Steam Heat. Elizabeth DarvillЧитать онлайн книгу.

      In a world of speed steamers, poisoned air and soulless paranormal beings, two people hold the fate of millions in their hands—and their bodies….

      As a half-succubus, Angel needs energy from sex to live. The temporary fulfillment she gets from strangers is nothing compared to the erotic encounters in her linked dreams with Ian, the man whose soul she shares. Lately the dreams have become more intense and intoxicating, which can mean only one thing: she and Ian are dying, just like the magical crystal that purifies the city’s air. Only by making love in person and joining their split soul can they heal both themselves and the crystal.

      Yet despite Ian’s amazing sexual prowess, Angel doesn’t want to give up her other lovers, like sassy steam engineer Jezebel. Can they resolve their differences and continue sharing a bed to save themselves—and the world?

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter One

      Ian’s fingers slide a slow caress, skimming lightly over the slope of my breasts and heading south. The breath catches in my throat as the sensation tingles and sparkles through my veins, igniting my senses. My hips involuntarily lift up, beckoning to Ian, demanding release. The tethers holding my wrists to the iron bed frame don’t give an inch as I test them. There is little I can do, other than plead with Ian to ease my anguish. If he doesn’t go faster in his torment of my body, I will bridge the gap from pleasure to insanity. “Ian, for Christ’s sake, just fuck me, already.”

      “Not, yet my beautiful captive. You have been a naughty girl and this is the best form of torture I know.” With a wicked glint in his smoky hazel eyes, Ian closes his lips around my nipple as his hand roams lower.

      “Oh please,” I have no clue what exactly I am begging for. I just know something has got to give me the relief I am seeking, and quickly, before I spontaneously combust from pleasure. I have survived brutal torture, being stabbed, shot and just about any kind of pain you can imagine, and I have taken it with stoic silence. This kind of torment is my undoing. It feels so good to let someone else be in control, even as my body fights for dominance. My arms strain at my bonds, trying to take control of the situation. A fine sheen of sweat coats every inch of my skin and my heart feels as if it might burst from my chest.

      “There is so much fire in you, my sweet Angel.” Brushing his fingers lightly over my clit, Ian teases me into frenzy. “Soon, I will bury myself deep within you. I can only be gentle for so long, with the temptations you present.” The hard edges of his teeth scrape my nipple, peaking it into a hard nub of pulsating pleasure. Making good on his word, Ian positions himself above me, ready to give me the relief I so desire.

      “Jesus, Ian. Just do it already,” I pant out as words begin to fail me.

      “So demanding, my Angel.” In one quick thrust, Ian buries himself to the hilt. A ripple of pleasure blossoms in my core, and radiates outward in shock waves of delicious sensation, skittering across my sweat-soaked skin.

      “Holy fuck,” I whisper as my hips buck against Ian, attempting to take him in further and push my pleasure to the next level of ecstasy.

      Grabbing the headboard with one hand for leverage, Ian picks up the pace, thrusting into me almost savagely. His desire reaches a fevered pitch, transforming him into a magnificent sexual being.

      My orgasm is within reach. Each nerve ending is firing off bursts of ecstasy with each thrust from Ian. It is so intense, I feel myself black out….

      Wait, this isn’t right. My brain slowly starts to uncloud. I am lying alone on a cold, damp, metal floor, furiously rubbing my clit through my pants. My fingers are involuntarily working off the fantastic, yet frustrating dream. Talk about leaving a girl wanting.

      Irritated at the way my body is still thrumming with sexual energy, I pull my hand away from my aching center. There is business I need to attend to. I pull myself slowly off the hard floor, stretching as I work out the kinks. My eyes are crossing with a combination of sleep and desire. A light throbbing is ricocheting through my temples. I need coffee. My fingers dig into the small pocket of my cropped jacket, until they close around the hard metal of my pocket watch. As I draw it out, I hit the button to flip the face open. Shit. I am so very late.

      If I don’t get to Grand Central Station within the hour, any chance I have of finding the man who can keep me from dying is lost. Relying on a man for help is beneath me. I can’t believe I have been reduced to this. The erotic dreams have been coming with increasing intensity, which can only mean he needs me about as much as I need him at this point. It is a mild consolation. I will have to dress in a far more risqué fashion if I am going to blend into the den of iniquity that Grand Central Station has become. If I am lucky, I can pick up a quick energy boost from some willing and ready dandy, who doesn’t mind a quick romp with a girl with black eyes.

      Given the fact that every other being you run into lately is a monster or creature of some sort, I don’t stand out that much. There was a time I was an oddity; not now. Not since the paranormal creatures have come out of hiding and we coexist. The world has shifted from one of proper dignity to one containing a variety of vagabonds and scoundrels. It has only gotten worse as the crystal that purifies the air is dying and the end is near. The chaos swirling through everyone benefits my lifestyle, so I have few complaints about the way things are working out.

      I shrug out of my jacket, pull off the tattered camisole and toss it casually to the side. Yesterday, I was the assassin, today I am the vixen. As I dig through the contents of my leather satchel, I locate a smooth band of rich brown leather with a variety of straps and buckles attached to it. I force the ridged leather over my head and inch it down slowly until it barely covers my breasts. Satisfied they are not going anywhere, I slide my pistol into the holster pouch hanging off the side of my chest harness. Almost dislocating my shoulders, I lace myself tightly into a black corset that rests just under my breasts and pushes them up to lovely heights. Perfect for distracting the male population. In this day and age you need to use whatever you’ve got. Being half succubus, what I’ve got is sex appeal.

      The smooth, silky fabric of my vibrant green skirt glides up my legs seductively, reminding me that just moments ago I had what would have been a mind-shattering orgasm interrupted. I fasten