Satan (3 page)

He propped one sneaker-clad foot on the sheepskin, scooped her into his arms, stood, and started to march out of the room. “Bedroom. Condoms.”

“Yes. Yes.” She kissed his chin, his temple, and when she tongue-traced the whorls of his ear, his breathing went raspy. Good. She wanted to turn him on as much as he did her. To have him hot, bothered, and on fire. She went to town on his ear, bit the lobe, soothed and suckled his flesh, and feathered kisses down his neck.

He smelled of soap and the sea. She loved the slight burn of the stubble on his jaw and worried the corner of his mouth.

His fingers worked her nipple while he stomped up the stairs.

Her vision went blurred when he sprinted over the landing, jogged down a hallway, and turned on a dime into a large, shadowed room. He walked to an enormous, canopied bed, and placed her in the middle of the mattress.

When he whipped his sweater off, she licked her lips at the broad expanse of his delicious chest. Dazed and beguiled by the way his muscles rippled when he unbuckled his belt, she held her breath, and waited for the brass zipper to slowly ride down.

“Fuck. Shoes.” He shot her a wry glance. “You’re turning my mind to mush, woman.”

She preened, glanced down at her half-undressed body, and skimmed the little black dress off, tossing the stretchy fabric with one pointed foot. When she looked up, there he was in all his warrior glory kneeling naked on the bed right by her side. Black curls tousled, onyx eyes lasered onto her, he had a condom in his hand. “I can’t believe you’ve been naked from the start.”

She cupped his face. “I want you.”

“I want you too.”

“Now. Now.” She spread her legs wide, helped him roll on the condom, and he positioned himself at her core.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His teeth were bared in a snarl, sweat beaded his brow, and he wore an expression of absolute agony.

“You won’t.” She wrapped her legs around his back and thrust her hips up. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

His cock was thick and long and stretched her pussy to bursting. She shifted to try and accommodate his girth, and his dick hit a sweet spot that had her vaginal walls clenching.

He reached down between their joined bodies and tweaked her clit.

Never had a climax been so mind-blowing. The contractions came harder and faster when he hammered into her. Just when she thought
no more, no more, nooo more
, he pounded her G-spot. She exploded in another white-hot earth-shattering orgasm.

She clung to his sweaty arms when he drove into her one final time and grunted.

He collapsed on top of her and immediately half-rose onto his forearms.

“Lie on me.”

“Too heavy.” He kissed her cheek.

“Please. Just for a few moments.” She slid her arms around his waist and caressed his taut muscles. Her mouth curved in a cat-ate-the-canary grin when her hands couldn’t span his broad, sinewy back, and she blew out a fat, sated-woman sigh.

He was heavy, no doubt about that, but he felt incredible. She trailed her fingers over the lean, corded ridges that delineated his trim waist.

A thin film of sweat coated her breasts and his chest. Unable to resist, she sniffed the musk of their fucking and licked a small drop of salty perspiration. This was sex at its best with all the raunchy aromas of semen and pussy cream.

“Okay. Now you’re getting a little heavy.” She tapped the ridge of his shoulder.

At once, he lifted his upper torso. The sudden movement seated him deeper inside her and triggered a series of orgasmic aftershocks. She dug her fingers into his biceps and rode the mind-blowing climax to the end.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her and wearing a sexy, lop-sided grin. He flicked her cheek. “Nice to meet you, Angelica O’Malley.”

“Back atcha.”

“I should—”

“Stay right where you are.” She tightened her hold on him.

“No objections here.” He brushed his lips to hers.

“Are you one of those men who likes to have their partner leave right away?” Now why had she asked that question? It wasn’t as if she had any intention of staying, even though he’d mentioned running her back to town the following day.

“You bet. But not in this case.” He leaned onto one forearm, cupped her breast, and tongue-tickled her nipple. “Not when I haven’t had a chance to taste every inch of you.”

“I can stay a little longer, but I really do have to get back to the city tonight. I have a meeting at ten.” She finger-combed a lock of hair back from his forehead, surprised at how easy and familiar he felt. How right this strange intimacy seemed.

Angel contracted her vaginal muscles once she felt him go flaccid inside her and grumbled her disappointment when he withdrew.

