Blood Curse (Blood Series)

by Page, Sharon

  “My fifth?” She could not believe it. He had given her many orgasms in a row, but she hadn’t ever had five.

  “That’s when all your defenses will be down and your body will be able to release the power to me.”

  “I don’t think I could have five.” Really, just two usually exhausted her. Ophelia stepped out and he clasped her hand to help her—the tub was deep, filled almost to the rim with warm water.

  “You can have five,” he said.

  She didn’t believe him, but loved the burning glow in his eyes as he said it.

  “If you are planning to give me five climaxes, why are you dressed?” Inexplicably she was nervous, even though she trusted him. She was about to give up her power, and she didn’t know what would happen to either of them.

  His strong arms wrapped the thick towel around her, surrounding her with warmth as he embraced her, too. But still she shivered.

  He kissed her neck. That made her go stiff with shock.

  Ravenhunt drew back. “I don’t want to frighten you. You know I won’t bite you. I can resist my hunger.”

  He must have fed, but she didn’t want to think about that. He had asked her to touch him, and she yearned to do it.

  Awkwardly, she turned in his embrace. She hadn’t touched in so long, and she’d never caressed a man she wanted to entice. How did she begin?

  His hands slid around her, cradling her bottom and he drew her to him. Lost in wondering how to touch him, she lost her balance and fell against his chest. Her cheek pressed against his shirt. She closed her eyes. Tentatively, she laid her hands against the firm, strong muscles against which her cheek was pressed. Even through the linen of his shirt, she could feel the defined shape of his pectorals. Her palms savored the strength of him, unyielding beneath her touch.

  She slid her hands higher, toward his neck. Earlier, she had wrapped her arms around his neck to hang on tight while they flew over London. Now she let her fingers caress him, stroking the column of muscle. She ran her fingers up and down, for his skin was like velvet beneath her fingers.

  He groaned softly. His eyes were closed, his lashes lush crescents of black on his cheeks. His lips parted on quick breaths.

  He looked this way before he would climax. She was making him look so sexually agonized with just her touch.

  Mmm, she slid her fingers into his silky tresses. She’d always dreamed of running her fingers through a man’s hair. Now she could do it and do it to Ravenhunt, the only man she wanted to touch.

  A giggle escaped. His hair tickled. It was so thick and beautiful. Ophelia pressed her fingers to his scalp, gently massaging.

  His eyes opened. “That’s lovely,” he murmured. His head dipped back and he gave a guttural moan. “So good. No one’s ever done that to me.”

  “It’s like stroking a cat.” She giggled again. “You are practically purring.”

  “Don’t ever stop,” he muttered in a low, throaty growl.

  “I’m afraid I have to. I want to explore all of you.”

  He let his head drop back again and this time he made a soft howling sound. She couldn’t help but laugh. “I need to get your clothes off,” she said.

  “Take them off then. I want to feel your hands all over me. But I’ll help by taking off my coat.” Ravenhunt pulled it off, tossed it to the floor of the bathing room. She had been so touched by how he had prepared the room for her, laying a fire for warmth, stacking soft towels, and setting many candles around the room so she bathed in a bright, gold glow.

  It had been so sweet the way he had rushed, at his preternatural speed, to do it.

  Her fingers fumbled on his quickly tied cravat. She had to stand on tiptoe to do it. She was too eager to touch his skin to deal with his clothes. But he wanted her to undress him.

  He helped her tug his cravat open, and he slid it out from around his neck and threw it aside. His collar points dropped away, revealing his strong neck, down to the hollow at the base of his throat.

  She caught her breath. Warmth exuded from the linen of his shirt, tempting her. Strange, but he felt warmer than he had when she had first been brought here as a prisoner.

  All she had to do was get beneath his shirt and she could feel more of his beautiful skin. Her palms tingled. Her fingers itched to begin.

  Holding her breath, Ophelia opened the ties of his shirt at his throat. Ravenhunt stepped back, pulled it over his head, and lowered his arms. She loved the way his biceps bulged, the way his chest muscles rippled then settled as he let his arms rest by his hips. He dropped his shirt.

