Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) Page 17

  But I was out of options and running dangerously low on control.

  I pulled open the drawer to my desk and took out a pad of paper and a pen. Two little, folded notes later—one labeled “Aria” and one “Gypsy”—I replaced the pad and straightened my things. And then I coded open the bottom drawer, pulled out the .32 revolver, and loaded it with lead. I tucked it into the side pocket of my cargo pants, happy the thing was impressively concealable. At least Aria wouldn’t know what was coming. At least my cabin backed up to the Great Lake, and she’d be spared the visual of finding my body.

  Aria peeked her eyes open once during her nap. I stared at her, hoping my face didn’t betray the sense of utter horror, shame, and fear that I felt. Her eyes reflected sorrow for me and a longing I hated to see, mixed with that beautiful, fearless power of hers, that siren’s allure that made it impossible to resist her, yet even more critical I do exactly that. She closed her eyes again and her breathing resumed its sleepy rhythm.

  God fucking damn, I loved her, so much. But to tell her now would only hurt her more when I was gone.

  I rose from my chair, sat on the edge of the sofa and wrapped myself around her, breathing of her sweetness at the base of her neck. I wondered if I was more attuned to the scents of different women by my nature as an incubus. It didn’t matter. In only an hour’s time, I would never smell Aria again. I would never taste her lips or hear her voice or brush that streak of blue away from her adorable, furrowed eyebrows. I would never again be tempted by the way she tugged her waistband lower with her thumbs hooked through her belt loops.

  I’d never see her again, or Gypsy, or anyone, because I’d be dead. An odd relief muted my sorrow about it all. The killing would finally be over.

  Aria was like no other woman on Earth—of that, I was certain. I needed her. I needed every taste of her lips and touch of her fingertips. I needed her to love me, too. But I was out of time to tell her how I felt and out of control to wait for her reply.

  I kissed her cheek as she half-smiled in her sleep. “I’m going for a walk,” I whispered. “Rest.”

  The hours to come would bring many questions and a whole lot of anger. But until it was over, and until she read the letter I left her, I wanted her to feel happy. I wanted her to know my love for her. The love that was crushing my soul with each moment that passed.

  I slipped out the back door barefoot and reveled in the cool moisture of the grass as I strode to the rocks of the shore. I crouched when I reached the edge and wished I had another option. The sky stretched on before me, which still glowed with the glint of impending night, the color a deep indigo. The water crashed over the rocks, a faint spray cooling my face. Truly, Lake Superior could have been an ocean had the water not been fresh, and I would have gladly drowned in the endless depths of it if that meant I could avoid hurting the girl in my cabin, the woman I cherished every time she melted into my arms. But a bullet was quicker than drowning and far more guaranteed to do the job right.

  I closed my eyes and imagined Aria’s face when I touched her, when she came, when I kissed her. Her long lashes batting past bright, lacy eyes. I savored every sound she made in my permanent memory, though I knew even my memory would not exist for long.

  I stood and faced the house. I hoped she was still sleeping. I didn’t want her to hear the gunshot.

  The gun was heavy in my hand, despite its petite size. I blew out a harsh breath, my heart pounding in my ears, my toes icing with fear of the moment. I’d tried to kill myself once before, after my first kill, and fantasized about it many times since. Gypsy saved me the first time. After that, I never let her know how close to reality the suicide option was in my mind. If I killed Aria, there wouldn’t be anything left of me to save. Gypsy would lose me, but I’d still be here in her face, my body dominated by a killer, my soul as dead as the soul of the woman I loved.

  Aria. I pulled the hammer back on the gun and bounced on my heels. She deserved better than me. Both of them did. My fingers iced further, and as I shivered from the chill of the lake air, I put the barrel in my mouth.

  When I tried this before, Gypsy found me with the gun to my temple. She took it from me, pistol-whipped me with it, and then screamed that if I was going to be such a coward and leave her there, I should at least have the decency to do it right. “In the mouth, aim up, you fucking moron!” But I saw through the rage. Her tears betrayed her pain and fear. I’d scared her so badly I never tried it again.