“Be right back.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

She traced the contractions of his powerful butt cheeks when he ambled across the bedroom and disappeared into what must be the bathroom. Only then did she begin to absorb the opulence of the enormous bedroom.

He had either inherited or created a significant fortune. She recognized an ornate Rolex clock on an antique writing desk in the corner of the room.

The bedroom didn’t fit him. Too fussy, with too many knickknacks everywhere. A warrior like Satan didn’t collect expensive model cars, and certainly not Russian peasant dolls. A half decade spent as a journalist meant she could pretty much glance at a person and read their personality. Clothes, stance, body movements were dead giveaways, but a bedroom—that was where deep secrets were revealed. She’d bet any odds that nothing, not a single object in this bedroom, had been purchased by him.

She heard the toilet flush.

He strolled through the doorway not two seconds later and gestured to the bathroom. “All yours.”

Angel rolled onto her side. “Can you toss me my dress?”

He bent, snatched the dress, and offered the fabric to her. “Want to borrow a T-shirt and sweats? Be more comfortable.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that.” She hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean, I really should leave.”

“You’d never get a cab at this hour. And a limo’s highly improbable. I’ll run you into town tomorrow. No problem.”

He was probably right on both points.

“There are six bedrooms. We don’t have to sleep together if you’d prefer otherwise.”

She laughed. “I’d definitely
not
prefer otherwise. I’ll take the sweats and the T-shirt, thanks.”

“Hang on.” He pivoted, went over to a mahogany dresser, opened a drawer, retrieved two garments, hip-bumped the drawer shut, and returned to her side. “Black definitely suits you.”

“Thanks.” She took the clothes from his grasp. “Kind of cliché—you know, redhead dressing in black. I’ll be right back.”

While Angel had no illusions about her body and knew she had a good figure, getting off the bed and walking to the bathroom knowing his gaze would be locked on her ass proved unnerving. She washed up, used some of his toothpaste to finger-brush her teeth, and donned the sweats and T-shirt.

He was sitting on the bed, dressed in the same manner, when she exited the bathroom. Immediately, he stood and drew her into his embrace.

Her stomach picked that moment to complain its emptiness. She coughed to cover the embarrassing growl.

“Ten is your meeting? Can’t reschedule?”

“No. Not this one, but it’ll only last a couple of hours, I hope. After that I’m on vacation for four days, and definitely available”
Shit.

That was so
not
what she’d meant to say.

Only a crazy woman would offer to spend Christmas with a man she just met. And fucked.

Satan schooled the surprise out of his face. Angelica had just offered to spend Christmas with him, and even more shocking, he wanted her to. A desperate need to have her stay with him over the holidays blasted the brick wall he’d built around his emotions. What was it about this woman that had him breaking his self-imposed rules regarding hookups?

“It’s a deal.” He kissed her to seal the agreement, got lost in the sweetness of her mouth, savored the slight hint of mint on her teeth, and suckled the tip of her tongue. She sank into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, deepening his exploration.

Their tongues tangoed, at first slow and languid, then heated and fast. Satan’s breathing turned erratic when she snaked her hands under the waistband of his sweats and caressed his thickening cock. He stayed her questing fingers, broke the kiss, and rested his forehead on hers.

“What?” She had the sultriest half-hooded glance in the universe, those baby blue eyes darkened by her dilated pupils.

He liked that her lips were swollen and a deeper ruby than when she’d worn lipstick earlier. Unable to resist, he traced the outline of her pouty mouth. “I heard your stomach grumble. When was the last time you ate?”

She grimaced. “I was hoping that you hadn’t heard that. A while back. I had something on the plane. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like a man who cooks.”

He chuckled. “On the nose. But I have a freezer full of donated home-cooked food.”

“Donated?”

“Let’s head to the kitchen, and I’ll explain on the way.” He flicked her cheek, set his palm to the small of her back, and urged her into motion.

“One of my buddies has a wife whose hobby is cooking. She’s made it her business to stock my freezer with gourmet meals.” Fuck, she smelled and felt fantastic, and moved with a ballerina’s gracefulness. Barefoot, she stood a mere four inches shorter than him.