  This magnificent chest was hers to touch. She planted her hands over the hard curves of his pectoral muscles. He made them twitch under her palms. She giggled. Looked up to him and saw his smile.

  His nipples had tightened until they were two hard points that tickled her palm. She rubbed them and he groaned with desire. His nipples grew harder. She wanted to explore. To see what her touch could do to him.

  With her thumbs, she lightly strummed his nipples. Awkwardly at first, then she found a better rhythm. His head fell back. “God, yes, Ophelia. Your touch is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She’d sculpted male bodies, but she’d never touched one. Even though he was formed of solid muscle, his skin was so soft. She slipped her hands up to his shoulders, ran along them exploring their marvelous breadth. Then down to explore his biceps. His forearms were like iron.

  She touched his hands, loving that she could thoroughly explore them. Veins were raised in the back, his fingers long and elegant. She giggled even when she stroked his knuckles. It was so wonderful to feel the wrinkles there and the crisp edges of his fingernails.

  Then she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it, the way a gentleman kissed a lady’s hand.

  Under thick lashes, Ravenhunt watched her. “No one’s done that for me.”

  Smiling, Ophelia turned his right hand over and kissed the palm. His skin was slightly rougher there, and she playfully brushed her lower lips sensually against him. He responded with a shiver. “That sent a shock right down to my cock, love.”

  There was a place she could not wait to touch. But she wanted to please him, too. Watching him saucily, she kissed his fingertips. She ran her tongue down his index finger. She sucked it.

  His eyes widened in astonishment as she playfully suckled him. Her wanton thoughts went to his cock—she’d seen it, but had never been able to touch it.

  She was panting now. She had her hands on his back, stroking the broad, smooth muscle there. Her hands went lower, to his low back, tracing the curve of his spine.

  Her fingers brushed the waistband of his trousers. Think of how naughty, how wonderful to slip her hands down lower . . .

  She did. Warm, smooth skin met her touch, as firm and sculpted as marble, but so much more arousing to feel. Her fingers dipped into a hot area . . . heavens, the valley between the cheeks of his derriere. She explored there, then touched one cheek, running her fingers over it. Being wildly daring, she squeezed his firm bottom.

  “Like my arse, do you?”

  A hot blush raced over her cheeks.

  He grinned. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed or shy. I appreciate your interest.”

  “I like all of you,” she said honestly.

  His dark hair fell around his face. “I love being touched by you. No other woman’s hands have felt so exciting on me.” He reached to unbutton his trousers but she stopped him.

  “Let me. It’s a dream come true to do that to you,” she said.

  He laughed. It was harder than she expected, for his trousers were strained by his erection, and it took a great deal of strength to undo the buttons. She had to fight to slip them through the holes. The placket fell open, and his erection, straight as a rod, sprang forward.

  Its musky scent teased her. She could touch it, but she still approached warily, reaching out her hand with caution, as if it could bite. Her fingers bumped the head, making it sway.

  “The head l
ikes to be stroked. It’s very sensitive,” he said softly.

  Tentatively, she caressed it, with her fingertips. She followed the contours, from the rounded top, with the tiny hole in the center, to the sweep of velvety skin to the crown that ringed it, before the long, thick shaft began. Clear, silvery fluid leaked out, making her fingers sticky.

  He moaned in pleasure. Then she moaned in surprise and delight: as she fondled him, he cupped her left breast. Beneath his hand, her heart thundered. His thumb played the same lovely games on her nipple as she’d done to his.

  She almost melted to the floor. She gripped his erection to stay upright. Then let him go. “I was squeezing you! I’m so sorry.”

  “I liked it.” He put his hand over hers and guided her to slide her palm along the shaft. “Stroke me.”

  Her hand slid to the hilt, slickened by his moisture. Her fingers did not reach all the way around, at the base of his enormous cock. Such amazing textures. Veins ringed his thickened shaft, her palm felt each ripple. At the base, crisp hairs tickled her skin. She even let her fingers graze his sensitive ballocks.

