The Darkest Kiss

She'd taken one look at him and decided he was 'the one.' He had done the same, for she had represented the gentle nurturing he had always craved. They had fallen into bed right away; she had been a widow and happy to have a warrior to attend her needs and protect her.

But even while she craved his protection—looters, mercenaries and plague had been rampant back then—she had feared that very aspect of him, afraid he would use his strength against her. He'd always been on guard, careful of his every action and word. With Anya, there was freedom to simply let go, for she seemed to bask in his might and revel in his underlying violence.

'I'm going to pretend I'm the first,' she said. Her gaze lifted and met his in a heated clash. 'Okay?'

'You are in every way that matters.'

She smiled with wicked pleasure. 'How long has it been for you, Lucien? Since you were last with a woman?'

'Thousands of years,' he admitted without shame.

Now her eyes widened. 'Surely you jest.'

He shook his head. 'No, no jest.'

'But…why did you willingly deny yourself? You aren't cursed in that way. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I think I like you even more, knowing you have been without, just as I have.'

'I like that, too.'

'Why, though, did you deny your body's needs?'

'I am Death, Anya. A better question is why allow myself to make love to a woman when I will, perhaps, be called to take her soul one day?'

'Why make love to me, then?' she asked softly.

He tangled his fingers into her hair, marveling that each strand was like a ribbon of silk. 'You, I cannot resist.'

She leaned into his touch and kissed his palm. 'I can't resist you, either, and I'm glad.'

'As am I,' he said. Anya had been worth the wait. No other woman equaled her in any way.

'I think we're both done waiting.' Never pulling her gaze from him, she rose like the moon in the sky and backed up to the bed. When her legs hit the edge of the mattress, she eased down. She scooted back, sexy bra and panties glistening in the muted light.

Once in the center of the bed, she stopped and braced her weight on her elbows.

Her legs parted…parted…parted…revealing the very heart of her. His heart stopped before slamming into a hard, erratic beat as he drank in her beauty. She was perfect sun-and-cream with a navel he wanted to tongue. Her stomach was flat, her thighs lithe.

Trembling, Lucien approached the bed. He hadn't—He stilled abruptly, frowned. Cursed. Death screamed.

'What's wrong?' Anya asked, frowning, too.

'Souls. I hate that this keeps happening at such moments.' He had trouble speaking past the demon's ranting inside his head.

'Lucien—'

'Do not move. Please.' He disappeared, letting his spirit be pulled in whatever direction was needed. There were two souls in China in need of transport, their bodies destroyed by poison.

One was bound for heaven, one for hell. One, of course, was happy to go with him. The other fought and screamed. Lucien hated leaving Anya and nearly beat the uncooperative spirit to an ethereal pulp. Death raged all the while. Finally, job done, they were able to return.

Seeing Anya, Lucien sighed contentedly. Death calmed.

She wasn't fingering herself this time, but had waited for him. Through the bra, he could see that her nipples were beaded. Her legs were still parted, and he could see the moisture dampening the panties.

When she spotted him, she grinned slowly. 'I didn't want to finish without you.'

'I am glad.' He crawled onto the bed.

Anya stopped him with a foot on his stomach before he could lie on top of her. 'I think we need to set a few ground rules.'

'No rules.' He lifted her foot and kissed the arch.

She fell backward, gasping. 'Keep that up, and I'll happily look at my feet.'

He licked.

'One. One rule, then.' His tongue flicked out again, darting over her big toe. Goose bumps broke over her skin. 'Oh, gods,' she cried. 'No one has ever done that. Who would have thought such a thing would be pleasurable? Oh, yes.'

A wave of possessiveness swam through him. The passion on her face would haunt him for the rest of his days, for it was pure and undiluted, uninhibited. 'What rule? I have already agreed not to penetrate you.'

'Not that,' she said, hips arching. 'Lick again.'

He did.

She moaned.

'What rule?'

'Oh, yeah. My rule.' She removed her bra and tossed it aside. It landed on top of the pile of knives. Her nipples were pink little berries made for his tongue. Kneading her breasts, she gasped out, 'Neither of us leave this bed until both of us are satisfied. That's my rule.'

Of all the things he had expected her to say, that was not even close. His stomach clenched with something he refused to name. 'I agree. If you agree to a rule from me.'

'What?' she asked suspiciously.

'Here, in this bed, there will be no fighting.' He sucked her toe into his mouth, twirling his tongue. 'Only ecstasy.'

She gripped the sheets. 'Agreed. Agreed, agreed, agreed!'

There was a bellow of lust in his head as he tore the panties off her and finally crawled on top of her. His cock was hot but her feminine core was hotter as he slid against it, careful not to enter.

She didn't shy away, but let him glide against her. 'I've never been this close to a man.'

'Me, either.'

A soft, raspy chuckle escaped her. 'Why do I trust you? You, I should run from at every opportunity.'

She paled when she realized what she'd said and he frowned. 'What is wrong?'

Determination fell over her features as she stared up at him. 'Nothing's wrong. I don't trust you. That's what I meant to say. 'Cause I mean, really. Let's be honest. You mean nothing to me but a good time. And why the hell have you stopped? I didn't give you permission to stop.'

She'd spoken loudly, cruelly, practically sneering the words. What was she doing? He might have believed her yesterday, even an hour ago, but not now. Not while she was under him, naked, her body wet with desire for him.

She had not slept with William, had not let the handsome man touch her in any sexual way. She came to Lucien for her needs and trusted him not to take more than she could give. So, yes. He knew she did not mean what she'd said.

Cronus, he thought again, gnashing his teeth. But Lucien didn't challenge her. Not now. She did trust him, and he would trust that she did not mean to hurt him, that she believed she was helping him by acting that way.

Leaning down, silent, he cupped her chin and angled her head for a kiss. A deep, probing kiss. At first, she did not respond. She even tried to pry away. Then her tongue tentatively met his, gently, sweetly. She moaned. Her fingers fisted in his hair.

As he tasted her strawberry flavor, a sense of urgency bloomed. Mark. He released her jaw and palmed her breast. Mine.

Mark her. Yes, yes. She's mine. He placed his lips at the center of her throat and sucked. Sucked and sucked. She writhed and writhed, her hands remaining in his hair, holding him captive. She uttered a breathless series of pants, and he felt her nipple pearl against his palm.

When he finally lifted his head, he saw that there was a bruise on her neck, already blue. Satisfaction