“Lucky you. I’m a horrible cook, but I do know all the ‘healthy’ take-out and delivery restaurants close to my condo. Even got half a dozen Christmas cards from the places I frequent most.” She rolled her eyes. “A Suzy homemaker, I’m not.”

“In some ways, Destiny is. She’s the wife I referred to before.” They arrived at the kitchen, and Satan led her over to the commercial double door freezer. He opened the appliance and gestured to the stacked freezer bags and boxes on the shelves. “They’re all labeled. What’re you in the mood for?”

She ducked under his arm, studied the labels, and glanced up at him, her eyes wide. “You weren’t kidding. Gourmet is right. Duck L’Orange, Beef Bourguignon, Escargots in parsley-garlic-lemon butter—this is amazing.”

“What’s your fancy?”

“Hmmm.” She tapped a finger to her mouth. “The beef.”

“Actually the bourguignon is one of Destiny’s specialties.” Satan retrieved the labeled gallon bag from the shelf. “I’ve had it often. And the good news is that all we have to do is place this bag in a pot of boiling water, and it’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

“I can make a salad if you have the ingredients. While I’m dangerous near any kind of heat, I do raw excellently.” She blew her fingernails and winked. “Gotta know what you’re good at, right?”

The temptation proved too great. “I know one thing you’re very, very good at.”

To his delight, she blushed. “I wasn’t trolling for compliments.”

“A woman who looks like you do doesn’t have to. Can’t imagine any sane male not fawning.” Satan opened a deep drawer, retrieved a stainless steel soup pot, and set it on the stove. He dropped the freezer bag in the pot, swung the water spigot above the gas range over the pot, and turned the tap on.

“For someone who doesn’t cook, you sure have an amazing kitchen. Omigod, you have a Miele Direct Sensor coffee maker. I looked at those. Way out of my price line.” She propped one foot on top of the other and braced her rear on a cabinet. “Just who are you, Lorcan McGuillycuddy? And how do you know Jess?”

“Jess’s husband and I work together. How do you know her?” Satan did not allow strangers to interrogate him. Regret and irritation had him backpedaling and contemplating how to get out of their tentative agreement to spend four days fucking.

“I work for a foundation that targets ISIS activists who try to recruit teenagers. Jess agreed to do our PR. Aside from my colleagues, she’s the only friend I’ve made since moving to the U.S.”

Satan’s jaw sagged. He’d never expected Angelica’s declaration. With her looks and astounding body, he figured her for a model or an aspiring actress. “How’d you get involved with the foundation?”

Her rosy cheeks paled and a muscle in her cheek twitched. All her vigor evaporated. “My brother is—was an ISIS recruit.”

Fuck.
He turned off the spigot, switched on the burner, marched over to her, and hauled her into his arms. “That’s horrible, Angelica.”

“It is.” Her voice was muffled because she buried her face in his chest. “It’s terribly horrible.”

He tipped her chin up to assess her state of mind. Anger glinted from her powder blues. “Is that why you’re in the U.S.? Because of this foundation?”

“Yes. There are more families here with sons in ISIS than even in Trinidad. We have a large Muslim population.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to go down this road right now. I’ll dig in the fridge and see if I can find enough ingredients to fix a salad.”

Satan studied her wan expression, nodded, and kissed her forehead. “Done. The fridge is all yours. I know I have bread, but there may be rolls too. The frozen kind.”

“You’re a total fraud—you can cook.” Angelica had her head in the fridge and her pert rump in the air.

“Correction, woman, I can assemble an already prepared meal.” Satan checked the microwave clock. “You do realize it’s near midnight. Are you going to get enough sleep for your ten o’clock meeting?”

Armed with a head of Romaine lettuce, a container of cherry tomatoes, one red onion, and a bottle of olives, she flashed him a rueful grin. “These days I average maybe five hours of sleep a night. If I’m lucky. I operate fine on two or three.”

Satan snorted. What were the odds? Of two insomniacs in a temporary fucking relationship? The good news was that when they couldn’t sleep, there were tons of sexual options.

He rummaged in the bread box and discovered fresh rolls. Jess must have brought them earlier, acting on Destiny’s orders, of course. He threw the bread into a bowl, popped the dish into the microwave, and pressed
Warm
. “I don’t sleep much either. Is your move to New York temporary?”