by Mima
“Watch.”
She frowned. She didn’t like that word. She’d decided against that word.
A pair of hard fingers traced down the soft outer lips of her core. The petting traveled from her mound to the crease of her cheeks, then repeated. Gentle, firm, dragging, wandering, the touch came again and again but never journeyed into the damp interior.
She palmed her breasts, frustrated. Lights flashed behind her eyes. The warm breath blew across her again, long and steady. She lifted her too-heavy lids, struggled to focus.
A man straddled the bench, bent forward and propped on his elbows between her thighs. His face was an inch from her splayed legs, a bladed face with ruby eyes and tousled black hair. Did she know him? She didn’t want to know him. She wanted . . . just wanted.
He met her gaze. “You ply a dangerous magic tonight.”
In response, she sent one hand down her belly to finger her clit.
He bared his gritted teeth at her, then thumbed her labia open, pinning them wide to his stare. “Are you in control of yourself, or are you drowning, Charlotte? Has the Elder done this?”
Too many words. Hunger gnawed at her. “Please take me, Ryder.” She flattened her clit, stroking it round and round.
He grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand, sucking her wet fingers into his mouth. His lips were cool, his tongue working to clean her with shivery skill. He grabbed her other wrist and took that hand from her nipple. Pulling, he dragged her bodily up, then slid his own legs under hers. Their hips met with a crash, hers settling on top of his.
His erection was absolutely fiery, nothing like the rest of his cool touch. Crying out, she wiggled against him, the bar of it laying between her lips a shocking burst of pleasure, just from a simple touch.
He straddled the bench, and now she straddled him. He draped her arms over his shoulders, scooped his hands beneath her ass. “Tell me again, Charlotte. A half hour ago you told me you wanted to go home alone. And now you want a fuck in the corner of the nightclub?”
She buried her face in his neck, pressing her breasts to his hard, furred chest. Working her hips with the tiny strength she had, she gave him the truth. “I’m starving.” Then she purred a command, her lips against his ear. “Feed me, Ryder.”
He groaned. His shoulders flexed as he raised her. A huge ball of flesh slid against her, notching at the mouth of her opening. Wrapping his arms around her, he squeezed, forcing his tip inside her body.
She went wild. Clawing and clutching, her hands frantically roamed his back. Her mouth latched on to his neck, glorying in the incredible tendons. Her hips pumped, thighs struggling to pull him closer. Her ankles ground on the bench as she fought to lock them behind his ass. The burn at her center flared to fire, but she wasn’t afraid of the pain.
Grunting, gasping, she writhed on his body while he took his time. Her virginity ripped with a burst of white agony. He froze.
Against his throat, she whispered, “Can you smell my virgin blood, vampire?”
He stood up, kicked the bench away, and slammed her to the mirrored wall hard enough to smack her head. He heaved her knees up in each hand, then took his first hard, deep stroke.
She screamed. Pain, pleasure, shock. He was huge, and he was inside her body. Staring up at the black ceiling full of pipes and wires, she watched the flashes of white and blue, purple, red and green. She hung, trapped between the cool, slick glass and this cool man’s strength. Growling, he ground his hips into hers, mashing her clit. Fireworks.
“That’s your first orgasm. I’ve served my duty to honor a virgin. Now, fairy miss, I’ll serve some comeuppance for the power you’ve toyed with tonight. Vampires don’t fall easily to moonlight spells, and I take you because I want to.”
He dropped her thighs and spun her around. Before she could gasp, he was back inside her, her ass squashed beneath his pummeling hips. Her breasts were smushed to aching, her hands slapped against the wall by her face. But in the mirror, she strangely had a clearer image of the man who joined her body than when she’d faced him.
His eyes glowed with fire, and four needle-tipped fangs soared inside his gaping, grimacing mouth. His cool skin along her back soothed the heat he stoked. He worked her with strokes so fast she knew only sensation, like being touched and kissed and sucked all at once, inside. Her first lover was Ryder, a vampire. Their eyes met. He snarled, shoving so hard against her, her ribs creaked.
