The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

His gaze veered away from hers. “It’s an ancient artifact. Dangerous.”

And he wanted to protect her from it? “What kind of artifact?” To her knowledge, the only mythical apple belonged to Snow White, whose story was a lot more complicated than humans realized...and a lot more true. “Is it not dangerous to you?”

“A life and death artifact,” he said. “And yes, it is, but I happen to enjoy danger.”

“Did you use it to return to the mortal world?” She licked her lips—and still tasted the essence of him. “Are you now Lazarus 2.0?”

“I’m the original. Lazarus 1.0, somehow made corporeal to all realms. Why mess with perfection?”

Why indeed? “I’m struggling to believe you’re real, and that you’re actually here. I mean, you were dead. And if you are here, should you be classified as a zombie?”

“Maybe I am a zombie.” He stared at her chest and grunted. “Breastsssssss.”

A chuckle—nope. Thanks to Misery, the chuckle died in the back of her throat. Stupid demon!

Disappointment glimmered in Lazarus’s eyes, but it receded as he continued to peer at her breasts. When her nipples stood at attention for him, a predatory glint appeared.

“Don’t worry.” The tenor of his voice dropped to a husky rasp. “I’ll get you there.”

“So certain. You, Lazarus, are a lothario.”

“Unrepentantly so.” He brushed his knuckle against her nipple, sending ripples of pleasure straight to her core. Her wet core. “This lothario is done talking. Kiss me,” he commanded. “Don’t be gentle. Be rough. Hold nothing back.”

“Your wounds...”

“Kiss. Me.”

Yes... Light-headed with want, she lifted to her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around him. Their lips met in a frenzied rush, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, tasting her, relearning her, delivering a new punch of passion...devouring her. The sweetness of him thrilled her. The chocolate she so loved mixed with a fiery heat she would forever crave.

“Don’t want to stop with a kiss and a few touches this time,” he rasped. “Want to do more. So much more.”

The moment of truth had arrived. If she said no, he would stop. He would probably leave altogether. No one-night stand, perhaps no future, either. Roll those dice, baby.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

Triumph flared over his expression as he walked her backward. Her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she tumbled onto the mattress. She kept her nails deep in his shoulders, so he had no choice but to follow her down.

She’d never liked being pinned by a male’s heavy weight; too often she felt trapped and vulnerable. But with Lazarus, the epitome of raw masculinity, savage strength and aggression, she’d never felt safer.

“Shirt. Off. Now,” he commanded.

The wrapped pendant grazed her collarbone, pure energy zinging her. She jolted while Misery bellowed.

“Seriously. What is that thing?” she asked. He’d said “a life and death artifact,” but what did that mean, exactly?

Lazarus paled. “It’s—gone. See?” He removed the necklaces and stuffed them inside his pants pocket. “Now. Shirt off, sunshine. Show me what I’ve been missing. I’m eager for a taste.”

A refusal to answer. A change of subject. Again.

A topic for another day, then. One she would not let go next time.

Today was a different story, entirely. Dedicated to rapture.

Cameo pulled off her torn shirt and ripped the center clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts. Cool air caressed her nipples, and they stood taller. Lazarus braced his weight on his knees, liberating his hands...he cupped and kneaded her, and worked the hardened buds between his fingers.

“Lazarus...”

“Such perfect little morsels,” he praised.

Shock waves of pleasure left her trembling, and those tremors only intensified when he bent his head to suck on her nipples.

“I haven’t forgotten my reward.” He kissed and licked his way to her navel, her belly clenching. “You’ll please me, but only after I’ve made you come. Twice.”

Twice! Once would be a dream, but twice? Yes, please. Now I’m getting greedy.

She combed her fingers through his velvet-soft hair, scraping his scalp, urging him on or silently commanding him to taste her somewhere else, she wasn’t sure. The sensations he roused in her... Too much, far too much, but she suspected she would internally combust if he walked away now.

The hot stroke of his tongue moved across the waist of her pants, leaving fire and quivers in its wake. He looked up at her through thick black lashes, his eyes twin midnight skies with a million stars on brilliant display. “I want to be with you, Cameo. All the way, nothing held back. Say yes.”

Her bones liquefied. Yes! Please! The cry of her heart. And yet, she hesitated. What if he failed to please her during the act? What if Misery erased her memory before he climaxed? What if she slept with him, and he walked away afterward? More than ever, she wanted time with him, a real relationship, not just a fling.

She managed to croak, “No. No sex. We can do anything else. I want to do everything else.”

He’d become her only life raft in a terrible storm. She couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

“Why?” He plucked the button on her pants. “Still don’t think you’ll like it?”

“Yes.” No. Maybe. What if she simply hated sex? A dead fish. An ice queen. All hope would be lost.

Okay, let’s break this down. Say he did make her climax. Great. Wonderful. What if she couldn’t make him climax?

As soon as her pleasure ebbed, Misery would fight to overtake her. Cameo would become nothing but a cold, dry body Lazarus rutted upon. He would be disgusted with her.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

As he laved her navel, his fingers traveled down her legs, behind her knees, caressing the pulse there. Against her moist flesh, he rasped, “Don’t apologize, sunshine. You want what you want, and I’ll take what I can get.” His hand slid up, up and squeezed the globe of her ass. “Do let me know if you become too sad to continue, all right?”

He unfastened her leather pants and drew the material down with his teeth. Teeth that grazed her soaked panties...

Her liquefied bones caught flame. “Lazario!” The nickname gasped from her, her blissful mind somehow morphing his name with lothario.

“There’s nothing sweeter than my sunshine. I think you’re going to like what comes next.” He didn’t bother removing her pants, didn’t push them to her ankles or even maneuver her panties out of the way. As if he’d been drugged and needed another hit now, now, now, he licked and sucked on her through the flimsy lace.

Her back arched of its own accord, a moan bursting from her. Afraid she would yank out his hair in her excitement, she reached overhead and clung to the headboard. All the while he continued to lick. Suck. Liiick. Suuuck. Unable to stop herself, she writhed against him, her hips rolling.

“Lazarus, I—”