  But this time was different. I had two living people to think about, two that I loved. So I aimed up.

  I’m sorry, Gypsy.

  I closed my eyes and let Aria’s beautiful face drift into my thoughts, the final image I wanted with me when I blasted myself straight into hell. Her eyes . . . her body . . . fuck me, her body . . .

  I flexed my grip around the gun.

  And I couldn’t pull the trigger.

  I tried. Something was wrong. I flexed that one little muscle to end it all, and the incubus caught on, heat seizing through my body like lightning, electrifying and melting me from the inside out. The blaze of his control shot from my heart to my fingertips, and the shiver of the cool evening vanished, replaced by need, desire, and flames in my veins.

  I watched my hand pull the gun from my mouth, though I kept trying to squeeze the trigger. My fingers only released the gun and let it clatter to the mist-dampened rocks by my feet. The fire in my body tripled, and I broke into a sweat. I tried to reach into my pocket for my phone, but my feet moved forward without my consent, and I walked to the house, fists clenched at my sides.

  In my mind, I saw flashes of thoughts not conjured by me. Aria moaned in my memory, her heat quivered around my finger with moisture, tightness . . . I didn’t want those memories now, with my feet carrying me toward my cabin in a vicious stalk, my erection stiff and primed to take her life.

  It was the incubus controlling me. I had no choice. I couldn’t quiet the memories he brought forth, heightening my desperation, my arousal . . . he wanted to kill her. He wanted me to kill her. He demanded it.

  Stop! I screamed at myself. Stop, you bastard!

  The incubus stopped my feet. A moment of relief bounced through me that I might still have control. I was wrong. The incubus raised my hand, chuckled quietly through my mouth, and made me slap myself in the face, hard.

  Stunned into mental silence, the sting of my own palm on my cheek ringing through ears I no longer owned, I resumed walking.

  I walked beyond Aria, still dozing on the couch, to the main level bathroom. Thank God I walked beyond her. Fear pounded in my chest with every beat of my heart. I stopped in front of the sink and turned on the water to wash my hands.

  What the hell was he doing? Taunting me? I couldn’t command my hands as the water scalded my skin—way too hot. I pumped soap into my palms and scrubbed as I’d done too many times to count while riddled with guilt, and I looked up at my reflection. My muscles were thick, bulging against my skin. My eyes blazed red like the fire burning me from the inside out. I tried to look away, but the incubus just stared back at me, mocking my futile struggle to regain control.

  I didn’t have any control of my body. Every action was involuntary as though I wasn’t even in the backseat of my own consciousness. I couldn’t tap the driver—the incubus—on the shoulder and ask him to pull over, to let me out. I was so helpless, I might as well have been in the fucking trunk of my vehicle.

  The incubus tilted my head to the side, grinning at me with hideous arousal in the mirror. “Play time, Asher,” he said through my lips.

  No! No! Aria!

  I watched myself dry my hands, and the incubus winked at me in the mirror.

  Holy fuck, he was going to kill her. I couldn’t warn her, or get Gypsy for help, and the more I mentally thrashed against the restraints the incubus had around me—the same restraints I’d imposed upon him for years while I did his bidding—the more gleeful he grew at my suffering.

  Flashing me another gr
in in the mirror, the incubus flicked off the bathroom light and left the room. Together as one body—me, an unwilling accomplice commanded by the monster who ruined my life over and over again—we paced over to where Aria slept and knelt down beside her.

  She squirmed on the couch, her breath rapid and shallow. Was she dreaming? She drew in little gasps and released each as a moan, and the incubus tilted my head with curiosity. We had heard those moans before, when I pressed her hand against herself on my breakfast bar. And again in the hotel, and on the floor of my cabin. The incubus leaned down and touched my lips to hers, and she opened her mouth, stretched back and cried out, her body quivering.

