Page 171 of The Devil May Care

He’s basically human, at least his cock is. No ridges or scales or hidden alien surprises. But he’s also alien, foreign, different. He’s larger than I imagined. Larger than I thought was even possible, even after feeling the heavy swell of him pressed against my aching co. Thick and flushed a deep dusky red, his cock curves up against his abdomen, dark veins twisting up the shaft like live flame etched beneath his skin. The head is flared, glistening slightly, pulsing with heat. It’s like everything else about him; too much, too intense, and still somehow exactly what I want.

“I know I’m—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Beautiful.”

His mouth parts. And I swear, for a second, he looks almost undone. I slide forward on my knees, letting my hands settle on his thighs, feeling the tension ripple beneath his skin. He’s burning. Every part of him. But I’m not afraid of the heat anymore. Not his. Not mine.

I lean in, lips brushing the base of him, then higher, tasting the sharp salt and spice of him. He groans, deep and guttural, head tipping back. And then I do it again slow, sure, and completely on my own terms. I roll over and rise to my knees. He’s still half-kneeling beside me, chest rising in shallow bursts. I press my hand to his bare abdomen and slide lower, watching the way he twitches under mypalm. His skin is warm, smooth, all lit with that faint embermark glow.

“Tell me if anything—”

“I will tell you if anything.” His voice is hoarse. “But you are perfect, and I am not human. You do not have to be careful with me.”

That might be the cruelest thing he’s ever said, because all I want is to be reckless. Wild. Consumed. I nudge his thighs apart and settle between them. The moment stretches long and hot and dizzy with want. He hisses, hips twitching, tail tightening in a slow curl around my thigh before sliding up to the warm mess of my core dripping between them. “Kay.”

I smile against his skin. “Still good?”

“Flame, yes. Keep going.”

I do. Slowly learning his every breath. It’s a kind of worship. One I hadn’t expected to like this much. Each sound he makes, each falter in his breath, feels like a gift. His hands stay on the bed, knotted in the blankets like he’s restraining himself. Like he doesn’t dare touch.

That won’t do. I reach up and grab one of his wrists, guiding it into my hair.

“Hold me.”

He groans and finally gives in. The moment his hand tangles at the base of my skull, I take him deeper. The curse he lets out doesn’t sound like a language I know. His tail slips higher, teasing my entrance and I moan around his length. I lose myself in it. In him. In heat, salt, the slight taste of copper and smoke, the way he moves like he’s trying not to buck. When he tenses a little too much, I pull back, wiping my mouth and pressing a kiss to his thigh.

“You okay?”

He looks like a man trying to remember how to speak. “I’ve imagined that more times than I should admit.”

“Then I’m glad we’re both perverts.”

He lets out a hoarse laugh, but he’s already shifting on the bed, grabbing me under the arms and hauling me up as if I weigh nothing, lowering me onto the mattress with a care that makes my chest ache until I’m flat on my back again, his body covering mine like a shadow.

“My turn.

Caziel is still breathing like he ran through flame. I feel his heartpounding beneath my palm, feel his body tense and loose all at once, like he’s struggling to come back into himself. Then he shifts, pushing down my body, past my breasts, my belly, my hips. I’m almost trembling, not from fear, but from everything else. Want. Anticipation. The ghost of shame, still clinging to my ribs like smoke. But his eyes, when they meet mine, scorch it all away.

He kisses my thigh, then the inside of my knee, moving slowly. Reverently. His hands wrap around me, pulling me closer with a confidence that’s almost feral.

“You have done enough for me,” he murmurs, his voice a rasp. “Now let me worship you.”

I don’t know what to say to that. My mouth opens, then closes again. All I can do is nod. He sinks lower between my legs, and I feel his breath ghost over my aching core, hot, then cool. I let out an involuntary gasp, hips lifting, and he presses them gently down with his hands. His tongue finds me. And I forget my own name.

He licked into me slowly, almost unbearably so. No pattern, no rush. Just exploration. Like he’s mapping me with every swipe of his tongue, every inhale, trying to memorize me at the cellular level. He hums against me—hums, the bastard—and I feel the vibration everywhere. My spine arches. I grab at the sheets, then at him, fingers threading into his hair and horns. Pulling. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t flinch. Just groans like I’m the finest thing he’s ever tasted and dives in deeper.

My hips roll despite myself. I want to pull away and press closer at the same time. His mouth is unrelenting, his tongue teasing and coaxing and learning. His hands hold me in place, thumbs stroking soft circles into my thighs.

“Caz—” I gasp, but the rest is lost in a whimper. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is low and dark and sure. “You’re not going anywhere.”

And I don’t. Not until the coil snaps deep inside me and I shatter apart on his tongue, my cry caught somewhere between a plea and a prayer. He doesn’t stop until I push at his shoulder, overstimulated and wrecked, only then does he rise. He kisses my thigh again, then my stomach, then the space between my breasts. One of his hands strokes my hip like he’s calming something wild; me, or himself.

When our eyes meet, he pauses.

“Still with me?” he asks, voice hoarse.