by Eve Langlais
“No, what’s sad is the fact you can’t say Stacey, I love you and want to be with you.”
He flinched. “We barely know each other.”
“And? No one who starts a relationship does. It’s why we date. Go out for food. Have sex. Eat some more. Have sex again.”
“You don’t want to be with me.”
“Given this is my head and my body, I’m pretty sure I know what I want to do. ”
“I can’t be with you. You know why.”
“Oh yes you can. So what if one cunt screwed you over? We’re not all like that.”
“Fine. Not all women suck. We still won’t work. Have you forgotten the fact that I’m whampyr?”
“I know. Totally sexy.”
“Not sexy if you think about the fact I’m no longer human.”
“Neither am I.” Didn’t he understand she didn’t care? He was still the same person inside. The man she loved.
“I drink blood to live.” He bared his teeth.
She bared hers back. “I like my steak rare. And?”
“I can never father children.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Noisy little things. And don’t they require like constant supervision? I’d rather not.”
“You say that now, but…”
She shook her head. “If you’re worried I’m going to suddenly develop some maternal gene, then forget it. If I feel an urge to play mommy for a day, I’ll borrow one of my biatches’ babies for a few hours. Less time if it poops.” She shuddered. “I don’t do diapers.”
“What if I lose control with you?”
“I hope you do.”
“I could—”
“Hurt me?” She laughed. “You either think too highly of yourself or not enough of me. Let me tell you right now, sweetcheeks. The only thing that will hurt me is if you don’t come over here and kiss me right now.”
“I don’t want to.” Now he just sounded stubbornly petulant.
“Yes, you do. Come here now.” She pointed, and in a blink of her eyes, he was there, looming over her, his virile strength making her shiver.
“If we do this, then you need to realize that whampyr are colony people. We don’t like to be alone.”
“Have you met my pride? We’ll be lucky to get five minutes alone. Even the best locks are no match for them.”
“You still talk too much,” he snapped, pulling her close. “And I must be fucking sick because I missed it.”
“Because you love me,” she sang.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, taking her mouth.
The kiss proved smoking, the time apart having only honed their arousal for each other. Their frantic breaths mixed as their teeth and lips clashed. Spiraling lust had them tugging at each other’s clothes.
Ripping it to shreds, not caring in their quest to be skin to skin.
His mouth left hers and trailed across her jaw, nipping along the way. He fitted his mouth over the pulse in her neck, and she moaned.
“Taste me.”
“We should stop,” he growled, pulling away, and through half-open eyes, she saw the sharp fangs peeking from his mouth.
Time to prove, once and for all, he didn’t have to fear. She pulled him close. “Taste me,” said in a husky commanding voice.
With a groan, he succumbed, the sharp prick of his teeth penetrating skin, the powerful tug as he sucked a direct line to her sex.
Her sex pulsed in time with his pulling swallows.
He drank for only a moment before releasing her skin with a moan. “Fuck me, princess, you’re perfection.” He kissed her again, letting her taste the copper of her blood.
It only fueled the hunger flooding her. How she needed, make that wanted, him to sink deep inside her.
She twined her fingers in his hair, opening her mouth that their tongues might mesh. A hard, thick thigh inserted itself between her legs and provided a welcome friction against her sex. The gasp she let out fluttered against his mouth.
“You drive me wild,” he declared.
“Good.” Because he should feel alive with her. Uncontrolled. Able to let down his guard and trust.
The kiss ended with him bending her back slightly, the angle enough that he could trail his lips down the column of her throat. Down even farther to her breasts, his mouth leaving hot trails around them. His warm breath feathered across her nipples, making her shiver. He caught one of the tight buds in his mouth, sucking it and then biting down on it gently. She felt it right down to her pussy.
She panted, her fingers curling and digging into his muscled shoulders as her hips bucked. He didn’t care that she writhed and begged. His mouth never lost its latch on her nipple. He drew it farther into his mouth.
“Now,” she begged.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his breath warm on her lips.
“Touch me and see.”
Please touch me. It had been so long.
His fingers traveled down to that spot between her legs, rubbing across her clit, dipping into her honey.
“I want to taste.”
“Later. I need you.” When he hesitated, she added a soft, “Please.”
He groaned as he hoisted her up. Her legs wound around his waist loosely, and she trusted him to hold her as her hands gripped his cock and guided it to her sex.
