Paranormal Erotica. Elizabeth Coldwell

her smirk faltered. ‘You’ll pay for that.’

      She swallowed. ‘Let me guess, no sense of humour?’

      ‘None whatsoever. Unless it involves failing candidates.’

      Ouch.

      She unhooked her bra with sad hands. Every demon needed a sense of humour. What had happened to his?

      Cupping her breasts she jiggled them, but failed to raise a smile.

      Instead he growled at her. ‘You’re boring me. Hurry up.’

      Boring him?

      Swallowing a hiss, she lunged forward and fastened her mouth over one of his small brown nipples and sucked as if her life depended on it. A shudder rewarded her, but before she could savour her victory his shoulders flexed and large hands engulfed her breasts, hot palms swallowing the lower half of each globe as deft, clever fingers worked her nipples.

      Aiii! A jolt of pleasure shot from nipple to cunt, as overwhelming as it was unexpected. This had never happened in class before. What was going on?

      Desperate to get away from his cunning fingers she dropped to her knees. His jutting denim-clad erection gently grazed her cheek and she jerked away from it.

      ‘On your knees already, candidate twenty-nine? It must be my lucky day.’

      His deep, hateful voice mocked her as she eyed the bulge in his jeans with resentment.

      ‘Eyes up,’ he commanded.

      Grudgingly she looked up and was caught in his smouldering, ever so mildly contemptuous, stare.

      Holding her gaze, his eyelids grew heavy as he rubbed his hand over his chest, let the same hand sink down past ribs and abdominals, sweeping lower and lower in a lazy trail that made her mouth water. With a deft movement of his fingers he undid the top button of his jeans, unzipped himself and let his cock spring free.

      He dressed commando-style. Of course.

      Palming his shaft, he stroked it hard, swirling his thumb over the head. A muscle jumped in his jaw and she gave voice to the whimper building in her throat. She wanted his hard, heavy shaft in her hand, no, wanted it in her mouth, wanted to feel its warm, pulsing thickness and taste its salty precome.

      A wicked gleam lit his eyes as he stared her down. ‘I’m not sure you’re entirely worthy of sucking my cock. What do you think, candidate twenty-nine?’

      Incapable of speech, she stared at his hand, licked her lips and almost moaned as he stepped closer to trace her lips with the head of his prick. She’d imagined sucking him off many a time, but in her dreams he begged and moaned her name rather than drilling her with an icy look that was part challenge, part disdain.

      Her hand hovered small and pale above his enormous tanned thigh before settling on the furnace of muscle. The other hand she placed over his to feed his cock between her lips, opening wide to take his thickness. Her training kicked in and she ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his shaft, savoured his harsh intake of breath as she laved the groove below the head of his prick.

      He was warm, salty, silken in her mouth. Somehow she had expected him to be made of stone, as flinty as the drill-sergeant words that flew from him like shrapnel.

      Fingers dug into her hair. ‘Ah, what a lovely fuck your mouth is. Take me deeper.’

      Shamed by the way his compliment thrilled her, she tilted her head and let him slide deeper, freeing him only to roll her tongue around the thick, red, swollen head of his cock. His hips pumped once, then twice, involuntarily, and she stole a glance at his face. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted.

      He was hers.

      Jubilant, she slid her hand from his thigh up to the invitation of his balls, cupped his sack, fondled the hot, heavy flesh and registered his jerk, followed by a light shudder. Keeping her mouth firm on his cock, she rubbed and teased him. Elation warmed her cheeks as he came undone, his movements less controlled, more graceless with each moment. She might be the one on her knees servicing him, his social inferior in every way, but she was going to make him spurt, make him lose control, make him shudder and explode. And enjoy every moment of it.

      With an oath he pulled free from her mouth and dropped to his knees beside her on the mat, his skin slapping against the vinyl as he grabbed her around the waist and pinned her with the ease of a seasoned wrestler. His other hand found her cunt with unerring accuracy and he pushed an unhurried finger inside her. Leisurely exploration was soon replaced by intent as he withdrew his thick, blunt digit with a slow and sensuous twist and then added another finger. Unable to wriggle free from his unyielding grip, she endured with panting curses as he drilled his fingers deep into her pussy with long, gliding strokes and treacherous twists, a growl of approval escaping him at the juices flowing from her and easing his path. With a turn of his hand, the pad of his thumb found her clit, working it with unquestionable skill, and a dangerous heaviness built inside her. How could she save this situation?

      If she rode his fingers as she wanted to, countered his thrusts and fucked herself on his hand, the test would be over for her in minutes. She was already perilously close to joining in the chorus of moans wafting through the gym hall like a chant.

      ‘Do you like my fingers in your wet cunt?’ His whisper tickled her ear and she squirmed, her pussy clamping down on him. ‘Oh, yes, you do, don’t you?’

      He liked to talk; perhaps she could use that. Calling upon the hundreds of hours of B-grade porn they’d sat through in class, she conjured her breathiest starlet-cum-whorelet voice. ‘Oh, please, take me with your cock. I need you inside me. Please.’ Too corny?

      A snort of surprise and his fingers stilled. He narrowed brilliant yellow eyes at her. ‘What a terrible liar you are. If you were my student in lying, I’d have to change my name so no one ever found out I’d been your teacher. Still, this is human fucking 101, so spread your legs, candidate twenty-nine.’

      He freed her from the arm around her waist and slipped his fingers from her sheath, but she only dimly registered both as she frantically tried to remember the least sexually satisfying position from class, one that would allow her to keep control and not shift to demon form.

      She watched as he stripped his jeans off and stepped out of them, his heavy-lidded gaze on her raw with expectation.

      Control. She needed to be on top so she could control the depth of his thrust, the pace and the angle. But how to get him there? How to force a six-foot-plus, thousand-year-old arch-demon, meaner than cat’s pee, on to his back?

      She shuffled forward on her knees, smiling.

      He raised a withering eyebrow.

      With a sigh she gripped his shaft and his gaze flew to her hand as she fisted his cock, his sneer washed away by hungry need. She pumped her hand up and down his length with deliberate languor, delighting in the way his gaze lost a little more purpose and intensity with each stroke, grew a little more vacant with each squeeze.

      With her other hand she took his and tugged. ‘Come down here.’

      He dropped to his knees, the sight as awe-inspiring as an angel felled in mid-flight.

      His body so close she could bury her face in his thick column of a neck, could feel the oven of his muscles radiating heat, she breathed in his light, dry scent and watched his face tighten with each milking motion of her hand, watched his wild struggle not to succumb to his body’s need, to her control.

      It was a dangerous thing, this ability to beguile with the human form; it went straight to a she-demon’s head and almost made her forget she was fooling with a millennium-old arch-demon who wanted her to fail. Almost.

      She took her hand from his cock and gave him a sharp shove with both hands and grinned as he toppled onto his back with a chuff of surprise.

      Pouncing on him before he could recover, she knelt, straddling his chest, and stared down at him. Every young demoness, she reflected, should have the opportunity