Possess Me Please (9 page)

Cyrus had no desire to confess what he was. He’d only told a few people in his long existence, and those few had viewed him as an abomination. Not to mention the last time someone had figured out what he was, it had cost him fifty years. “I’m Cyrus.”

She pushed his hand away when he reached to touch her face. “You know what I mean. Y-you were there, inside me.”

He smiled. “I wish I was inside of you, Izzy. You don’t know how desperately I wish that.”

“Cut it out. You know what I mean. Tell me who you are.”

She might have been aware he was inside her, but she had no idea that he was a demon. “You know who I am.”

“Please. How did you do it? You saved me. How is that possible? I mean, three souls cannot be inside one body.”

He shrugged. “Apparently, it is possible. Clearly, you don’t know everything about being possessed, do you? For example, how stupid it is to open yourself up to possession, and how easy it is to get hurt…or worse.”

Anger burned through him. What would be worth putting herself in that kind of danger for, again and again? Surely not even the satisfaction of helping others?

“Don’t call me stupid.” She got out of the bed and hugged her arms around her waist. “Stop avoiding my question. Tell me how you did it.”

Cyrus stood and stalked toward her, backing her against the wall. He pushed his face close to hers. “How about you just be thankful I did do it, and that you aren’t dead now, because if I hadn’t been here, that’s what you’d be. Dead.”

* * * *

Cyrus was right. Isabelle
would
be dead.

How had Stephen even found her again? She didn’t understand. Had he been looking for her? If so, why? Was he out for revenge?

Even though she’d seen the other soul—correction, Cyrus—rip Stephen away from her, she hadn’t believed it at first. It shouldn’t have been possible for Cyrus’s beautiful dark blue soul to be inside her. She hadn’t thought three souls could occupy one body at the same time.

Yet she supposed she’d got what she was after. She’d wanted to know who the man in her dreams actually was. Her dreams had been trying to tell her that Cyrus would save her from Stephen. Cyrus was the man in her dreams.

Now he was worried about her, and that made her warm and fuzzy.

Isabelle gave him a weak smile. “Thank you for saving me. Now please tell me.”

“No.”

He turned his back to her and sat on the end of the bed.

“I didn’t invite anything inside me,” she said. “It shouldn’t have been possible.”

“There are many forms of invitation. You did send one out. Maybe unwittingly, but you did, nonetheless. Be glad I was here and that I don’t need an invitation. I guess we both can do things that shouldn’t be possible, right?”

He was stubborn and infuriating. She had to know how he’d been able to get inside her body at the same time as Stephen without hurting her. Maybe he would spill the truth if she coaxed him a little.

Isabelle sat beside him and put her hand on his thigh.

His leg muscle tightened under her touch. “Don’t play this game, Izzy. If you touch me, you better mean to do it.”

Her skin heated, her nipples tightened. She was in trouble. She shouldn’t have touched him. She wanted him, and the fact that she had almost died a few minutes earlier made her feel more alive than she ever had; made her want to take risks not normally taken.

Ejecting all doubts from her brain concerning why she shouldn’t be with Cyrus, Isabelle squeezed his thigh harder.

When he sucked in a sharp breath, a thrill of adrenaline rushed through her.

“I mean it, Cyrus.”

He didn’t need further encouragement. He pulled her to him and claimed her mouth with a demanding kiss.

She gasped, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. Her world tilted, and his spicy taste soaked into her. She wound her arms around his neck and anchored herself to him. She felt tiny with his huge frame wrapped around her, deliciously feminine, and protected. His body was hard against her softer one, and his heat radiated out, penetrating her skin as their tongues met in a sinuous dance.

Cyrus pushed her back onto the soft bed, covering her with his body. His kisses were slow and unhurried, even though she frantically tugged at him. He pulled her hair from its ponytail and fanned it out over the pillow, threading his fingers through the freed thickness, then brought some strands to his face and breathed in deeply. Her fingers skimmed down his back before she dragged her nails up again, eliciting a groan from him.

