She was just thinking of rearing up to touch him when psychic hands grabbed her thighs and spread them. She shivered. The hands were so icy cold, yet they somehow gave off pure heat – a heat that snaked up her inner thighs all the way to her centre, making her tingle and burn. He reached out and skimmed the tip of his fingers over her folds. The light touch fired the need already taunting her.
Knox crawled on the bed, eyes on her pussy. He wanted her taste in his mouth when he took her. “I want you to be quiet for me.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Harper almost gaped. She was noisy and they both knew it. “You can’t be serious.” But his expression said that he was.
“I don’t want you to make a single sound until I tell you that you can.”
“And if I do make a sound?”
“You’ll regret it.”
Oh, she didn’t doubt that. He could be a sadistic fucker when he felt like it. To say that he “liked” control would be an understatement. It was important to him on a fundamental level. She couldn’t hand over complete control to him. Her life was her own. But she could give it to him in the bedroom. Most of the time she did, since it always worked out well for her, but she didn’t do it easily.
“Remember what I told you, Harper.” It was a silkily spoken warning.
“How could I freaking forget?” There was a slight chill in the air as his eyes bled to black. “Can’t you be on my side?” she asked the demon.
Its mouth curved. “I like the noises you make. But I also like to play.” As if to punctuate that, it sank one ice-cold psychic finger inside her. Instantly, her pussy began to heat until it was burning. Knox resurfaced and shot her a cautioning look that promised retribution. “Not a sound.”
Cursing, she grabbed his pillow and put it over her head. Harper bit back a gasp as he danced his tongue over the black, intricate swirl of thorns on the V of her thighs – it was the third brand of ownership that his demon had given her.
As his tongue slid between her folds, she practically melted into the mattress. There were guys who would give a half-hearted attempt at oral and who treated it as a means to an end. Then there were guys who would go down on their partner like it was an Olympic sport, who took their time and enjoyed it. Knox was one of the latter, which made her a lucky bitch.
Every lick and stab of his tongue was almost casual, as if he had no objective and simply wanted to taste her. If it wasn’t for how hard his fingers dug into her tremoring thighs, she wouldn’t know just how badly he wanted to be in her.
“I know you’re hurting, baby,” he said against her folds. “I’ll take it away soon.”
He’d better. That was the thing. The psychic fingers didn’t just work to rev her engines, they sparked an ache inside her that only Knox would fill. No one else would take it away. Just him.
He kept on tasting and torturing her, and her orgasm soon began to build. She knew it would be a big one. There was no way she’d keep quiet. She squirmed, dislodging him. Grunting, he repositioned her and latched onto her clit. At the same time, one psychic finger pushed into her pussy, making it blaze unbearably.
“Come, but be quiet.” It was an order, and her body automatically responded to it.
She bit into the pillow as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into her, wracking her body. The pillow disappeared, and there was Knox. The ice-cold finger dissipated, making her pussy blaze and spasm. Then psychic hands lifted her trembling thighs, angling her hips.
Knox licked along the collar of thorns on her throat. “You’re like a drug.”
“Drugs are bad for you.”
His mouth curved. “Not this drug. It’s new on the street. But only I get to have it.” She laughed. Knox placed the head of his cock near her opening, but he didn’t push inside. He stayed there, let her feel him, let her know what was coming. She squirmed, trying to impale herself on him. He placed a splayed hand on her stomach and shook his head.
Frustrated that he was making her wait, she snapped, “Okay, what do you want?”
“I have everything I want right here, baby. It’s already mine. Now I’m going to take it.” He sucked her nipple into his mouth and slammed home.
She inhaled sharply as his cock filled and stretched her just right, making all kinds of nerve endings spark and flame. It was almost painful, courtesy of the damn psychic fingers that always left her inner walls hypersensitive. She could feel every ridge, every vein, every throb.
“That’s it, don’t make a sound.” Her eyes called him evil. Knox dragged his teeth down her neck and gave her pulse a sharp bite. Her hot, wet pussy tightened around his cock. “Nothing feels better than this.” Then he fucked her. Hard. Deep. Slamming in and out of her, loving the prick of her nails on his back. “I’ve wanted to do this all fucking day.”
Fisting her hair, Knox bit and sucked at her neck, leaving little marks of possession that his demon loved to look at. Feeling her pussy flutter around him, Knox thrust harder. Faster. She sank her teeth around his shoulder as she came, but he didn’t stop. He kept pounding into her, pushing her closer and closer to yet another orgasm. “Now let me hear you.”
“You’re a bastard!” she burst out.
If he wasn’t out of his mind with need, he would have laughed. Instead, he watched her face, savoring her moans, throaty little whimpers, and the hot clasp of her pussy. “Let me feel you come.”
