Sins of the Flesh

A thin line of dark hair led her down to his belt. She pressed her lips to his navel as she undid his buckle and then his fly. She didn’t look up, but she could feel his eyes on her.

The hard ridge of his penis, erect, thick, pushed against his black boxers. She lifted her head and watched his face as she clawed her fingers and raked her nails along the length, smiling a little as his erection jerked beneath her touch.

“No fair, darlin’.” His voice was smoke and gravel now. “I want to play, too.”

“Soon,” she promised. Never. She would take what she needed from him and leave him sated. A fair trade. But she would not forfeit her control any more than she absolutely must.

She curled her fingers in the waistband of his slacks and edged them down his hips a little. His boxers slid down, too, baring more of his skin and the very top of the triangle of dark hair at his groin.

Her arousal unfurled a little more, warm and soft and new. She wanted him in her hand. In her mouth. Inside her body.

“Lift up.”

He did, and she worked his pants and boxers down to the tops of his thighs. His erection sprang free, thick and hard.

Playing her nails down his belly, she watched his muscles twitch and jerk. Then she closed her hand around his penis and sucked in a breath at the feel of him, smooth and male.

She tore the condom wrapper with her teeth and worked it down the length of him. Not that any mortal disease could harm her. But there was something to be said for appearances. She didn’t want him to remember her among the sea of women he fucked. She didn’t want to be special or unique in any way.

Rising, she pulled up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Damn,” he murmured, then sucked in a sharp breath as she straddled him, bringing the broad head of his penis to her moist folds, rubbing herself against him, letting only the tip slide inside.

The energy she’d kept locked down for over two years burst its dam, and she felt it surge through her body, luscious and rich, pushing her to do this. To take him. To release the prana she’d held under tight rein.

Sex, or blood.

She stared at the pulse beating at his throat.

Sex. Only that.

She lowered herself a little more. So good. The stretch and burn.

The air was tinged with power, sparking wildly, and she tightened her hold, drawing it back, appalled that her restraint was so tenuous that she’d set so much free all at once.

Only, it didn’t draw. It surged and grew, outside her control. Because it wasn’t hers. It was…his.

She broke off. Her breath caught as she realized her error. Her head jerked up and she stared at him, his gray eyes pale and bright in the dimness, heavy lidded with lust.

“I can’t—” She pulled her hands away. She surged off his thighs and stood staring at him, panting.

The air was alive and heavy. Sultry. Wet.

The fine hairs on her forearms rose, as did those at her nape. Though she was no longer touching him, she could feel him imprinted on her fingertips and there, between her thighs.

She took a step back.

She’d made a mistake. A horrifically stupid mistake.

He watched her warily, and it took all her focus to keep her own energy signature masked. Bad enough that she had made such a terrible error. Worse if she were to allow him to realize that they were like-to-like, that she, too, was supernatural.

The feeling of electricity amped up to crackle over her skin with visible sparks for a single fraught second before it disappeared once more.

But that second had been enough.

Not only was he a supernatural after all, but one powerful enough to be able to mute his signature. He was doing that now. Putting up barriers to any who might read his power. And that power was vast.

She could only pray that she was doing a better job of concealment than he was.

Tipping his head to the side, he spoke softly. “It’s all good, darlin’.”

He shifted on the chair, as though he meant to pull his arms free.

“Don’t,” she ordered, her voice cold and flat.

“It’s all good,” he said and then settled back in the chair, as though he figured any sudden moves might make her go ballistic. “Whatever has you spooked, you’re fine. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

A bubble of laughter tickled her throat, and she choked it back.

No, I’m not safe.

And I just might hurt you.





CHAPTER TWO



I have brought darkness by means of my power…I have separated Sutekh from the houses of the Above…

—The Egyptian Book of the Dead, Chapter 80

ALASTOR KRAYL KEPT a tight hold on his mate, Naphré Kurata. Black smoke billowed before them as they stepped from the icy portal. Once they were through, Naphré broke away from him to lean forward at the waist, palms on her thighs, head bowed so her sleek, dark hair hid her expression.