Immortal Rider_ Lords of Deliverance Series_ - Larissa Ione [77]
The males he just killed outright.
He stalked to his room, which he kept cold as the air outside. He stripped, relishing the blast of freezing temperatures. His skin shrank, but naturally, his cock wouldn’t care if he dipped it in liquid nitrogen. It wanted relief.
It wanted Regan.
Stupid bastard.
He fell onto his bed, hissing at the icy covers against his fevered skin. He sprawled out, staring at the rafters high above. His thoaboh="27">
Even Limos was coming unraveled. The human male had thrown her off balance. That had to be the reason she was suddenly a bundle of nerves. She could be impulsive and flighty, yes, but raw panic and fear? Never. But she’d been terrified during the confrontation with Lucifer, and he’d seen the same terror in her eyes after she’d destroyed Sartael. Was her fear for Arik? Had she fallen for him? God, he hoped not. That would be a doomed relationship, for sure. The human wanted her—Thanatos could see it in his eyes, and a male like that wasn’t going to settle for heavy-petting.
Then again, that was what Than had to settle for. His lips tingled in remembrance of Regan’s kiss, and he palmed his cock, so worked up that his hips bucked at the touch, punching up into the ring of his fist. He wasn’t going to last long at all.
He didn’t want to imagine himself with Regan, but she was there in his mind anyway, naked, on her hands and knees as he pumped into her from behind. Her tight, wet heat gripped him, and he groaned. He squeezed his shaft, building sensation, and then he dropped his palm to his sac, wondering what it would feel like to slap against her swollen flesh.
Slowly, he slid his hand back up, now imagining that he’d flipped her and was driving into her in the way a male made a female his—face to face, mouths fused, hands clasped. He knew he shouldn’t think that way, because there were some fantasies that were too hazardous to even consider. When he dreamed of having his own female, depression darkened his mood and dangerous ideas popped into his head.
Sometimes, at his lowest points, he thought he should just fuck a woman and get it over with. His Seal was going to break eventually, so why put off the inevitable? He wanted sex, dammit. But there was the problem; if he was going to break his Seal and bring down all of mankind, he wasn’t going to screw some random female. He wanted one to love. Which created the next problem: how could he possibly make love to a woman he cared about, knowing that as soon as it was over, he’d turn evil and she would probably be the first to die by his hand?
Yep, it was a nasty circle, a catch-22 he’d never get out of.
Viciously, he jerked his thoughts in another direction, flipped the imaginary Regan over again, and plowed into her as he pinned her against a wall. She was whimpering in pleasure as he hammered into her, and yeah, that was better. Keep it impersonal.
His cock kicked in his palm, reminding him that this was as impersonal as it got. Him, alone in bed, with only his hand as his date. Awesome.
Fuck.
He snarled, pumped his fist from root to tip, pausing to smooth the drop of precum around the smooth head. The sensitivity multiplied, and he pretended his thumb was Regan’s tongue.
That did it. His climax brought his hips off the bed and made a strangled groan rip from his throat. Hot jets of liquid shot onto his stomach and chest as his balls clenched. The clep filepos-id="filepos484229">
The difference was that the empty bed thing was, for her, only temporary. Eventually, she’d go back to her human life, to her human job, her human house. And if she wanted, she’d find