
"Ah, yes. Reyes mentioned a curse, but could not figure out what it was."
"That's because only a select few know and they are currently in hiding to avoid being locked up by Cronus. Well, and the one who did it knows, but that frigid bitch is behind bars."
"Who cursed you and why?" There was anger in his tone, as if he meant to kill whoever it was. "Reyes said it might have been Themis."
Her stomach did that quiver thing again. "It was. My mother and Tartarus, Themis's husband, got it on and nine months later—hello, baby Anya. Themis didn't know until she saw me, for I am the female version of my dad, you could say."
"I remember Tartarus," Lucien said. "I used to bring him prisoners. He was an honorable man, even handsome, but I did not want to strip him."
"Lucien just made a funny." She grinned. She couldn't help herself. "When Themis realized what had happened, she kind of freaked out. I didn't understand the full consequences of her curse until days later when the numbness wore off. Gods, I wanted to cut off her head."
Lust flashed in Lucien's eyes, brief, gone in an instant, but undeniable. "I do not know why it turns me on to hear you talk like that."
She thought she knew why. He was Death. He saw weakness and human infirmity on a daily basis. She was a woman who gave as good as she got. She was strong. Determined. And that had to be a welcome change. At least, she hoped so—because that's who and what she was, and she wanted so badly for him to like her.
"Tell me about the curse." His gaze lowered to the waist of her pants and his fingers soon followed, tracing a line over the upper hem.
Sweet heaven. Here goes. "If ever I allow a man to penetrate me, I'll be tied to him forever. No other man will appeal to me."