by J. R. Ward
Chapter Thirty
As Tohr lay in his bed alone, he was aware of nothing except the heartbeat in his cock. Well, that and the smell of fresh-cut flowers from Fritz doing his midday vase routine out in the hall.
"Is this what you want from me, angel?" he asked aloud. "Come on, I know you're here. Is this what you want?"
To emphasize the question, he put his hand under the covers and let it drift down his chest and his belly until it got to the front of his hips. As he gripped himself, he couldn't suppress the racking arch that rocked his spine or the groan that rose in his throat.
"Where the fuck are you?" he growled, unsure in the dim glow who he was talking to. Lassiter. No'One. The merciful Fates - if there were any.
On some level, he couldn't believe he was waiting for another female - and the fact that the tipping balance between urgency and guilt was quickly shifting to the former was a -
"If you say my name while you do that, I'm going to throw up a little in my mouth. "
Lassiter's voice was rough and disembodied as it came from the far corner of the room where the chaise was.
"Is this what you meant. " God, was that really him? Tohr wondered. Hungry, impatient. Cranky because he was juiced up.
"It's a better direction than you walking out into a bullet shower - " There was a shuffling sound. "Hey, no offense, but do you mind if you put both your palms where I can see 'em?"
"Can you make her come to me. "
"Free will is what it is. And palms, motherfucker? If you don't mind. "
Tohr outted both his arms and felt compelled to declare, "I want to feed her, not fuck her. I wouldn't put No'One through that. "
"I suggest you let her make up her own mind about the sex. " The guy coughed a little bit - but then, yet again, fucking was an awkward subject between guys if they were talking about females of worth. "She may have her own ideas. "
Tohr thought back to the way she had looked at him in the clinic when he'd worked himself out. She had not been afraid. She had appeared captivated. . . .
He wasn't sure how to handle that -
His body arched on its own, as if to say, The fuck you don't, buddy.
As another cough sounded out, Tohr laughed a little. "You have allergies to those flowers?"
"Yeah. That's it. I'm going to leave you now, 'kay?" There was a pause. "I'm proud of you. "
Tohr frowned. "What for?"
When there was no answer, it was clear the angel had already taken off -
A soft knocking at the door shot Tohr upright, and he barely felt the pain of his wounds: He knew exactly who this was. "Come in. "
Come to me.
The door opened a crack, and No'One slipped inside, shutting them in with each other.
As he heard the click of the locking mechanism, his body shut his mind down completely: It was going to feed her. . . and, God help them both, fuck her if she let him.
For one brief moment of lucidity, he thought he should tell her to go, so they could be spared the aftermath when sex cooled down and heads cleared up. . . and two people learned that those Molotov cocktails that had seemed like such a fun, exciting idea to make and throw, had, in actuality, decimated their landscapes.
Except he just extended his hand to her.
After a moment, she reached up and removed her hood. As he rememorized her face and form, he saw that she was nothing like his Wellsie. She was smaller and more delicately built. Fair of coloring instead of vibrant. Proper instead of blunt.
He liked her, though. And it was easier, in a strange way, that she was so different. Less of a chance of ever replacing his beloved in his heart with this female: Even though his body was aroused, that was the least important marker of connection. Males with the kind of bloodline he had, when in good health and well fed, as he now was, could get hard over a sack of potatoes.
And No'One, in spite of her opinion of herself, was a hell of a lot more attractive than root vegetables. . . .
Christ, the romance was just awesome all up in here. Wasn't it.
She approached slowly, her limp barely noticeable, and when she got to the edge of the mattress, she looked down at his bare chest, his arms, his stomach. . . and went even lower with her eyes.
"I'm aroused again," he said in a guttural voice. And fuck him, but you'd think he brought that up to warn her off. The truth? He was hoping to get that look back, the one that had been on her face when he'd made himself come -
And, what do you know. . . there it was: heat and curiosity. No fear.
"Should I take your wrist from here?" she asked.
"Come on the bed," he all but growled.
She stretched up one knee onto the high mattress, and then awkwardly tried to bring the other one with it. Her bad leg threw her off balance, however, and she pitched forward -
Tohr caught her easily, grabbing her shoulders and keeping her from falling on her face. "I've got you. "
And wasn't there a double meaning in that one.
Deliberately, he pulled her over him so that she was poised above his pecs. Man, she didn't weigh a thing. Then again, she never ate much.
He was not the only one who needed to feed properly.