An ice-cold psychic finger flicked her clit, and Harper arched into Knox as her release crashed into her, trapping a scream in her throat. She felt his cock swell as he slammed into her twice, and then his spine locked and she felt every splash of his come. Panting and tremoring, she had to ask… “How are you still hard?”
He sighed. “You always ask me that. Why?”
“You just fucked me into oblivion. You should have no energy.”
He licked at the anchor mark on the hollow beneath her ear. She’d left a similar mark on his, effectively branding him as her anchor. “I can’t be inside you and not be hard.”
He rolled them both onto their sides, keeping her close. Feeling him stroke her back, Harper knew he was searching for any slices that hadn’t yet completely healed. “They’re gone,” she assured him.
Though he was pretty sure that was in fact the case, Knox needed to see that for himself. He gently turned her onto her stomach and swept his hand down her sleek back. No wounds, no blemishes, no trace that she’d ever been hurt – there was only the tattoo-like marks of her wings.
Relieved, Knox pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, silently promising not to allow anyone to take the wings from her. And when he found the person who sent those hunters her way, he’d make what the hunters went through seem like a fucking pleasure cruise.
CHAPTER FIVE
The coffeehouse was always fairly busy in the mornings, so Harper was used to standing in the long line. Patience wasn’t her strong point, but it would be worth the wait. She didn’t need to look at the menu board or the chalkboard advertising the specials. She always ordered a caramel latte – it had become her ritual, and nowhere did lattes better than this place.
So she stood there, surrounded by the sounds of chatting, the hum of the blenders and espresso machines, and the clatter of mugs and dishes being stacked in the dishwasher. She didn’t mind the noise, though. She did mind that her tongue was burning like crazy for no apparent reason. Hopefully the latte would help with that.
Harper inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smells and coffee beans. She loved it. Loved how the scents of chocolate, cinnamon, caramel, and nutmeg blended so nicely with it. Usually, she’d be tempted by the pastries inside the glass case. Honestly, she was more interested in snatching the tall canister of whipped cream and eating it all to herself. An interest she would, of course, totally ignore because it was just plain weird.
Tanner and the girls were gathered around the bistro table near the window; it had become their spot. Tanner, as usual, was
flicking through a newspaper, but Harper knew he was fully aware of everything going on around him.
Finally reaching the front of the line, Harper smiled at the barista. “Morning.”
“Good morning. I placed your usual order as soon as I spotted you – it should be ready by now.” It was something the she-demon often did, since they always ordered the same things.
“Thank you.” Harper handed her the money and, after placing her change in the tip jar, headed to the end of the counter. There, another barista was placing cups on a tray. This particular she-demon, Wren, reminded Harper of one of her cousins – she was bright, ditsy, and extremely quirky.
She smiled at Harper. “Got your order right here.” She placed one of the cups in Harper’s hand. “Try this instead of a latte.”
Harper sniffed. “What is it?”
“Just frothed vanilla milk.”
“But I love my lattes.” Harper was ashamed to say she almost whined that.
“I know, but spice is the variety of life… or whatever.” Her brow creased in concern as she added, “I heard about the attack. How are you?”
Harper wasn’t surprised that the news was getting around. The demonic grapevine worked at a seriously fast speed. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll feel even better if you give me my latte.”
Wren smiled. “Not scared of a little milk, are you?”
Harper felt her lips quirk. “You can be weird sometimes, you know.”
Wren’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe we’re twins.”
Harper laughed. “Maybe.” A whistle made her look over her shoulder. Devon was stood at the condiment trolley, tapping her watch impatiently. Harper rolled her eyes and turned back to Wren. “I’ll try the damn milk.” She took a cautious sip. Harper had always been a caramel girl, but the frothed vanilla tasted super good. Even better, it seemed to soothe her burning tongue. Still, Harper made a put-out huff. “Fine, I’ll take it.”
Wren chuckled. “You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lifting the tray, Harper headed to Devon, who then quickly helped her add sugar, milk, and other toppings to the drinks.
“I’ll carry the tray,” said Devon. “You waited in the line.”
Fine with that, Harper turned… and almost bumped right into none other than Carla. Well, fuck a freaking duck.
Her inner demon hissed, having no time or patience for this woman who’d abandoned them. It was the first time Harper had come face to face with her since before Roan’s death. The resentful glitter in her eyes told her that Carla wasn’t there to check that she’d recovered from the hunters’ attack. No surprise there.
Harper was conscious that the chatter had died down and everyone was watching, waiting to see how it would play out. Carla would no doubt be thrilled about that. She did so love being the center of attention… such was the life of a narcissist.
