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She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her teeth. Teeth sharpening into a mouthful of daggers, but gods, that tongue was pretty. “You’ll have to convince me,” she said huskily, even as she drew his head down…down…until his lips hovered just above hers. “Give me a taste of what you’re offering.”

WIN, WIN, WIN.

A challenge. Intentional or not. And this time, he had no trouble interpreting what his demon expected, needed. Strider had to kiss her, and he had to convince her, or he would hurt.

He waited for fury to fill him, but as he stared down at her, breathing her in, all he wanted to do was give her that taste.

He removed her nails from his scalp and flattened her hands over her head, forcing her back to bow, her body to slide against his. Her nipples were hard, just waiting for his mouth.

“Don’t say another goddamn word,” he commanded, and then he finally, finally went in for the kill.

CHAPTER SEVEN

KAIA FELT AS IF SHE’D BEEN waiting for this moment forever. And in a way, she had. At long last, she lay in her consort’s embrace, and he was meeting her needs. Her wildest, most sensual needs. Strider’s lips pressed against hers, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth, hot, decadent, his taste filling her up, consuming her. She’d never loved cinnamon more. Sweet and tangy with just a little spice.

The weight of his muscled body pinned her to the mattress, and the weapons strapped all over him pressed into bone, probably bruising. As if she cared. What were a few bruises when one of Strider’s big hands held her head tilted to the side to deepen their connection?

What were a few bruises when her breasts rasped against his chest with her every inhalation, and her aching nipples rubbed at him, sparking the desire inside her to a hotter degree?

She spread her legs, allowing his lower half to fall more firmly against hers. His erection—so big, so long, so perfectly thick—hit her just right, and she gasped. Hotter, hotter, sooo much hotter.

“Strider,” she moaned.

“Kaia.”

Her name on his lips…heaven and hell, sweet and torturous. A siren’s song. “More.”

“How do you like it?”

“However you give it.” Her nails had already lengthened into claws, and she dug them into his back, accidentally cutting past his shirt and into skin. He groaned, and their teeth scraped together. His fingers clenched on her jaw. “Sorry,” she panted. She squeezed his hips with her knees, just in case he thought to leave her.

“Don’t be sorry,” he growled. “Just do it again.” He sucked on her bottom lip, hard, causing sizzling goose bumps to sprout from head to toe.

More erotic, freeing words had never been spoken. As a Harpy, she was stronger and more vicious than almost all other immortals. She’d always had to temper her passions and hold back. Even with Paris.

She didn’t think she’d have to hold back with Strider—and wouldn’t. Whatever she dished, he could take. Hell, he would revel in. He was too strong, too determined for anything less. And really, he might look like an angel, but he was far wickeder than any other Lord. The best kind of wicked, at that. Devilish. Gentle and easy weren’t his style.

He found humor in the strangest things. If he discovered one of his friends chained to a female’s bed (cough Lucien cough), he took pictures and emailed them to every one he knew. How cool was that?

A man like that would never ask her to stop stealing. He might even join her on her obligatory forays, keeping her dark side happy without causing too much damage. More than that, he knew triumph and loss better than any other. He would revel in her every accomplishment, good, bad or ugly. He would be the first to tell her when she’d screwed up, but he wouldn’t write her off.

Or maybe the man she pictured in her mind was pure fantasy. The one on top of her thought to barter with her, his body in exchange for her cooperation. That pissed her off royally—but not enough to stop this tasting.

He was her drug of choice, she mused, and she was already addicted to him.

“Kaia! Pay some fucking attention to what’s happening here,” he snarled.

Startled back to her senses, she blinked up at him. He was panting, sweating—perhaps more than he should—his features tight with strain. He must have been calling for her for quite a while. And damn, she’d stopped kissing him to ponder his virtues and follies, she realized. A travesty she would rectify immediately.

“I’m here.” She wrapped her legs around him and locked her ankles, arching up. More contact with his erection, more gasping from her. So delicious. So perfect. So freaking hot.

“Good girl.” His tongue found its way back inside her mouth, and they dueled, fighting for dominance.

She let him win, submitting, allowing him to take the lead, urging her toward complete satisfaction. Or maybe insanity. Her mind fogged with desire, her blood heated to blistering and her Harpy sang with approval.