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January 2 - January 2, 2020
He saw Paradise. He saw hell. He saw freedom, prison, everything and nothing. He saw…home.
mood. Punch a wall, Violence beckoned. Destroy something. Hurt, kill.
The plastic “ladies” had stared out from every corner, their wide eyes and let-me-suck-you mouths taunting everyone who passed them.
His mind flashed back to those dark days in Greece, days of war and savagery, screams and death. Days the warriors had been more demon than man. Days a hunger for destruction had dictated their every action and human bodies had littered the streets.
They can enslave you with a glance. One of them has wings and flies when the moon is full. The scarred one can disappear at will.
Savage, the look in his violet eyes said. Predator.
The voices had stopped, as if they were actually cognizant of the man’s presence and were as afraid of him as she was. Silence enveloped her.
He was like the dragons in the fairy tales McIntosh had read her: too lethal to tame, too mesmerizing to walk away from.
Only a fool ran from heaven’even if that piece of heaven possessed a transparent face straight from hell.
she was every fantasy he’d ever had come to life, and he planned to sate himself inside her, over and over again, taking her in every position imaginable and even some that weren’t.
The thought of vanquishing Violence was almost a sexual high. He smiled, thinking this must be how Reyes felt. Happy in pain, desperate for more.
A dark need, frightening in its intensity and still so much more powerful than Violence had ever been.
How did she elicit such a response from him simply by breathing?
Her angelic beauty was more enthralling than Pandora’s box, promising absolution it couldn’t possibly deliver. And yet, a part of him wished that it could. Just for a moment.
She’d searched her entire life, but it had taken a possessed immortal to show her this slice of silent, lust-filled heaven on earth.
Humans were too weak, and his demon constantly urged him to destroy them in ways that mirrored their own sins. A rapist would lose his cock. A wife-beater would lose his hands. More and more, Aeron liked what he did, liked meting out his own form of vengeance. Which was why he was so close to the edge.
That primitive tone…She shivered. It had scared her in the forest. Now it fanned the flames of her desire. “How can you be sure?”
the kiss continued…never stopped…lasted forever…a kiss of sorcery and dreams and fire.
In that timeless eternity he became Pleasure. He wasn’t a being ruled by Violence. He was simply a man who craved this woman. A man who lived in a world where light always stamped out darkness and good always conquered evil.
“Pin his fucking legs.” “Can’t. Got his arms.” “Knock him out, Paris.” “Sure. Want me to spew diamonds from my ass while I’m at it?”
Rage exploded through him, so fervent and sinister he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Had to get to Ashlyn. Had to protect her. She was innocent, fragile, would never survive if a fight broke out.
The spirit churned inside of him, a poisoned hailstorm, a bundle of lightning, a tempest of destruction. Man and demon melded with a common goal. Surviving this, so that they could defend their woman.
“Five minutes,” Paris said, the words thick with pleasure. “That’s all I need.” “Later.” “Now.” “What are you, a child? Your cock is not a toy, so stop playing with it for one damn night.”
Mine, mine, mine. She was more important than breathing, more necessary than food or water or shelter. In a thousand lifetimes of war and violence and rage, she gave him kindness. Serenity. Compassion. Trust. Woe to anyone’even the Lords of the Underworld, even the gods’who tried to hurt her.
“You are mine, woman, and I am yours. Until you, my life was desolate. I existed, but I didn’t truly live. Now I live, even in my death.”
She was gentleness and she was light. She was passion and she was calm. Hope and life. Innocence and…everything. She was his everything.
he’d called this her home. It was, she realized. It was the only home she’d ever really known. How unlikely that a man of violence would be the one to give it to her.
His face was cloaked by that skeletal mask, letting her see both man and beast. Both were staring at her with love and tenderness, a need so deep it was infinite.
This was more than sex, more than pleasure. This was destiny, a melding of souls.
“Aren’t all fairy tales based in fact? You yourself are supposed to be nothing more than a myth. Pandora’s box is a story parents read to their children at night,” she countered. “That means life itself is a fairy tale. Like the characters, we all live and love and search for a happily-ever-after.”
