Chapter 23 #2
It could be a trap. Not unless the demon had known exactly where she’d be and when, and if it did, she was even more doomed than she’d thought.
We’re in some abandoned store, for God’s sake, it’s not exactly clean or comfortable. Whatever. Some people had sex on camping trips. At least the floor in the building was dry.
The conduit— She got herself off regularly, and that had never caused trouble.
At that point, Ligat slid one hand down to the waistband of Hazel’s jeans, and his touch silenced even that feeble debate.
He paused for barely a second before plunging farther in one cool, sure motion that ended with the base of his fingers pressed just above her clit and his fingertips slipping into her.
He must have felt how wet she was—well, there was no way he could not, she was basically dripping onto him—because he made a low noise in his throat. “Needy little creature, aren’t you?” he growled.
“Takes one—” Hazel reached out and wrapped her fingers around the erection tenting his robe. “To know one.”
Ligat’s cock pulsed against her palm. It was too thick for her to close her hand, especially with the cloth tugging and shifting between them, but she squeezed lightly and his hips jerked forward in response.
Hazel drew her hand up and ran her thumb over the head, where the thick cloth was damp already.
He caught her wrist again. “Stop that.”
It didn’t seem like a real boundary, not with his other hand still buried in her jeans, his fingers stretching and teasing her, but Hazel stilled her hand anyhow. “What?” she asked, trying to be cool and sounding half-broken instead. “Do you have to pay for your own dry cleaning?”
“I have other plans.” He did pull his hand back up then, and Hazel groaned, but it turned into a giggle as she felt Ligat fumbling with the buttons on her jeans. He silenced her with another hard kiss. “Take these down.”
“Or?” she asked, though she was already slipping the button free, not caring how much it undermined the question.
His grip on her wrist tightened, and the red eyes staring at her flared. “Or I’ll find an easier way to have them off you.”
“You make a lot of threats.” Hazel yanked her zipper open. “And I need my other hand.”
Ligat dropped her wrist. She watched his face as she hooked her thumbs into her waistband and shoved her jeans and underpants to her ankles, dizzy heat running through her as he saw her exposed skin and bit his lower lip.
“I’m not taking off my shoes here,” she said.
She’d clearly lost her mind to lust and near-death experiences, but there were still limits, even if they began and ended with not getting stung by ethereal scorpions.
“No need,” said Ligat, voice low. “Turn around.”
You’re not my supervisor, she thought, but the order and the desperation in it both went straight to her center, tingling almost as much as the sudden cool air. Hazel turned to face the wall, aching and ready, as she heard the light clanking of metal behind her.
Then Ligat was there at her back, the head of his cock sliding, broad and cool, between her legs. He nudged her thighs farther apart with one hand, found the right angle to make up for the difference in their heights, and then thrust in with one unwavering, hard stroke.
“Mn,” said Hazel, or words to that effect.
Buried to the root, he stopped. His hand circled around her thigh to brush against her clit. “Too much?”
There was a challenge to the question, a hint of triumph—but Hazel thought for a moment that she heard concern as well.
Don’t read those tea leaves, honey, she told herself, and sank back into sensation.
“No.” She would have lied for her ego, but she didn’t have to.
Ligat was filling her very thoroughly, and stretching around his girth was a process, but it was a welcome one. Hazel shifted her hips, exploring.
Ligat’s groan vibrated through his chest and her back. “Do not,” he said, one hand clenching on her hip, “move.”
“No?” she repeated, a challenge of her own this time, because she knew this was not the sort of encounter where she could whine, but I have to, I can’t stop, it feels too good.
He pressed harder on her clit, circling two fingers around it. “No,” he repeated, voice rasping in her ear. “Not at all.”
Hazel would have resented the command, but she couldn’t feel anything except desire. It flooded her nerves and her brain, making her arch so that her head lolled back against Ligat’s shoulder as he started thrusting, drawing her thighs tense around his hand when he sped that up.
The buckles on his robe dug into her back with every motion, a sharp contrast that wasn’t quite pain, that focused her mind more intently on the pleasure rising within her.
She barely even noticed that she was moaning again, though she heard the noises Ligat made, the low gasps and groans as he pumped his hips and his cock worked in and out of her.
Braced against the wall, with Ligat’s hand and her own lust holding her still, she couldn’t tease him in return, couldn’t switch angles to set the pace, couldn’t do anything but feel. Sensation rocked her like waves in a storm, building at a speed she couldn’t control and had no desire to resist.
Hazel came with a long, low cry, her vision blurring as her body convulsed. She couldn’t keep from moving then. Without even thinking, she was jerking her hips in small but quick thrusts, drawing out her orgasm on Ligat’s cock.
He hissed against her neck. His hand at her hip clenched, the fingers on her clit pressed harder, and Ligat drove himself into her with a new desperation and a faster, stuttering rhythm.
Hazel heard a moan that sounded like it came from the bottom of his lungs and felt him arch above her, all his muscles turned to steel cables for just a second.
Then his cock started jerking inside her, flooding her with warmth, and the lean figure at her back slumped forward.
Whatever flaws he had, he was nice enough to brace himself with one hand against the wall rather than squashing Hazel into it. She appreciated that sort of thing.
And maybe she did let herself enjoy the closeness a little bit longer than she should have, for all that it was an even worse idea than enjoying his body.
Her head was still spinning, after all—sudden movements were probably a bad idea.
If that meant waiting under Ligat, feeling the security of a solid form above her and smelling the vague hint of cedar that clung to his skin, well, that was just the situation.
Besides, the longer she stayed pressed against him, the more she could maybe delay really thinking about what she’d just done.