Except then he just stopped, to give her time to adjust. He was a lot of male, and he was aroused as shit, and he had scared her more than enough already. As far as he was concerned, she could take all the time in the world to make sure she knew who was with her -
Abruptly, her scent changed, shifting into the heady spectrum of female awakening. In response, his hips rolled underneath the covers, and she craned a glance over her shoulder, watching his body react.
If he'd been a gentlemale, he would have hidden the response and made sure that this was just about repaying her the service she had given to him. But he was feeling so much more male than gentle.
On that note, he lowered her onto his chest, angling her so that her mouth hit his jugular.
Skin.
Warm male skin against her lips.
Warm, clean, vampire skin that was golden brown, not pasty white. That smelled of spice, and strength, and. . . something so erotic, her body had returned to that volcanic place.
As she breathed in, the scent of him - that male scent - produced an unprecedented reaction. Everything went instantly instinct, her fangs dropping from her upper jaw, her lips parting, her tongue coming out as if it intended to taste.
"Take it, No'One. . . . You know you want to. Take me. . . . "
Swallowing hard, she pushed herself up from him and met his burning eyes. There were too many emotions to decipher in them, and the same was true with his voice and his expression. This was not easy for him; then again, this was his marital room, where he had no doubt been with his mate a thousand times.
And yet he wanted her. It was obvious in the tension of his body, in that arousal that even beneath the covers she could see.
She knew the troubled crossroads he stood upon, torn between contradictions: She was the same. She wanted this, but if she fed from him now, things were going to progress, and she was not sure she was prepared for where it would take them both.
Except she was not going to turn away. And neither was he.
"Do you not wish me at your wrist," she said in a voice that was nothing like her own.
"No. "
"Then where do you want me. " It wasn't a question. And, dearest Virgin Scribe, she didn't know who was talking to him like that - low, seductive, demanding.
"At my throat. " His words were even lower, and he moaned as her eyes went back to where he had seemed to deliberately put her.
This mighty warrior wanted to be used by her. As he lay back against the pillows, his huge body appeared to be in that strange thrall she had seen before, held captive by invisible binds that were nonetheless impossible for him to break out of.
His eyes stayed on hers as he tilted his head to th
e side, exposing his vein. . . on the side opposite of where she was. So that she would have to stretch across his chest once more. Yes, she thought, she wanted that, too. . . except before she made any kind of move, she gave her inner core a chance to panic. The last thing she wanted was to become overwrought and undone in the midst of this.
Nothing bubbled up from the depths. For once, the present was so alive and captivating that the past was not even an echo or a shadow - she was, in this moment, wiped clean.
And very clear about what she wanted.
No'One reached out her arm and stretched herself thin as she surmounted the impossible expanse of his torso. His size was nearly a joke, the juxtaposition of their bodies absurd - and yet she was not afraid. The hard pads of his pectorals and the broad beam of his shoulders were nothing to be threatened by.
They merely served to sharpen her hunger for his vein.
His body arched upward as she laid herself upon him, and oh, the heat. Boiling up through his skin and magnifying her body's need, sure as a simmer was made into a rioting fervor.
It had been so long since she had struck any male. And back in her earliest past, it had been done only under the strict supervision of not just her father, but the other males of her bloodline: Indeed, throughout all of it, there had been a ceremonial feel, biology tempered by society and social expectation.
She had never been aroused. And if the fine, gentlemale she'd used had been, he had wisely shown no such reaction.
This was everything that the former experiences had not been.
This was raw, and wild. . . and very sexual.
"Take from me," he commanded, his jaw locking, his chin lifting, his throat becoming even more exposed.
As she brought her head down, she shook from head to foot, and she struck with no grace whatsoever -
This time, the moan came from her.
His taste was like nothing she could recall, a screaming roar in her mouth, over her tongue, down her throat. His blood was so much purer and stronger than that which she had had, and oh, the power of him. It was as if the potency of his warrior's body poured into hers, transforming her into something so much more than she had ever been before.
"Take more," he urged in a rough voice. "Take everything. . . . "
She did as he commanded, readjusting the angle of her head so that her seal was even more perfect. And as she drank with renewed gusto, she found herself becoming acutely aware of the weight of her breasts as they rested on his chest. And of the ache in her gut that no matter how much she took in seemed only to get sharper. And of the languid nature of her legs. . . as if all they wanted to do was fall open.
For him.
The reversal of her tense rigidity was so complete, it felt irreversible, and what did that matter? So consumed was she that she cared for naught but more of what she was getting.