She set her forehead to the glass and breathed, “Yes.”
This wasn’t what she’d wanted when she’d dreamed of exploring pleasure with a stranger. But it was good and it was hers. Her skin shimmered, beginning to glow a milky white. He paused, his tip stretching taut the mouth of her opening. He wrinkled his nose on a softer snarl.
Then he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the glass beside hers. His strokes smoothed out from jackhammer to liquid iron. His hips swirled, and the flex of him in and out was as natural as breathing.
It felt beautiful. Far more lovely than she’d achieved herself. In moments, she came again, and still he didn’t stop. Ryder adjusted them so he held her breasts, squeezing them, protecting them from the glass. His hips rocked, his thighs brushed the insides of hers, and he kissed the hollow behind her ear.
A glorious while later, she watched him blow apart. His speed still slow and controlled, his eyes slitted, flared, then flashed black again. His body went rigid, then softened, relaxing against her. Something smoothed out inside her. The chaotic music of the club now seemed grating. It jangled off-beat with the calm that rolled in from their joining.
He slid free of her, turned her, and wrapped her in a hug. A long sigh eased from both of them in unison.
“Congratulations.”
The voice surprised her, but she didn’t jump, not held as she was by Ryder. They lifted their heads and looked at the cloaked Elder standing a short distance away. How absurd of her to be on the dance floor.
“They used to call your kind ignis fatuus.” Her voice came from inside the shadowed cowl she kept down over her face. “Well, I’m no fool to be lured by you. I don’t know who sent you to challenge me, but I won’t be drowned by the likes of swamp power.”
The laugh she threw off seemed almost cheerful, a delighted old lady’s. “So congratulations, vampire. You’re the proud new addition to our fairy clan. She’s taken you as her mate.”
Ryder was gone so fast from her arms, she staggered. He stood a yard away, hands fisted by his hips. “What have you done?”
“Oh, I just enjoyed watching another pair flail and fail beneath the Iugo’s touch. I wish you a long and happy bond.” She chuckled.
Her pleasure shriveling, Charlotte felt her head began to pound. The music was too loud. The crone had done something horrible to them.
Ryder pivoted slowly to face Charlotte. Something pinched inside her to see the fury on his face, brows drawn, lips tight. “You took an Iugo potion and didn’t inform me?”
Blinking, she crossed her arms over her chest. The dance floor was more crowded, only a few people still indulging passion on the ground. They looked tawdry and silly now. “What does ‘Iugo’ mean?”
Ryder roared, veins bulging at his temple, fangs gleaming white. His chest jumped into relief. He was terrifying, like a beast about to be loosed.
Pointing at the Elder, he hissed, “You’re no queen of mine, bitch. I pity your people.” Snatching up his boots and leather pants, he stormed away.
Charlotte took a few tottering steps after him, afraid for the first time since she’d joined the dance.
“Don’t worry, child. He’ll get over himself eventually and come back to you. I doubt you’ll have to wait more than a dozen years before he’ll get so sexually frustrated he has no choice. And you have terrible taste. Vampires are sterile, so there will be no children for your branch to continue. So sad.”
T
he Elder turned and headed along the wall back toward her booth. To underscore her falsity, her sweet laugh tinkled out behind her as she disappeared behind the watchful gaze of the falcon woman.
Charlotte stood naked and unnoticed, freezing in the air-conditioned corner of the nightclub. She wasn’t going to wait a dozen years for Ryder to get over himself. He was on this cruise for a week, and she’d find him. But it might take her that long to forget her first taste of fairy manipulation.
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Charlotte decided that the man who’d supercharged her night by noticing her first deserved her first foray into fun. She stood up and walked over to him, cheeks flaming. Halfway there her courage faltered, and her gaze fell to her drink.
Her lashes fluttered as she glanced at him, drifting to a stop near his pink table.
He opened his mouth, but whatever he began to say was silenced by the indignant shout from behind her. “Hey now!”
