ENDLESS LUST - Seven Deadly Daemons, Book Two by
Lexxie Couper
Cate Sinclair is ruled by lust. Day and night, awake and dreaming, an unseen force plies her with pleasure to the point of pain. Each orgasm wrenched from her exhausted body stealing her energy, her very essence, until insanity seems a sweet relief.
When Eamon enters her life, Cate's uncertain if the gorgeous, enigmatic man is her salvation...or the cause of her worst nightmares.
Reader Advisory: Our heroine endures endless amounts of forced seduction. But how do you fight advances from an enemy you can't see?
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An Excerpt From: ENDLESS LUST
Copyright © LEXXIE COUPER, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
“Going to fuck you.”
The whispered voice growled in her ear a second before she was pushed backward. Not a gentle shove, but a violent punch to her chest that sent her flying across the room. She slammed into the wall, the textured surface scraping her back as she dropped to the floor, her teeth clicking together in a painful jolt.
“What the fu—”
Something wet plunged into her mouth. Hard. Demanding. Hands ripped at her flesh. Fingers shoved into her sex, wriggling deep inside her, seeking the innermost heat of her body. She writhed, dark ribbons of unwanted pleasure spearing through her.
This can’t…what…what…!
Unseen teeth bit at her bottom lip. More fingers scratched at her nipple. Pinched it. Twisted it. She cried out, the sound muffled by a mouth that wasn’t there. Hands mauled her breasts. A heavy weight pressed down on her, something large and solid shoving between her already-splayed legs to push them wider apart.
Heat blasted the side of her face, like a hot breath panting in her ear, against her throat. The weight pushing down on her hips grew heavier, something rock-hard and oh so hot sliding upward…
Her earlier arousal vanished, replaced with terror. She lashed out, her arms connecting with nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing’s there, Cate. Nothing is—
It stopped. Everything.
Cate lay on the floor, staring around her empty bedroom, her breath tearing from her in rapid gasps.
The air was still, the room silent.
She swallowed, her mouth dry, and let out a strangled whimper when the sour taste of garlic and bad breath slid over her taste buds.
No, you’re imagining it. You have to be.
Her heart thumped, forcing blood through her veins and making her chilled limbs tingle with heat.
That didn’t happen, Cate. Get up. Get to work. Now.
She scrambled to her feet, unwilling to blink. Unwilling to close her eyes for even a second to a room mocking her with its emptiness.
And it was empty. As empty as the bathroom had been. As empty as it had been when she’d fallen asleep the previous night.
There’s no one here. You know what that means, don’t you?
She drew in a slow breath, raising a hand to her mouth to wipe at her lips. Her dry lips.
Nothing happened to you, Catey.
So why did her body ache? Why were her breasts swollen with an unspeakable, disturbing desire? Why were the insides of her upper thighs damp with an orgasm her body told her she’d had?
She turned and looked at herself in the mirrored door of her cupboard. Not a mark marred her skin. Not even the love bite.
A tight knot rolled in her stomach.
“It didn’t happen,” she growled to her reflection. “Go to work. Get your promotion and then make a doctor’s appointment, a cat-scan, an MRI.”
Her stomach clenched again but she ignored it. What other option did she have? Either admit she was crazy and check herself into the nearest booby hatch, or go to work.
With a determined glare, she jerked open her cupboard and snatched out a pair of jeans, followed by an old Astro-Boy T-shirt. Her hands shook, her muscles seeming to resist her brain’s commands. With a muttered curse, she yanked on her jeans, her still-damp skin making them cling to her legs. She didn’t care. Nor did she care she’d completely neglected to put on underwear first.
Fuck it. She didn’t need underpants. She needed to get to work. That’s what she needed to do.
At least put on a bra.
A slight movement flashed in the corner of her eye and she snapped her head around, staring into her bathroom through the open door across the hall. The glass bird hanging in the closed window spun slowly on its line, its wings spread, its beak open in a perpetual cry.
Silence stretched through the bedroom, sliding over Cate where she stood half-dressed. She swallowed, staring hard at the bird.
Its slow rotations ceased; its movement stilling until it hung motionless again.
Without removing her stare from the glass ornament, Cate quickly donned a bra, her heart beating faster as she hurried to dress…
And felt the featherlight caress of something soft—a paintbrush?—stroking against her belly as she fought with the armholes of her T-shirt.
She screamed, staggering backward, blinded by the garment. Her heel snagged on the bedroom rug and she fell, her raised arms still tangled in her T-shirt. Her hip smashed into one solid post of her bed frame, the oak column punching into her bone as she toppled sideways onto the bed.
Agonizing pain shot through her, spearing down her leg. She cried out, her arms inexplicably bound by a shirt that now felt like strong, coarse rope, and still the brushwork continued on her belly. Stroking higher, following the line of her rib cage, her breasts, and she couldn’t do anything about it. Then the brushstrokes were replaced with tongue strokes…
She was in full-blown panic mode. Flailing wildly in a petrified attempt to free her arms, to understand what was happening. Thrashing on her bed as her hip screamed in pain and a tongue lapped at her breasts and nipples through the lace of her bra. She recognized the panic. Knew she should fight for calm.
But she couldn’t. All she could do was flail on the bed, choking on wild sobs, as another orgasm began to build.
All she could do was gasp and whimper and arch her back as the tongue laving her breasts became a mouth sucking on her nipples. Sucking hard.
And when she came once more, her climax as brutal as the mouth on her breasts, she swore she felt the brushstrokes again. Soft and delicate and purposeful. Painting her body. Creating her even as her orgasm destroyed her. Sucked the energy from her.
Cate sobbed in fear, in rage. “This isn’t happening! This isn’t happ—”
A tongue plunged into her mouth, swiped at her lips…
And then she was alone.
Alone. And freaking the fuck out.
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Dakota Daniels is an exorcist. Or at least she used to be, until a demon destroyed her life, killing her mother and sending her into hiding. She never knows what's around the next corner or whether she'll live through the night.
