Her mouth found his in an urgent, desperate kiss. He was still inside her, hard and thick, and she ground against him, already losing herself to the passion he coaxed out of her with sinful ease.
A rumble of approval issued from deep in his chest, and he began a slow, sensual rhythm of thrusts. Always before, sex between them had been little more than a violent sprint to the finish, but this . . . this was already shaping up to be a marathon. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, deeply, tenderly. His tongue worked hers, sucking and stroking. Between her legs, tension mounted as he changed the tempo and depth of his thrusts, going from shallow and rapid to deep and slow.
“You’re beautiful, lirsha,” he murmured against her mouth. “Perfect.”
His words were a caress to the soul, and she felt herself opening up like a night-blooming flower. She no longer cared who or what she was, what he was, or what existed beyond the bedroom door.
She dragged her hands up from his hips to his waist, taking in the taut layers of muscle, the smoothness of his skin. She didn’t stop there, let her palms map his back until she reached his broad shoulders. He was a thing of beauty, a creature built to please a woman, from his looks to his scent to his skill in bed, and with every thrust, he took her higher.
“Say my name,” he purred, his voice vibrating through her in an erotic wave.
“Hellboy—”
“No.” He pushed up on his elbows. His eyes glittered, molten gold. He kept pumping though, and the slick friction had her panting, which she hadn’t realized until she tried to speak. “When you get close, look at me. Think only of me, and say my name. I want to hear you say it when you come.”
His admission sent a surge of passion roaring through her, as though her heart were connected to her sex by a white-hot wire.
“Yes,” she whispered, even though she doubted she’d come—no, she would. The past had no place in this bed.
He groaned and started to move faster. Sensation doubled, her pleasure climbing higher as the crown of his cock slid back and forth across a place inside she hadn’t known existed. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the feel of masculine weight on her body, something she’d never enjoyed. But now it felt so right, so good, and oh, God, right there.
Her orgasm hovered close, hot. He dropped his forehead to hers, and her eyes flew open.
“Come for me, my lirsha, my lover,” he murmured, his gaze holding hers so she couldn’t look away, couldn’t see anything but the promise of ecstasy that rose up as though answering his command. “Come for me now.”
Quivering with the need to explode, she clung tighter, digging her short nails into his shoulders, scoring his skin. He hissed and arched, and if not for his throaty, “Gods, yes,” she’d have thought she hurt him.
She burned for him, smoked and sizzled. He was flame and she was fuel and when he did something sinful with his finger between them, she finally ignited. She came, bellowing out his name. He followed, his body going bowstring taut, his head falling back, his hips jackhammering into her. His warm, spurting seed splashed deep inside, triggering another powerful climax that forced her to unwrap her legs from his waist in order to brace herself on the bed as her hips came off it.
As though the air had been let out of him, he sagged on top of her. He was heavy, crushingly heavy, but she didn’t care. She’d just had not one, but two orgasms when she’d never been able to come with a man.
Gratitude and something even stronger, an emotion she didn’t want to name, tripped through her as she stroked his muscular back, petting him, telling him with her hands what she didn’t have the breath to say.
Abruptly, he rolled off her, pulling her with him so she lay on her side, facing him. Male triumph lit his expression, bringing out the gold flecks in his dark eyes.
“That was—”
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips and then drew it down her chin, her throat, her breasts . . . all the way to her core. “You’re not through.”
“But—”
He made a harsh noise, shutting her up as he dipped two fingers inside her. “Remember what my seed does?” Before she could respond, he spread his moisture through her slit, coating her bud, which still tingled. She groaned, arching into his touch, but he withdrew. One big hand clenched her thigh. Eidolon was looking at her, lids lowered, gaze fierce. Slowly, he squeezed her legs together and pulled her close, the friction threatening to set her off again. He knew, was massaging her thigh to create tiny waves in her muscles.
“No,” she said, grasping his wrist. “Not alone.” The vulnerability of it all, coming apart while he watched, totally uninvolved, God.
“You’re going to come again. Don’t fight it.”
But she was fighting it. She felt so stupid, so exposed, and, as he kept tenderly caressing her, so freaking inflamed.