by Mima
It was a wonderful end to a horrible night. Amazed to find herself happy, she blinked up at him when he pulled back. He grinned. She smiled, blushing. He leaned down to one ear and sucked on the lobe, nipping and laving it.
Then he breathed with a mock Transylvanian accent, “I vant to suck your blooood.”
She burst out laughing. He kissed her, the wildness calming, the kisses dragging out slower and softer until they were both panting.
“If I invite this vampire back to my room”—she fluttered wide, faux-worried lashes up at him—“will he promise to be very, very wicked?”
Ryder’s lids drooped, his gaze flashing red with passion. “Charlotte, I have a lot to make up for. Let me into your room, and I swear, you will know pleasure beyond human understanding.” His lips brushed across her swollen mouth, their skin clinging. He nibbled gently at the corner of her lips.
Rubbing herself up against him, she purred, “Well, that’s just fine because I’m not quite human. I bet I can handle it.”
He cupped her head in his palms. His gaze swept over her face, soft and intense. “I don’t deserve this.”
She took hold of his wrists. “Gram always said, ‘If you wait until life gets fair, you’ll be dead.’ None of this is your fault, Ryder. You know, it could be considered my fault, that the Elder took you.”
He shook his head.
“Well, then, let’s go back to my room and celebrate winning a magical showdown by living.”
He stepped back, nodding, his face still serious. “Thank you.”
Copying the dancer’s pose from the painting, Charlotte twirled, arms up, leg extended. She laughed as her hair, so rarely loose, flew in a coral arc. Ryder swooped up behind her, tossing her into his arms in pure romantic style. He headed up the staircase as if she were weightless, his face intent.
Charlotte licked her lips eagerly.
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Her hands trailed from his hair. But not out of guilt or cooling need. No. Anger spiked. A distant voice murmured that her emotions were wildly out of character, that something was wrong. But his naked body sang much louder than that voice. White light crashed against her skin and also somehow swelled from inside her, howling.
“I’m not childish. And I won’t be ordered. I know what I want, and what I want is you standing right where you are.”
She stepped off the step into the pool and walked to stand in front of him. Her gaze went straight to his groin. Yeah. That. His erection was so . . . wow. Her hand went out and wrapped around him mid-length. This part of him was warm to the touch, just barely. Because he wasn’t a real man. He was more. More dangerous. What was the point of having a vampire lover if you didn’t experience everything?
He groaned, hips twitching forward. “Charlotte.”
The tip of him sloped with a ridge just below the crown. He was satiny, and his wet nest painted his flat, ridged abdomen and balls. Pushing her grip down, she tightened her fingers, feeling the anger and want grow sharper. His head darkened, the veins leaping into a natural winding tattoo.
“Are you hungry, Ryder?”
He shook his head. “No. Charlotte, it is forbidden. This is not some custom of habit. Your blood will poison me.”
She could hardly hear him. His balls were in the palm of one hand, while her other stroked up and down, mesmerized by the new flesh. Her breasts were so pale next to his furred chest, and the water was slick on her legs. Warm Caribbean air danced across her drying shoulders. Drums pounded in her clit, the arches of her feet, the centers of her palms.
Tipping her head back, she stared into the starry night. There was a giant pearl in the sky, almost perfect. Her nipples stinging, she pressed tight to his front. Magic. He was magical, and so was she. Man and woman, dancing the most primal of dances, and she controlled all of it. His strength bowed before her will. It was incredible.
She was so sick of being invisible, normal. Here was this energy she’d had all this time. She didn’t need rules. She didn’t need warnings. She didn’t need anything but obedience.
She stroked his erection now with both hands, and his hips followed each tug. Whispering an inch from his chin, she licked her lips and drew up every ounce of her desire. “Bite me.”
He went rigid. “No.”
“Make me like it. Pour your magic over me and take from mine.” Suspense boiled in her. Almost panting, she strained closer, angling her face. This was for every man who had ever ignored her, ever failed to detect her sexuality. Now she would have the sexiest she’d known. All of him.
“Mercy,” he moaned.