She glanced over her shoulder.
Black Rascal had straightened up. He thumped his wine bottle on the seat. “Ivor! Gods damn you. I thought you were holed up with Isabella. You don’t deserve this pixie.” His voice carried over the warm night, drawing stares of speculation to her.
She jumped at an unexpected touch. A blunt, callused finger skated softly from elbow to wrist. Her body went from mortification to molten mush. Her head whipped back toward Mr. Viking so fast her braid whapped her in the shoulder.
“Shall we walk?” His voice was deep, his accent foreign. “Or I can make him leave.” The words were matter-of-fact, without doubt.
He stood up. Her thumping heart bloomed, then skipped with happiness. He was bigger than her. His form was lean but meaty, dense and deep. She did not feel bulky next to him, but . . . perfect. He matched her scale. There was nothing burly about this man. He was gorgeous, honed both in body and style. His tailored shirt and pants screamed wealth, and the way he wore the outer layer whispered familiarity with it.
His face serious, he inclined his head, then met her eyes. “I am Ivor. It is a pleasure to see you in the moonlight.”
She swallowed. The way he’d rolled the word “pleasure” in his mouth had her knees shivering. “I’m Charlotte.” She sat so fast her skirt billowed down after her. She wasn’t going to leave the bar with him without a chat.
Curling her toes in her rope espadrilles, she stared up his length, unable to look away. A belated realization that her face was now at crotch level made her clutch her drink to her chest. She licked her lips, and his gaze slid to her mouth. His lids lowered. Her jaw softened, lips parting. Even her teeth were pulsing with attraction, eager to nip.
She wanted him. Lots. It was a new, thrilling sensation. “It would be nice to sit with you.” Hope spread through her with the wonder of her first personal knowledge of lust. Her skin itched.
He leaned toward her, and his face changed, cheekbones stark, one shoulder checking abruptly. Danger shimmered around them.
“You ride your power openly. I like that.” He sat, but slowly, and her sense of connection between them faded, as if he’d put up a wall despite his mystifying words.
The Black Rascal wandered over to them. His wine bottle dangled from his hand. He pouted. “I can see I’m not wanted. For now. Don’t fall for his tame façade, Pixie.”
Ivor never took his gaze off her. “Go enjoy your cold bottle, Ryder. You’ll get more red from it than anything here.”
The Rascal, Ryder, huffed with surprising humor. “I might find a reason to come back to the ballroom later tonight . . .”
Charlotte didn’t have any idea what he was talking about but understood the men knew each other. Ryder strolled away, and she really couldn’t help noticing his carved ass, hollowed cheeks flexing with his lazy stride. Mortified at the attraction the taut leather held while she sat with another handsome man, she ripped her gaze down to her drink. It was sadly empty.
Silence surrounded them. The thumping beat of the blue-shadowed club and the murmur of happy couples around her pulled back, as if they were on their own island. Her gaze trailed over her lap to the crisp pleats of his silver slacks. She noted the bulge of muscle beneath the fabric. His thighs were so defined she was reminded of a comic-book character. He was utterly still, waiting without any sense of impatience or expectation.
Her gaze dragged up his shirt to his face. Disbelief hit her again. This manly, gorgeous guy watched her with interest. His eyes were dark, but the nearby lantern shone bright enough. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen dark blue eyes before.”
He smiled, slow and pleased. “You have nice eyes as well. Like mercury, liquid, shining, and hard to catch.”
Thirsty. She needed a drink. Of skin. It took several searing breaths before she realized she was angled toward him, lips parted, close enough to catch a whisper of male soap and heat. She froze. What was wrong with her? She’d spoken to handsome men before. Hadn’t she?
He leaned in, his face so near now she could see his eyes had two rings of color and his lashes were gold-tipped. His nostrils flared. “Come to the ballroom with me, Charlotte. We need to be ourselves tonight, to dance and drink and stretch.” His tongue flicked his lower lip. His gaze went to her mouth.
