God of Fire Read online

  I watched him last night when he thought I was asleep.

  Draped in a red silk robe, he stooped, stoking the smoldering embers of the fire burning in the hearth across the room.

  Standing, he shrugged off his robe and revealed a smooth, dark-skinned, sleekly-muscled body. Black hair dangled in a glossy braid that brushed his tight buttocks. A white tattoo of chain link trailed from his nape to his tailbone.

  He lit the rows of black and scarlet candles along the mantle and held his palms over the flames, not moving until his hands trembled against the heat. Stretching his arms above his head, he lifted his face of chiseled granite to the mural of entwined lovers painted on the ceiling.

  He's the first fallen angel shouting his fury to heaven.

  Bare feet stepped from the puddle of red silk and slid across the polished wood floor. His legs bent in low stances, accentuating the lean muscles of his calves and thighs. His hands and arms lifted in the slow, sensual strikes of his martial dance.

  He's the Emperor of the Underworld training for battle, preparing to mate with bewitched mortals.

  Firelight lapped his skin, marking it with twisting tiger stripes. I remembered the strength of his arms around me and the power of his body as he pressed me onto the bed. I still felt his moist mouth and tongue probing me and the heat of his callused palms on my breasts.

  Though I wanted him, I only watched.

  His long fingers strayed across his body, brushed his hairless chest, and traced the ridges of his flat abdomen.

  Turning, he awarded me a perfect view of his swollen cock. His fist encircled the rod of hard velvet. My heartbeat matched the rhythm of his hand. Wetness slicked my clasped thighs and I touched myself. I longed to slip from the bed, kneel to him and worship his sex with my mouth. I needed to feel his hips beneath my hands and the tightening of his fingers in my hair. My tongue craved the taste of his flesh.

  His head tilted backward and his breath rasped in his throat as his private ritual neared its end. His muscles tensed and his body wept milky tears, dousing the flames in the hearth.

  As I moaned, he turned to me, smiling, his teeth sharp and white against his dusky skin.

  Slipping from the sheets, I stalked across the floor on my hands and knees. I clutched his ankles and slid my hands up his rounded calves. My palms gripped his steely thighs. Growling, I licked moisture from his cockhead.

  As he sprawled on a chair cushioned in red satin, I bent to rekindle the fire. Flames jumped alive. I turned to him.

  He watched me through half-lidded eyes, and I knew that soon, very soon, his fire would burn inside me.

 

 

  Kate Hill, God of Fire

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