He sat up to wrestle his shirt off, causing her to suck in a breath at the sight of his naked chest. And she’d been right about his abs, too. He had a six-pack to die for. The man was too perfect, if anything. Isabelle suffered a small moment of insecurity about her own body.

It must have shown in her expression, because he took her face between his hands and peered into her eyes. “You are beautiful, Izzy.” He pressed his lips to hers in between each word. “More than beautiful. Perfect. Sexy. Lovely.”

“But you haven’t even seen me yet.”

He laughed. “I see you just fine and, clothes on or off, you’re beautiful.”

Before she could say another word, he tugged her shirt up over her head, reached around, unclasped her bra, and watched her breasts fall free. He kissed each tightened tip before looking up into her eyes again. With a breast cupped in each hand, he pushed them together.

Never taking his gaze from hers, he gave both hardened nipples a slow lick. “See. Beautiful. Just like I said.”

He sucked one nipple deep into his mouth, and all her insecurities melted away. Cyrus made her feel beautiful.

She pushed her fingers deep into his hair and held him to her breasts tightly as he licked and nibbled and rubbed his whiskered jaw over their sensitive peaks, creating a delicious tingling sensation. He was wickedly talented with his mouth, and pleasure as she never experienced before consumed her. She wanted to touch more of him, so she pushed on his chest until he relented and tumbled onto his back. Isabelle climbed on top of him, kissing him before nipping her way to his neck.

He stroked her back, his fingers hot against her skin, while she made her downward journey. She circled her tongue around one flat, brown nipple until it tightened, and he groaned. Then she did the same to the other. She kissed his chest and dragged her nails over his abdomen before unbuttoning his jeans, then ran her tongue around his navel and followed the dark trail of hair that started just underneath it toward her desired destination. Pushing his jeans off of his lean hips, she gasped in surprise when his cock sprang free.

It stood tall and proud, bobbing back and forth when she pulled his boots free from his feet and he kicked the jeans the rest of the way off, along with his briefs. One clear beaded drop of moisture glistened on the slick head, and, instinctively, she licked her lips.

But Isabelle had never been with a man as big as Cyrus. Insecurities rushed her again.

* * * *

Cyrus nearly exploded, watching Izzy stare at his cock as if she wanted to treat him like her own personal popsicle.

She wrapped her fingers around him and licked the moisture off the crown before twirling her tongue in lazy circles around the tip, then stroked him three times before cupping his sac in her other hand and sucking him into her mouth. As she continued stroking him with her hand, Izzy pulled him down deep into her throat, again and again. All he could do was cup the back of her head, holding her to him as she blew his mind.

She gave him his first glimpse of heaven.

He let her continue the sweet torture until she ran her tongue along the ridge underneath his length. Not wanting to come this way, Cyrus eased her from him, flipped her onto her back, and yanked off her shoes and jeans. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her red lace panties. She had one hell of a sexy body, and seeing her lying there in only that damn scrap of lace was almost more than a man could take.

I guess it’s a good thing I’m a demon, then.

He kissed her soft, flat belly and stroked her through her panties. The fact that she was wet and ready for him spurred his desire into overdrive. She cried out when he ripped the lace from her skin and pushed one finger inside her.

Cyrus rested his head against her stomach and took deep breaths, fighting for control.

“My God, Izzy. You are so tight, so wet… So good.”

The deep blush settling on her skin told him his praise was having an obvious effect on her.

He pushed another finger into her, and she slammed her hips upward to take him deep. “Cyrus! More!”

He worked a third into her. When her body clamped down on his fingers, he growled his approval. He eased them out, careful not to hurt her, but wanting to make sure her body could accommodate his without pain. Izzy pushed back down, taking his fingers deep into her body once again.

His control fled him in one fell swoop. He crawled up her body and nudged her legs open so he could rest his hips between them.

He wrapped his arms around her. She was tiny, cocooned by his bigger frame, and that realization provoked swift and substantial feelings of protectiveness. Something inside him wanted to keep her safe always.

But how was he supposed to manage that when she insisted on inviting spirits into her body? What if another Havoc attacked her when he wasn’t around?