She took a moment to rub the head on her clit, her breath catching at the sensation. It had been too long, though; she couldn’t wait any more. She lined up the head of his shaft and wiggled to push the head in. Then she tightened her limbs around him, drew him close, sinking his cock deep into her body.
His hands gripped her by the ass as he began to bounce her, lifting and dropping her on his cock, simple strength alone keeping her aloft. His shaft sinking deeply each time. Each slam making her pussy tighten around him, coiling her pleasure. Tightening every ounce of her being as she raced for that orgasmic peak.
And when it hit, when everything in her froze for a second before pulsing, she bit him.
Bit him hard enough to break skin. She tasted blood, heard him groan loudly, and then he was biting her too, the pair of them joined, flesh to flesh, blood to blood, soul to soul.
Forever.
And of course her stupid ex chose that moment to say, “Get your hands off my girl.”
Wrong thing to say. In Francois’s defense, Michael shouldn’t have chosen to kidnap her and hold her prisoner on the penthouse level. They couldn’t even use dental records to identify him when they scraped him off the ground, which meant no one knew who he was and what room he’d jumped from. It meant uninterrupted time, which they needed because, as soon as JF finished tossing Michael off the balcony, he turned to her and said, “You’re mine.”
It was one of the sexiest things anyone had ever done for her, which was why, minutes later, Francois received the best head in his life in the shower.
They didn’t come out of that hotel room for five days.
New record.
Epilogue
“No.” He sounded so firm.
“Please,” she cajoled and fluttered her lashes.
It failed to work. “Still no, princess.”
“But I had it specially made.” Stacey dangled the costume from her finger and grinned. Francois refused to budge.
Even after sex.
She pouted. “How are we supposed to win cutest couple at the club if you won’t wear a costume?”
“I refuse to be emasculated in such a fashion. No costume.”
“But the winner is supposed to receive a bottle of expensive champagne.”
“I’ll steal it for you.”
“I could steal it myself if I really wanted it.”
“Tell you what, you really want to go to this party, I will.” At her smile, he added, “As myself. But I actually had a better idea for tonight.” He drew her close. “Take off your panties.”
Another woman might have asked why. She just pushed up her skirt and yanked them down. Hello, anything that required no panties sounded like fun.
“Now what?” she asked, anticipation making her tingle.
“Hold on tight because there’s no net in the clouds.”
Was it any wonder she loved this man? He might show the world a fearsome scowl. He might not laugh or smile easily, but he knew how to make her happy.
And not just because of the awesome sex several hundreds of feet above ground, but because after, he held her close and murmured, “I love you, princess.”
Being a brat, she held out a camera and shouted, “Beat this bitches!” Then hashtagged it, #bejealous #soinlove #sendfoodwithdoves. Fuck it, #justsenddoves
A few weeks later at the pride tech division known as Melly’s second bedroom…
The letter with its serious logo at the top mocked her. How dare the government think to audit her? She’d filed her taxes, claimed her expenses, and now they were asking her to justify them.
As if she needed to justify her need for a spa day after a hard week of work. Being a computer geek meant Melly spent long hours sitting. It was practically the doctor’s orders that she take a day off and let someone massage and pamper her poor body. Except, apparently, she needed a doctor’s note and more for some of her other deductions.
Since her creative accounting was not appreciated, she found herself in an awkward position.
“Ahem.”
Head down, ass in the air, scrabbling for the sticky note that fell out of the sheaf of papers in her hand, she peeked between her legs, upside down, at the perfectly pressed crease on the pants of the guy behind her. Obviously a human because a shifter male would have done something dirty like slap her ass or tried to hump it. He probably would have suffered a maiming as well—but only if he was gross rather than humping material.
“Who let you in?” she asked. Because she didn’t recall hearing a knock or a doorbell.
“The door was wide open and no one answered when I called out.”
“Are you the IRS fellow?” she asked, spotting the sticky note on the sole of her shoe. Retrieving it, she unfolded herself, not very far, as she only stood just over five feet, and looked up at the human. And up.
Standing in a suit, with an impeccably tied cravat and thick-rimmed glasses was a hot nerd.
I could totally see myself doing numbers with him. All night long. Rowr.
The End… Until Melly gets involved with an auditor for the IRS, who is much more than the geek she sees in When A Lioness Hunts.
For more arrogant shifters, and humor, try the Dragon Point Series.
Also by Eve Langlais
Find even more books at www.EveLanglais.com