  My mind raced with confusion. Was she having an orgasm in her sleep? The incubus kissed her again, and she threaded her fingers along my scalp, pulling me, exhaling into my mouth. And as my lungs filled, I felt the burn of her climax, her aura, leak into my soul. The incubus loved this moment as much as I did and drew in her orgasm as my body climbed over hers. The aura pushed strength into me, and yet my self-control was just an inch out of reach.

  Could I regain control with enough power absorbed from her pleasure?

  “Oh, Asher,” Aria breathed into my lips as I continued to kiss her—was it me, or the incubus kissing her, now? Her eyelids fluttered open and I froze.

  The white lacing in her irises was pitch black. Like fishnet lingerie over cerulean skin, backed by the fires of passion, the whites of her eyes blazed with hot fire.

  Fire like mine. Like the incubus. Succubus fire.

  She blinked and both the black and fire faded back to white. My heart stalled in my chest.

  “I dreamed you were inside me, Asher,” she whispered, still pulling on my short hair, writhing in ecstasy beneath my weight.

  The incubus froze inside me with shock.

  I took hold of the moment and drew strength from that little gasp of her climax to push him away from my own body. I yanked the burn out of my limbs and shoved the incubus down inside me, wrapping him in chains. He snarled and fought, but it didn’t matter. I had the strength to fight him. Aria gave me strength. And I won, locking him down tight and throwing away the fucking key.

  I win, you son of a bitch. You will not take her from me!

  Aria exhaled again, and as I brushed her hair back from her temple, a sheen of sweat pricked up along her forehead. “You dreamed we were making love, sweetie?” I whispered. The voice was mine. The control was mine.

  And this impending change—the black in her eyes and the reason she could see the fire behind my own—there was more to her than I originally thought. Aria wasn’t a siren, tempting me to my doom. Aria was a succubus luring me to my solution. My cure. My salvation.

  She nodded and a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. She swiped it away and averted her gaze, ashamed. “God, Asher, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I need you so badly. I’m trying so damn hard to resist you, to let you take things slow . . . ”

  “But your body can’t hold out any longer without it,” I finished her sentence. “Without me inside you.”

  She nodded again and hid her face behind her hand, cries shaking her body.

  She needed me. Sex. I remembered these feelings before the incubus woke up. And while I’d never reached a climax in my sleep to give me a clue as to what would come next, Aria’s soul was out of patience. The succubus wanted to wake up.

  I kissed her, driving my tongue into her mouth, her moan of delight sweeping through me with a desire so potent it nearly crushed me. Everything made sense: why I couldn’t resist her, why she pushed and challenged me, why even our first kiss was so powerful—life-altering. She was the female equivalent of me. My match, my perfect match. My heart rocked with joy.

  And she would survive my body. Of this, I was absolutely certain. I shifted to my knees, scooped her into my arms and carried her to bed.

  Aria stretched out when I set her down, and she shimmied out of her clothing. Curiosity, excitement and a hidden victory glimmered behind her eyes as I changed the pace of the restraint I’d shown all along. She had no hesitation taking her clothes off and presenting herself to me. Was that what love meant? That her desire for me would override all logic and fear?

  I stepped out of my pants and tugged my shirt over my head, stripping nude and standing beside the bed, still predatory but able to breathe. The incubus was locked safely away, and this woman I cherished would still be alive when we finished. She shivered in the cool air and my appetite peaked.

  I climbed into bed and slid a blanket over the two of us, blocking out my sight of the mirror. I rolled between Aria’s legs and watched her. I let a smile creep across my lips, and she smiled back, bewilderment softening her features.

  “This is different,” she said.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Aria, I’m so sorry. I’ve been stupid.”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. Are you sure, though? Are we really doing this?” Excitement arched her words up as she searched my eyes.

  I caught her lips with mine, kissing her like the rarity she was. “I’m sure. Yes. We’re doing this.”