Her tongue drifted along her own lip, hovering, aching. Her name in his deep, accented voice strummed her belly, and his words seemed to match all the yearning she’d held while planning this trip. Live. She was so ready to live. Why pretend to talk when he clearly understood her desire? With a sway of her shoulders, she drifted her dampened mouth across the warm edge of his jaw, her lips sliding off his chin with a sigh. “Yes.”
His head shifted, mouth turning toward hers. She held her breath, but he hesitated, backing off for a moment. “You will let me kiss you here, before all, proclaiming our mutual interest?”
To the echo of Gram’s mischievous laughter, she held the stranger’s gaze and whispered, “Oh yes.”
And his mouth covered hers. The distant bass of the club powered through her blood. He had a taste, beer and man, and his lips were hard but smooth, pressing hers down, driving her jaw lower, his tongue lashing once at her lower teeth.
Lips firming to nip at his chin, she dared him with her gaze. Then he took all her air, sealing her whole mouth shut with his so that he was her everything. His tongue unfurled, threading into her mouth gracefully, without force. The first stroke of the slick touch against hers set fireworks off. With only one other gentle flicker, he pulled away.
She wanted to rip all his clothes off. Her bra felt like a torture device confining two delicate globes of sensation. She’d teased and offered a slight, chaste kiss, and he’d turned her world upside down with a masculine passion she had never tasted before. She growled.
It was short and soft, but he froze, head cocking. “Yes, it’s good you demand what you want. Do you know who I am?”
She shook her head faintly, heart skittering with need. “More than I expected,” she said wryly.
“I’m the leader of the Euro wolves. A hunter, a commander. You need to stand your ground if you want to be with me. Can you do that? Will you try?”
Images of tangled sheets and writhing limbs shivered through her. Kissing and tight nipples, a hollowed male ass and wide, strong hands. Her knowledge blurred after that, but the folds between her legs ignited with liquid heat. What kind of man called himself a wolf? What kind of stranger challenged a woman as part of his seduction?
Her kind, that’s who. Holy guacamole, this is going to be good. Her thighs shifted against the edge of the seat, eager to spread and invite.
“I don’t have to stand my ground if you follow me.” She stood up.
Threading through the cushions, lanterns, and tables, she lef
t the fenced-in bar and opened her stride. Heart pumping, she stepped into the darkness. Her skirt flowed around her legs, her steps smooth, and then she prowled into a darker section of the balcony that rimmed the deck, fingers trailing over the smooth, cool white metal railing.
He was behind her. With a woman’s power she just knew it. She glided into the railing and rolled along it, facing him. His golden coloring silvered in the moonlight now falling across his face. He stopped. Close enough to reach, but not close enough.
Sliding one foot up behind her to prop on a rung, she fanned her knee back and forth, her burning folds so soaked she could smell her own fragrance. He could, too. She saw the moment his head lifted, chin pulled toward her, but his feet stayed stubbornly still.
Now was not the time for talking. Talking was stupid, and not what either of them wanted.
With her elbows on the railing, she leaned back, her breasts swelling tight in her sturdy bra. “Mr. Wolf, come touch me.” She whispered the command, softened it with yearning. Her skin crawled and itched again.
In one step, he plastered against her, his face buried in her throat. “You don’t need to coerce me like that. You know I’m willing.”
“Are you?” Head dropping back, she hung against the railing, his mouth roving like hot caramel up and down her tendons. His hands worked into her soft hips, and his hips, oh . . . His hips pressed an interesting lumpy ridge hard against her.
Moments spun away. His hands on her back, her hips, his mouth on her face, her throat. The moon danced upside down in her vision, and ocean scent flowed into her veins. This was so much easier than she’d thought it would be. And just as nifty as she’d wanted. “Take me here.” Her voice poured so low and slow she could hardly make out the words.
His body went rigid, arm tight around her back. His other hand slid across her belly and plunged between her legs. His teeth went wild across her throat and jaw. His fingers curled tight into her hollow, swirling—
His hand bit into the back of her neck. “I told you to stop.”