  “Lovely, my dear. But since I can touch you freely, I want to do something I’ve always dreamed of.”

  She gazed at him, wondering, knowing she looked terribly innocent. “What?”

  “My mouth on your cunny. My tongue licking you to heavenly ecstasy.”

  “Your mouth?” she gasped and in her shock, she gave a rather ruthless tug on his cock. He merely laughed, gathered her in his arms, and with his trousers drooping around his thighs, he set her down on a soft rug on the floor close to the warming fire.

  He parted her legs and got on his knees between them.

  “You aren’t really going to—”

  Her words died. Ravenhunt bent and took her nether lips into his mouth, gently sucking them. Then his tongue flicked them apart, and his slightly raspy, warm wet tongue ran over her clit.

  14

  Tasting Her

  Her hips jolted up and she almost smacked him hard in the mouth. Ophelia reached down to him in apology, but his tongue flicked over her sensitive, throbbing nub, and she screamed.

  All she could see of Ravenhunt was his dark, glittering eyes, his arched brows, his thick, untamed black hair.

  Her hands flailed in desperation. It was so good. It must be more amazing than seeing heaven. She made fists and banged them against the rug. Her hips worked wildly, she couldn’t control them.

  Touch was the most wonderful thing in the world.

  Gently, slowly, something slid inside her wet . . . cunny. Ravenhunt’s fingers filled her. He thrust them in and out while he gave her clit so much glorious attention she was sobbing.

  Tension coiled in her. Tighter, tighter, so stunningly tight . . .

  She burst in a fierce, intense orgasm. Her screams could have been heard at Mrs. Darkwell’s. Delicious pleasure claimed her. She was beyond control, her body moving at the command of her climax. She shut her eyes tight, opened them wide.

  “Oh Ravenhunt,” she gasped.

  “Raven,” said his deep, hoarse voice.

  He moved over her, so his legs were between her spread ones, and his arms bracketed her shoulders. “I used to be called Raven. It was always my nickname. Call me Raven—it was the name the people closest to me always used. I would love to hear you say it.”

  “Raven,” she whispered. “What is your real name?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he rasped.

  The weight pressed against her belly. It was his cock, trapped between them by the weight of his hips. She knew he was supporting much of his weight.

  Even though she’d come, her body moved instinctively. Her hips moved, to seek to put his erect cock right against her clit.

  Underneath him, her breasts pressed against his chest. Soft dark hairs tickled. Her nipples were squashed a bit by him, but it was a sensual feeling.

  “I want to make love to you. I want to be deep inside you. Buried to the hilt. Do you want it, Felie?”

  The harshly spoken words set her aflame. “Oooh, yes.”

  “There shouldn’t be pain. I want to join with you, Felie.”

  She’d almost forgotten she could touch him, she could use her hands. She ran them down his broad back, coasting over planes of firm muscle. Her inquisitive hands reached his naked bottom. He no longer wore trousers—he had quickly pulled off them and his boots. She touched bare skin. Cupped his taut rump. Felt the hard muscles flex as he lifted his hips.

  Heavens, the tip of his huge cock touched her slick cunny. Her nether lips parted, letting him slide in just a bit.

  “Oh!”

  He captured her mouth in a sizzling kiss, tangled her tongue with his. Lots of luxurious play with his tongue. A kiss that made her heat like molten wax.

  He thrust his hips forward, and his cock impaled her, sliding deep, filling her. She clutched his shoulder. It felt wonderful. She felt so full, so full of his hot, thick cock. He drew back, and she gasped as she felt the pull of his shaft inside her. Gracefully, he pushed forward again, and his cock went so deep his groin collided with her clit.

  Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. She moaned fiercely.

  He went so deep, his skin sliding and teasing her skin. Each thrust teased a secret place inside that sent waves of delight over her. Each thrust banged her clit.

  Ophelia gripped his shoulders. They moved together. She thrust, trying to match his strokes, seeking release.