  She kissed me back, moaning, and I stroked her cheek with the backs of my knuckles. Then I let my hand glide down to her breast and squeezed there—worshipping, cherishing this woman, the only woman for me, the succubus I couldn’t wait to awaken and meet. She sighed with pleasure as I squeezed the tip of her nipple, and she tilted her pelvis up higher. I slid my hand down to her stomach and steadied her hips, rising up to the right angle to meet her center. I positioned myself carefully, her soft folds slippery and enticing with desire.

  She tightened her grip on my biceps as I let my weight rest down on the length of my erection, and I watched her eyes. She held her breath as I pressed forward, meeting the resistance of her virginity. And then she gave way and I sank inside, liquid heat rushing around me, and she sucked in a sharp gasp. I pressed until I reached her fullest depth, and I leaned down to embrace her, stilling, letting the pain subside.

  Aria wrapped her arms around my waist as I shifted to stroke her hair and kiss her lips. Goddamn, she felt good. So tight, so hot around me . . . everything I’d ever imagined her to be. And she’d live when we were done. My awe of her tripled in those moments I held patiently still, waiting. I’d wait forever if she asked me to.

  She kissed my neck, granting me permission to move. My heart soared. “Okay,” she breathed. “I’m okay. Oh, God, Asher. You’re so . . .” She shook her head, lost for words.

  “I know, sweetie,” I said between worshipful kisses of her neck, her hair. “You are, too.” I pulled back an inch and pushed in again, and couldn’t contain my groan of ecstasy to match hers. She lifted her foot, hooked it around my back and tugged me closer.

  I met her mouth and lost myself in her kiss, moving more, inch by inch, in and out. I couldn’t taste enough of her. She squeezed me in all the right places: my waist with her legs, my cock with her heat. I felt the burn of orgasm rising from below, but I exhaled sharply and pushed it away. I wasn’t ready yet—not until I showed her every inch of my sexual skill, every moment of pleasure she deserved. I pulled out to the tip of my cock and slid it back inside her all the way, once slowly, and then once faster . . . and then I fell into the perfect rhythm, thrusting into her all the way each time, meeting the back of her and earning whimpers of pleasure from her lips that increased in pace and volume. Her moans heightened into shrieks as I pounded into her, the slick of her arousal dampening both our thighs, my own arousal leaking into her more with every thrust. I needed to come inside her so badly it ached. I fucked her hard, sweat beading off my pectorals, her fingers losing grip on my skin.

  She tightened beneath me, warming before orgasm, and I shifted up to see her. Her eyes were squeezed tightly closed, so I jammed my cock into her deeper, demanding her attention, filling her. She called out and her nipples tightened with the impending climax as she held her breath. I reveled in the expansion of her tightness, slamming
my hips against hers, her soft, warm stomach heaving lightly as she gasped.

  Aria whimpered with each thrust. I barely gave her time to breathe, delighting in the feel of her breasts as they bounced against my chest. She began to quiver.

  “Look at me, Aria,” I said, needing her eyes, needing her pleasure. She cried out as I punished her center harder, unable to slow my rhythm, my release looming over hers.

  “Dammit, Aria, look at me!” I growled.

  Her eyelids flew open and her lips parted. A soul-deep cry of need escaped her mouth as I drove into her again and again, refusing to slow, pumped muscles burning with exertion. She met my gaze and clenched her jaw, guttural sounds of passion, of pain, coming from both of us and drowning out my fears. She grabbed fistfuls of her own hair as she tightened around me so hard it hurt, and then she came, tossing her head back and screaming my name.

  “Look at me!” I grabbed her face and tilted her down so I could see her eyes, the blackness I remembered from her earlier awakening shooting out through the white laced across her irises. The succubus woke up, fire blazing out from her eyes like tendrils of flames licking into the air. I drew in a lungful of her air, her life, and the heat exploded within me, too. I drove my hips against hers and buried myself inside her body, my orgasm ricocheting through me with a merciless explosion. She grabbed the sides of my neck as I shook, pulling me back to her mouth, breathing into me again. I stilled as I lost myself inside of her sweet heat, and she swept away my fears with her tongue, kissing me, thanking me as I thanked her right back.