She loved that he begged. The moon raved in her bones. The power of the ocean swelled her blood. Magic danced across her vision until she barely saw the dark ruby eyes before her. Empty woman’s channel throbbing desperately, she threw herself into the danger headfirst. “You will hold to that railing and take my blood.”
The world spun around her, the lights sharper, the teal shadows of the pool searing. Her breasts were heavy, and she felt hollowed with need. Desperation clawed down her spine. Crying out, she threw her arms around his neck, welcoming his downward swoop. He didn’t strike her neck but took the slope of her shoulder above her collarbone.
Joy burst, born in her bones. Her heart melted, and they sealed together from knee to shoulder, swaying and grinding. It was perfect, more beautiful than the poets and naughty videos could ever have portrayed.
Then Ryder’s mouth lifted. He screamed, hoarse and raging, body thrashing so hard she stumbled back. Staggering in the water, she stared, ears ringing. Disoriented, she tried to understand. A monster stood before her, red eyes bulging. Blood coated his chin and dribbled onto his chest, his mouth distorted, face creased with fury.
Her heart struggled, and still she fought for her balance, muscles caught between the need to flee and lingering washes of pleasure.
“Stop!”
But he did not. Head flinging, shoulders heaving, thighs bulging, he snarled so hard he choked, spittle sailing in an arc from those fangs.
Pain lit up her shoulder. She glanced down, gasping at the blood, thick and dark, painting her breast and belly. Fingering the top of her shoulder near her neck, her fingers brushed a small jagged hole. In the movies, they were pricks, healing instantly. This one felt like a blade of glass had been jabbed into her, and it still bled freely. Everything leaped into distinct focus.
Metal groaned, harsh and grinding. Charlotte shook her head, unable to think. Where had the passion gone? Where was the Black Rascal? She’d wanted, needed . . . oh, dear God. The moonlight had stolen her away.
Moonlit whispers and water drums vanished with the pain. Under the influence of magic she barely believed in, she’d ignored his warning, and now he was out of control. Gasping, she pushed wildly toward the side of the pool. She’d done this. She needed help.
Ryder screamed again. Never in her life had she heard a full-throated male burst of rage like this. Her skin surged into a coat of goose pimples as she pushed up onto the deck and dragged herself out of the water.
Metal groaned. Tripping over her feet, she turned in time to see him hurl the twisted arc of railing the length of the pool. She cringed. It landed with a splash, and then a weight slammed against her.
Pain scattered down her body. Shocking lightning lit up her skull where it bounced off the floor, her shoulder and hip burned, her ribs were crushed, her arm numb. Ryder knelt half on, half off her body and growled into her face. His handsome features were erased, deformed into something bestial. Jaw stretched wide, nose wrinkled, he snapped at her.
“Ryder, no.” The words broke from her on the last of her air. She couldn’t breathe at all from his weight or the fear.
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nbsp; He blurred forward. Agony scored across her throat. She still couldn’t breathe. Choking salt singed her tongue. Her arms were too weak to even make a fist. He stood up, straddling her, the lower half of his face covered like a bandit’s in wet red, his eyes a brighter ruby.
Behind him, the moon winked over his shoulder, abandoning her as the light dimmed.
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The island was her solace. When the world grew too crazy, when the pack swarmed or she grew depressed at the long winters in Norway, their cliff house in Capri always soothed her. Flowers coated the terrace, pergola, and walls. When she opened the shutters in the morning, the ocean air mixed with the scents of lemon trees, herbs, and roses. Fairy roses, Gram would call them, with heavy clusters of multipetaled, fragrant pink.
The sun was setting, so Charlotte took one final swim out to the buoy and then toweled off on the small shale beach that had been carved into the cliff. Taking the elevator up, she stepped off at the pool deck and tossed her towel to Armando, who was just lowering the umbrella for the evening.
He caught it. “Buonanotte, Signora.”
“Has your mother left yet?” she asked, knowing the cook did not like to be at the house after sunset.
“Sî, but dinner is on the counter.” He added the towel to the large wicker laundry basket.
