“Come,” he panted, his voice harsh, as if he could make her climax with a command.
“I want to, God, I want to . . .” She increased her pace, sliding up and down on his shaft so hard that the slap of wet flesh striking wet flesh nearly drowned out the fleeting, confusing voice in his head that told him to use the knife.
On himself.
Use it to draw a few precious drops of bond-blood. If she was his . . .
For all that was unholy, what was he thinking? The s’genesis should come with a warning label.
“I can’t . . .” Tayla’s cry of frustration took him down a notch, back to where he needed to be. A tear rolled down her cheek, and fuck, he couldn’t take it. She quivered with the need for release, her jaw clenched so tight her lips had turned pale.
“Please.”
Grasping her hips with both hands, he steadied her against him. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come.”
Her fingers dipped between them, and she threw her head back as she circled her bud. Her abs flexed, and her breasts, flushed and heavy with arousal, bounced as she rode him as if they were oiled. The sight of her riding him and pleasuring herself was enough to push him past his limit, and he had to bite his lip until he tasted blood to keep from climaxing.
“Won’t work. It won’t work!” She shook her head wildly, her hair a tangled mess that covered her face. “Dammit!”
She was a mystery. A beautiful, ferocious mystery, the way she was so tough, so dangerous, and at the same time, vulnerable in ways he’d never have expected and couldn’t understand.
“I will get you there,” he swore, and flipped her, pulling out so fast she didn’t have time to look surprised. Taking his cock in his fist, he pumped, imagined it was her hand squeezing his hard length. Seminus demons couldn’t masturbate to orgasm, making sex with females a necessity to relieve the intense, constant sexual cravings, but he could get himself close enough for Tayla to take over. Her slippery juices lubricated him perfectly, and in half a dozen pulls, he walked the line between heaven and hell.
“Spread yourself with one hand,” he panted, “and touch me with the other.”
Reaching between their bodies, she obeyed. The moment she closed her fist around his shaft, he came. Legs shaking as he straddled her thighs, he bent, spurted hot bursts of seed over her center, coating her quivering flesh, her swollen lips, her pulsing nub.
“Oh!” Tiny whimpers escaped her, and she threw her head back, her hips tilting toward him.
Son of a bitch, she was gorgeous, her hair whipping over the pillow in a cascade of fire, her skin slick with sweat, her muscles rippling. He held himself away from her, his breathing still not settled as he watched her approach orgasm. She didn’t need manual stimulation now. His semen was too powerful, a stimulant in its own right.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let it happen.”
Her gaze flew up, as if she remembered he was still in the room. A sob escaped her, and then her eyes went wild and a scream of frustration tore through the air and, apparently, the paper-thin walls, because someone on the other side pounded against them and shouted vile curses about Tayla’s sexual habits that made him want to punch through the plaster and rip out the man’s throat.
Another sob wracked her body. What the hell? No female could withstand a topical aphrodisiac of that nature . . . unless her father’s species possessed some sort of natural immunity, something he’d never heard of.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Never in her life had Tayla been so miserable. She writhed, clenching her thighs together. Her body was a powder keg, lit and ready to blow, but unable. It was as though she were being licked, sucked, caressed, held on the very edge of ecstasy until the need for relief became torture.
“Please, make it stop!”
She flailed around on the bed, humiliating herself with the begging, until she felt the cool, wet rasp of a washcloth between her legs as Eidolon washed away what he’d done to her.
“I’m sorry, Tayla . . . gods, I’m sorry.” He knelt beside her, his gentle ministrations the most intimate thing anyone had ever done to her. “I don’t understand this,” he muttered. “This shouldn’t happen.”
None of this should have happened, but she didn’t have the energy to say that.
When the lust finally eased, she lay limp, trembling, barely able to move. Her sex tingled, felt tender and warm, but at least the maddening arousal had gone.
As with all her sexual encounters with men, she hadn’t been able to climax, had never even been aroused enough to come close. But whatever Hellboy had done when he pulled out and let loose his potent—
Oh, God.
“You.” She sat up in the bed, her head spinning. “Seminus demon . . . you’re an incubus, aren’t you?”