His first touch did not feel like damnation but homecoming she'd spent a lifetime forgetting.
Samantha's breath locked in Prince Lucien's shadow loomed over her, not blocking the candlelight but seeming to drink it in, the air around him radiating with an autumnal, velvet power. "The deal is sealed, little mortal," he whispered, his voice an undertone that vibrated deep in her bones. "Your family's land is fertile once again, their souls have been returned to their bodies. Now, you belong to the night. And the night is thirsty for you."
He did not give her the space to consider the enormity of all that she had given up, trading her nights for the lives of her family. His hands,Incroyably warm and hefty, traced the line of her jaw, tilting her face up towards his. There was no speck of fear in her but instead a dizzying anticipation. His gaze, depths of molten obsidian, spilled not with malice but an ancient, fundamental appetite that reached directly to the parts of her she had kept hidden.
"You truly believe this is a sacrifice," he said, his thumb gliding over the bottom curve on her lip. Even the gentle contact sent a jolt of heat directly to her core. "You see yourself as a lamb for the slaughter. How pitiful." His lips twisted with a smile. "I do not want tears of reluctance, Elara, I demand your screams of pleasure. I demand your desperate begging sighs, I want to fuck you so hard that you forget your name and remember mine alone."
In the next moment, he leaned closer, his scent enveloping her, smoke, charred parchment, the dark, thick perfume of an evening bloom. "Your payment is not in mere flesh, but in complete surrender. And I will make sure you savor every moment of what I'll do to you."
And then his mouth was on hers before she could form a coherent response.
His lips were demanding and hard, moving over hers with a confidence that stole the breath from her body. He didn't ask for entry; he took it, his tongue sweeping over her mouth with an owning heat that left her knees weak. A hard arm came around her waist, yanking her hard up against the hard, unyielding planes of his body. She felt the hard evidence of his need pressed against her stomach, and an answering tide of need churned deep inside her.
This was no monster. This was a master.
He kissed her until her mind went frizzy, until her hands, which had been twisted at her sides, came up to grab the impossible-fine fabric of his tunic. He kissed her until a raw, needy sound was ripped out of her throat, a sound she barely knew as her own. When he broke away, gasping for air, they both breathed roughly.
"See?" he breathed over her swollen lips, his voice thick with promise. "The darkness is not cold."
With the smooth motion, he swept her into his arms. The world blurred by the next moment, the modest confines of her chamber disappearing in swirling shadows. When they came up sharp, they were in an altogether different room, a chamber of breathtaking beauty and darkness. A gigantic bed, carved out of what seemed to be one slice of black obsidian, filled the room, heaped high with silks and furs in darkest midnight and blood crimson. The air was warm and fragrant with the same searing scent that clung to his skin.
He set her down onto the impossible-deep furs, the cold silk an abrupt jolt on her warm skin. He loomed over by the bed, and with the mere thought, the candles all over the room flared, sending dancing, provocative shadows across the walls. His eyes were a physical force as he moved over her body, still dressed in her plain linen dress.
"Let us be rid of these distractions," he said, his voice a gentle command.
He didn't touch her with his hands. Instead, the shadows themselves came alive. She gasped as cool, insubstantial arms of darkness wrapped themselves around her ankles, her wrists, not holding her down, but caressing. They slid up over her legs, inside the hem of her dress, and with silent, seamless motion, the linen dress simply fell apart in shadow-motes, stripping her completely, starkly exposed to his famished gaze.
She ought to have been embarrassed, covering herself. But the raw, appreciative flame in his eyes made her feel strong and beautiful. He consumed her with his gaze, the rapid pulsing at her throat to the tight peaks of her breasts, down the quivering plane of her stomach, to the apex of her thighs, where her own need already made a damp, gleaming welcome.
"Exquisite," he breathed, the word an intercession. "Every inch of you."
He finally stripped down himself, not with magic, but with slow, deliberate elegance that was seduction itself. Every inch he revealed was testament to impossible power. His skin was a pale moonlight shade, drawn tight over crafted muscle and old, noble scars that spoke of ancient wars. And he was gloriously and intimidatingly hard, his length proud and thick.