“Yes, of course. Have a lovely evening.”
Fixing herself a limoncello on ice, she watched as he loaded the laundry and left. She stepped into the stone grotto where the shower was and sprayed away the salt. Leaving her silver bikini dangling from a hook, she padded out to the lounge and lay on a chaise, sipping her drink in the warm summer air, watching the sky play rainbow games.
The drone of a motor caught her ear. She stood and rested against the terrace banister, watching as Ivor came up on his beloved fishing boat, painted cheerful blue and yellow. Tomas and Gronski were with him, their masculine voices booming up the echoing cliff as they gathered their gear, slipped over the side, and made their way toward home, carrying their cooler and fishing tackle over their heads. Ivor left the boat last. He hefted a line of fish up at her and she waved.
Cool hands drifted up her spine and massaged her shoulders. She smiled, relaxing back against her vampire. “Buona sera,” she murmured.
“Bonsoir,” he growled back. “I’m hungry tonight.”
Her lips tipped as Ivor passed out of sight onto the beach, and she turned, rolling her body against Ryder’s soft, furred chest. His dark gaze glittered down at her with a hint of red. His hands swept her hair forward over her shoulders. Taking fistfuls, he massaged her breasts with the damp amber strands. It was almost to her waist. The men were obsessed with it.
“I’m hungry, too. What shall we do about this?”
He took the delicate crystal flute from her hand, swirling the syrupy liqueur. “A good woman cooks for her man.”
She burst out laughing. She was always laughing with Ryder. Never had her life been so full of happiness. He grinned back at her, threaded his fingers with hers, and led her to the lounge. Yellow orchids danced along the wall here, and he broke one off the thicker stem, clutching it in his teeth. Charlotte caught her breath. “Ryder . . .”
“Oh, yes, I’m quite famished.” He twirled his hand and she spun, her hair flaring out. Spiraling gracefully down onto the orange canvas, she stretched out, her heart kicking harder. It had been days since either of them had brought a flower to her bed. Her muscles melted in anticipation.
The voices of Ivor and his men came from the fishing shed where they stored boating gear. She knew he would likely clean the fish, then himself, and say good-bye to his friends. She knew she’d have to suffer this anticipation for at least a half hour.
Suffer she did. Ryder poured the limoncello down her center, from throat to belly. Then he straddled her shoulders and arched his hips closer to her face. She opened her mouth. Time spun out. Long, slow, gliding moments where her mouth, tongue, and throat danced around the thick, textured length of her dark male.
The pool gate clanged and the sounds of louder good-byes being called changed the mood. Ryder gently slid himself from her, then knelt at her side, kissing her softly and sipping lightly against her swollen lips. “It’s a full moon tonight,” he whispered.
“I know,” she breathed back.
Ivor was humming as he fired up the huge gleaming grill. “I’m starving. What did Maria leave for us tonight?”
“Pasta and olives,” Ryder said dryly. “As usual.”
It was a running joke between them. Maria was a wonderful cook, with many areas of expertise. That she often had pasta and olives was beside the point. The pasta was of infinite variety, as were the olives. Both could be dressed many ways, with fascinating sauces and herbs. But Ryder insisted she had a one-track mind. Maria was terrified of Ryder, had known he was demonio as soon as she saw him. No doubt she was another untutored, lost fantastical.
“Perfect. Just what I always wanted.” Ivor scraped the grill.
Ryder took the orchid and laid it on Charlotte’s belly button. He turned her head, cupping it in his strong hands, and began to lick and suck at the tendons in her throat. A small sound escaped. Her hands grasped his head in return, fingers seeking deep into his dark, silky hair.
Ivor continued to hum as he laid the fish steaks out on the grill. She watched him through slitted eyes, her nipples starkly erect, her legs twisting. When would he notice the flower?
“Are you running with the pack tonight, Ryder? We leave from Punta Lagno.”
“Ja, bror.” Ryder switched his attention to her ear. His tongue traced the outer rim again and again. His order came on the softest breath. “Don’t you make a sound. You wait.”