Part of Harper felt sorry for this person who was so emotionally stunted that she was still stuck at the infantile age where her own wants and needs were more important than those of others. Because of the gaping emotional hole inside her, she’d always perpetually seek the attention that she needed just as intensely as an addict needed crack. And Carla’s drug of choice seemed to be sympathy. She was a never-ending victim, and drama made her feel alive somehow. As such, she was milking whatever sympathy she could get for having lost her son.
Maybe Harper’s thoughts should have shown a little more sensitivity to Carla’s current situation. After all, the woman was grieving. But, honestly, Harper didn’t believe that Carla could experience grief the way others did. She just didn’t seem truly capable of forming an emotional connection with anyone. Neither of her sons had a kind word to say about her, which was telling. And loving a person often meant putting them first, and Carla was far too self-absorbed to put anyone before herself.
Tanner was instantly at Harper’s side, his stance protective. There an issue here?
There could be, Harper replied.
“I wouldn’t advise you to say whatever it is that’s going through your mind, Carla,” said Devon. None of the girls had ever liked Carla, particularly Khloë, who insisted on referring to both Harper’s parents as merely her “primary blood relations”.
Carla’s shoulders lifted as she took in a long breath. Apart from their small figure, pointed chin, and dark hair, they didn’t share much resemblance at all. It was something Harper, petty though it might be, was thankful for. “I just want to say one thing.”
Harper doubted she would only say one thing. Carla loved the sound of her own voice.
“Roan… he had his faults,” Carla continued. “He wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But he wouldn’t ever have considered being part of some scheme to see the US Primes overthrown. It doesn’t even make sense – he would never have benefitted from it.”
“Okay.”
Carla blinked. “Okay?”
“There’s nothing at all that I could say that would appease you. If you wish to believe he wasn’t part of it, who am I to interfere with that?” Harper had no intention of giving the woman the argument she was looking for.
“But you don’t agree with me,” Carla pushed.
“It’s possible that he was lying, but I don’t see why he would have.”
“But maybe you’re the one who’s lying.”
Harper’s demon snarled. “And would I?”
“Maybe you’re jealous that I kept him but I gave you away.”
Harper couldn’t help it; she laughed. But it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Oh yeah, Carla, you got me there,” she said dryly. There were a few snickers.
Carla’s expression was hard as stone. “Doesn’t it bother you that you killed your own brother?”
Did it bother Harper that she’d been in a position where she’d had to kill him or be killed by him? Yes. Did it bother her that he was dead? No. Roan had conspired against the US Primes. Worse, he’d wanted Knox dead. That was something Harper would never forgive or excuse.
“You might not have liked him, but I loved him. I —”
Harper took a single step toward her, eating up her personal space. “Do you know what he did while I was tied to a table? He took a pair of scissors, and he cut into my earlobe… claiming you’d once done the same thing to him.”
Carla’s eyes flickered. The twisted bitch had done it.
“From what he told me, that wasn’t an isolated incident. You’d hurt him before that and you hurt him again afterward. Play the devastated, crumbling mother if you want, Carla, but don’t expect me to buy it.”
There was a huff, and then another voice spoke. “You never could resist causing a scene, could you, Carla?”
Harper peered over Carla’s shoulder to see a small old woman in a gypsy dress. It was Nora, the grandmother of one of the Primes, Dario. Harper had only met her once before, when they learned that Nora had premonitions. To be specific, she knew and felt events that would soon occur.
It was through Nora that Harper and Knox had learned about the Four Horsemen. Nora hadn’t seen Roan’s face, but she’d known through her ability what his motivations were. She’d warned them that the person pulling Crow’s strings was cold and power-hungry with a void that would always leave him unsatisfied with life.
Frowning at Carla in both disappointment and impatience, Nora added, “Do you not think you’ve done enough to this girl?”
Looking like she was sucking on a lemon, Carla said, “She killed —”
“A son you mistreated and controlled, from what I heard,” Nora finished. “A son you didn’t see as a person in his own right – he was only ever an extension of you. It was little wonder he grew to be greedy for power. He spent so many years under your rule that he needed the greatest power possible to feel in control. Or, at least, that is what everyone is speculating.”
Cheeks reddening, Carla hissed, “He was not one of the Horsemen, if the Horsemen even exist.”
“Oh, they exist. And he was one of them – ne
ver doubt it. The only person at fault for his death is Roan. He made his choices. They were bad choices that could only ever have resulted in his own demise.”
Before Carla could say another word in her son’s defense, Tanner forced her to step aside and said, “You’ve said your piece. Now it’s over. Get the fuck out of our way.”
Once Carla shuffled to the side, Nora gestured for Harper to move forward and then linked her arm through hers. Instead of escorting Harper to the bistro table, Nora headed straight out the door with Tanner close behind them.