He came onto the bed beside her, the furs slumping beneath the weight. He did not wrap her body with his right away. Instead, he began a slow, systematic exploration with mouth and hands.
He began at her ankle, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on the delicate bone. His hands moved up over the calves, working the muscle until it went lax. "You shall learn every pleasure I can give," he swore, his lips traveling to the inside edge of her thigh, nipping gently, laving the sting with his tongue.
She was writhing beneath him, constantly whimpering and moaning. The tension coiled tight, an intolerable ache gathering inside her. When his mouth finally found the center of her, she cried out, her spine arching off the bed.
He was vicious, his tongue was a wicked ool of joy, circling, flicking, diving. He gripped her hips, holding her down on the bed as he dined on her, as if she was the most decadent meal. He found the rhythm that caused her to cry, the exact pressure that caused her fingers to dig at the furs. The world contracted to the shattering ability of his mouth, the growing pressure, the coiled spring.
"Lucien… please…" she implored, not even knowing what she was begging for.
He gave it to her, with one last, sucking kiss to her most tender place, he sent her shattering over the edge. A scream ripped free from her throat as the orgasm tore through her, wave after wave of blinding pleasure. She trembled around his tongue, all of her body convulsing in ecstasy.
He soothed her through the convulsions, his touch growing gentle, until she was boneless and gasping beneath him, her skin gleaming with moisture.
He moved up her body, his weight coming to rest between her legs. The blunt, hot tip of his cock pressed at her opening, still pulsing with the effect of her climax. She was gloriously sensitized, all of her nerves on the edge.
He gazed down at her, his face set with fierce ownership and something akin to awe. "This is just the beginning, Samantha," he vowed, his voice rough with need. "The night is long, and I've only just begun to play."
He slid the full length of his cock inside her with one slow, irresistible motion, filling her so thoroughly that she gasped with the brilliant fullness. There was a moment of painful stretching, and then the pleasure began.
This wasn't mindless sex, it was a ritual. He set a deep, rhythmic motion, each stroke measured and ruinously deliberate. He pulled out completely, leaving her with a pulsing emptiness, before surging all the way back inside her, catching her hitting a spot that made her see stars.
"Look at me," he ordered tenderly.
Her eyes, which had closed all the way, opened. The connection was as intimate as the physical joining. He held her gaze, his dark eyes seething with an inner flame, as his body worshipped hers. She could see the pleasure he took in her, in her responsiveness, in the tightness of her pussy enveloping him with each thrust.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him in deeper, meeting his rhythm. The friction was incredible, the gliding motion of his body on hers stoking the heat again and again, growing it larger. He lowered his head to take a puckered nipple in his mouth, sucking on it and licking it as he fucked her relentlessly.
The conflicting sensations became too much. She felt the second orgasm growing, faster and more intense than the first. It was a storm building on the horizon, imminent and terrifying.
"That's it," he growled against her breast, his pace growing faster, growing urgent. "Let go. Cum for me again. Soak me in your pleasure."
The words, profane and divine, were the last straw. She came with the broken cry, her inner walls closing down on him in violent, pulsating waves. The intensity blinded her, a supernova of sensation that erased her thoughts.
Her orgasm tore his control from him. With a roar hat sounded as though it came from the hearts of the world itself, he slammed into her one last time, his own orgasm fierce and hot inside her. He quivered above her, his body bowed over in ecstasy, his name on her lips an act of prayer.
For the long moment that followed, all that filled the air was the sound of their ragged breathing. He fell over beside her, gathering her limp, spent body close up to his. He was still impaled inside her, and mini aftershocks shuddered through the both of them.
He nuzzled his face up in her hair, his arm a heavy, possessive weight across her waist. Through the windows of his dark palace, the moon poured down its gaze, cold and pale, on the world that was so far away.
Samantha traced the path of a scar on his chest. She was saved. Her family was safe. Her body was alive with the possibilities she never thought existed. And as she slid towards sleep, in the arms of the prince of death, she understood the nature of the deal.
She hadn't sold her soul. She discovered it, here with the shadows. And the night, as he said it would, was long.
And she wished for it to begin anew.