The fish sizzled. Ivor would not cook it long. Just enough to sear the herbs he chose into it, then he’d consume nearly everything Maria had left. Even if he ate first, he’d be sure to notice her within a half hour. It wasn’t long in terms of the clock. But her heart already thundered in yearning.
“The ocean was so sweet tonight, Charlotte.”
Curse him, he’d gone into the kitchen. She heard the fridge open and he was back, popping open a beer, looking off toward the last light clinging to the horizon. His shoulders filled the stone arch, his skin burnished to a dark tan. His hair had lightened into a streaked white-blond, and his muscles were chiseled, even in rest. He took a deep drink of his beer, popped some olives into his mouth, and stretched. Ryder dipped his tongue in her ear, delving softly, then sucked on her lobe. Charlotte’s gaze burned into Ivor’s tall nude form. See us, she willed.
Ivor didn’t watch as often as Ryder. If Ryder made love with her, Ivor usually left. If he stayed . . . Ivor tended to growl when he watched. He went back to the grill, flipped the fish. The depth of his chest made her hips twitch. He was so male, so huge and strong. Her arms tightened around Ryder, dragging him from her ear to her mouth. She kissed him, harder, hotter.
Ryder kissed back, his fingers stroking her throat while his other fist tightened in her hair. Her whole body went soft at the commanding sting of his grip. Charlotte’s arms flopped loose, fingers curling desperately over the lounge armrests, her heels digging against the plush cushion.
When he finally released her, all she could do was gasp up at the early stars. Her skin itched. Tonight, she’d have more than the power to compel. Tonight, her desire given voice would command. But her vampire would be dreamier, more easily distracted, and her werewolf would be more aggressive. If he ever noticed them.
Ryder’s lips dragged along her collarbone. He groaned. “So hungry.”
Charlotte’s heart kicked. She felt Ivor’s heat near the soles of her feet, felt the weight of his gaze, his looming presence. Yes!
This was it, this was what Ryder had invited by bringing a flower to their bed.
Her gaze slid from the stars to the opalescent silver blue of Ivor’s night vision. He knelt on the end of the lounge, pushing her ankles wide until her feet fell off the extra-wide sides. He tipped up his beer and finished it, then put his palm on her stomach, crushing the flower as his fingers curled possessively into her softness. She’d lost weight in the last year and was in much better shape, her body stronger but still heavily curved. Kneeling between her spread legs, he massaged her belly with one massive hand, staring moodily as Ryder licked and nipped up her throat to her jaw, then back down to her collarbone.
Up, lick, nip, kiss. Down, lave, nibble. Up, lap, bite. Down, flicker, swirl, graze.
Charlotte’s breath became harsh, unsteady. Her hands were clamped tight to the chair, Ivor a conqueror surveying her spread body, Ryder branding her neck, summer air warm and soft on her skin. It went on.
Her breath coming in small sobs, she held Ivor’s gaze, her ribs heaving under the force of her need. He transferred his relentless stare to Ryder, watching his pale shoulders flex as he worked over her. It went on.
Moisture trickled, tickling down her folds. Her knees twitched, aching to draw up, to push, to present, but Ivor’s fingertips swept across her hips, the heel of his hand grinding above her bare mound to press on her aching womb. Ryder licked on, setting her throat on fire, her gaze blurring as night came down.
Ivor finally, finally leaned over and took a fistful of Ryder’s hair. His bicep leaped into definition as he pulled the man’s head up.
Ryder’s fangs were fully extended, his ruby gaze glowing hot. He hissed at Ivor.
Ivor growled back, then tipped his head, leaning it to the side.
Charlotte could not contain the small moan that left her as Ryder flashed with blinding speed over to Ivor’s side, his mouth latching on to the thick, muscular throat. Again, he fell into an endless rhythm, his tongue dragging slow and flat up to the man’s jawline, his lips sipping kisses down to Ivor’s clavicle. Ivor’s fingers splayed out, his hand sliding lower, lower on her belly, until his thumb dipped into her hood and crushed her swollen nub as easily and carelessly as he’d taken the orchid.