One moment, anger tore through him at the thought that she would dare take such a risk. The next, desire obliterated every other emotion and left him uncaring of anything except touching her.

His nudged his cock against her opening. Izzy moaned in response, tilting her hips toward him in blatant invitation. He slid inside her, one agonizing inch at a time, until he was seated fully within her warmth. Her channel clamping around him, Izzy’s eyes flew wide as she cried out her release. He pumped into her slowly, wringing every last spasm from her body. Her breaths came in short gasps, and he continued thrusting his hips, pushing through her slick, swollen folds.

He couldn’t help but feel a little smug about Izzy’s instant orgasm. He’d never gotten this much satisfaction from pleasing a woman before. With other women, it had been more of a slaking of his body’s needs, of worrying about his own pleasure. With Izzy, it was different. He didn’t care about his own pleasure, even though she’d already given him more than he’d known with any other. That was just a bonus.

With her, he wanted to brand himself deep into her soul, so deep she’d never forget him, never forget he was the one who’d made her feel the intense desire she was feeling now. He wanted to please her, make her happy, care for her needs. The satisfaction he got from her enjoyment was fulfilling to him as well.

As Cyrus kept up a slow rhythm, her body wept with welcoming desire once again. “Izzy, I could stay inside you forever,” he said, gritting his teeth and continuing to pump into her.

* * * *

Isabelle arched her hips, surprised at the rush of desire burning through her veins so quickly on the heels of her first orgasm. She wasn’t sure she could ever get enough of Cyrus. With this one encounter, he’d ruined her for all other men. They would fail miserably in comparison from now on.

“You feel pretty good yourself, Cyrus,” she said.

He laughed. “Pretty good?”

He gave a couple twists of his hips, and she cried out. “Okay, you are wonderful!”

He stilled, balancing himself on his forearms to keep from crushing her with his weight, and put his mouth to her ear. “Am I the best?”

“Men! You all have huge—” She was going to say egos, but he suddenly slid one hand down, cupped her ass, and tilted her hips up before seating himself even deeper. “Oh!” Black dots danced before her eyes, and lightning sizzled through her veins. “Yes! God, yes, Cyrus. You are the best!”

He chuckled again and picked up the rhythm, burying himself deeper with each short, quick stroke. She cried out each time he entered her. When he reared up on his knees and grasped her hips, pumping into her fiercely, roughly, her body eagerly welcomed every thrust. He filled her fully, stretching her around him almost painfully.

Isabelle began slipping over the edge once again. She strained against him, begging for more, and he gave her more, relentlessly thrusting into her time and time again. A fine sheen of sweat covered their bodies, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Her inner muscles tightened around him, and an orgasm ripped through her once again.

Cyrus groaned and stilled for a moment before continuing to pound into her until a broken cry was torn from his throat, and he exploded inside her. Her body squeezed every drop from his, and when her muscles finally relaxed, he collapsed on the bed and pulled her over his chest where they both fell asleep.

Chapter Eight

Isabelle yawned and squinted at the clock. It was nearing three, and she was surprised that she’d fallen asleep for as long as she had. Although the fact she’d been tired enough to drift off shouldn’t have come as a shock, considering the whole being-possessed-by-Stephen ordeal, followed by the making-love-to-Cyrus thing.

She stretched, reaching out for him only to find the space beside her empty. Isabelle eased herself from the bed and searched the dim room. He was nowhere to be found. She frowned. Where was he?

Her body was still deliciously sated, and a rush of heat swept through her when memories of what they had done assailed her. The man was a master at sex. He’d not only known where she liked to be touched most, but also the precise moment to touch her in those spots to wring the most pleasure from her. Her body had practically hummed under his fingers. Even now, the memory left her vibrating with pleasure. She took a deep breath, and the vague, lingering scent of him on the sheets tickled at her senses.

She still had questions…many of them. How had he saved her earlier? If a living soul could not leave its body unless that body was dead, how had Cyrus been able to get inside her to kick Stephen’s ass out? If she was certain of one thing, it was that he was alive. She shivered thinking about all the things his mouth, hands, and cock had done to her.