  She wrapped her legs around him. Touching him all over. Loving him—

  Oh heavens!

  Raven drew in a controlling breath. He bowed his head over her, fighting for control. Her cunny held him tight, squeezing him with slick heat. Her pussy pulsed around him. Her eyes were closed, her mouth strained as she moaned and cried out through her orgasm.

  “Raven!” she cried. He thrust into her, driving into her climaxing quim.

  “I love this . . . love you. Oh!”

  Never had he heard those words gasped so desperately on a woman’s lips. His fiancée had never said it like that.

  He slanted his mouth over her. Kissed her full, soft lips. Nuzzled her jaw as she sobbed and rocked against him. Her climax seemed endless.

  He kissed her throat—

  Suddenly, her scents overwhelmed him. The scent of her pussy, the sweetness of her skin, the richness of her blood, pumping like mad beneath her skin.

  He pulled back.

  “Your fangs are out.”

  He ducked his head. Focused to make them retract. He’d already fed, damn it, while he was outside. There was no hunger in him.

  His cock was still hard. She’d only come twice.

  “It’s all right. I can control them.” He withdrew his cock, which ached as it left her hot cunny. “Three more, love. Let’s have them in bed.”

  Four orgasms and she had drifted off to sleep.

  Raven got up from the bed and lifted the sheet and counterpane, gently covering Ophelia with it. She lay on her side, curled up. He should wake her and give her one more orgasm and take her power—then turn her power over to Queen Jade to protect his sister.

  Then he would die.

  Or so Guidon said. There was something in his past that would destroy Ophelia’s love for him, and he couldn’t escape his fate of destruction unless she knew the truth and loved him in spite of it.

  He had no idea what in hell it was.

  Raven was tired of the world of demons, with its curses and spells and the fact every hope for escape and happiness came with either a destructive price or a devious catch.

  He didn’t want to wake Ophelia, either. She’d endured hell earlier and survived. In one day she had learned he was a vampire, she had been taken prisoner and almost dissected. He was thankful she was able to sleep.

  There was time—time for him to make her climax again. He could try taking her power tomorrow. It meant giving her five more orgasms tomorrow, but he was ready for the delicious challenge.

  Outside, stars
glittered against the black sky. It was night again, a whole day since Ophelia’s blood scent had tempted him beyond sanity and he’d had to run. Tonight, after he had gone out to see who watched his house, he’d hunted quickly in the stews for prey. In mere minutes, he’d found a brute of a man to feed on. It had taken away the ferocity of his hunger, allowing him to return to her.

  But watching her sleep, Raven could picture her blood thrumming through her veins. He had to get out and feed again.

  How could he ever dream of a future between them? He couldn’t make her into a vampire, and he couldn’t stay with her because he feared he would lose control and take her blood.

  It didn’t matter if she loved him or if there was a reason in his past for her to hate him. He had to die, damn it.

  Destruction was his only future.

  Raven left her bedroom and dressed. He had to go and find prey—and while he was doing it, he was going to ensure his sister, Frederica, was still safe.

  He left the house, locking it carefully, and passed through the streets fully dressed. He walked, but moving at such speed he was a blur. Mortal London moved past him with no clue he was there. Animals sensed him. Dogs barked and howled, horses shied, but their human masters chastised them with no idea the animals had better senses.

  It took mere minutes to come to Mount Street, to find his old house. Candlelight blazed from the window, but there was no ball here tonight. His sister must be out.

  Then his hearing picked up a soft, feminine sigh, the delicate sound of a girl being pleasurably caressed.

  Hades.

  Was that his sister? If the scoundrel from the ballroom was taking liberties, he would drink the blackguard’s blood and tear him limb from limb.

  Vampires could move almost silently. Or they should be able to. Raven stepped on a fallen branch as he made his way around the shrubbery in the dark. It broke with a snap and a young woman gasped, “Someone’s there. Someone has followed me.”

  “Wait here.” The masculine voice was filled with determination, but sounded young also.

  Raven retreated into the shadows by the lilacs. Worry for his sister had made him clumsy.