by Donya Lynne
He stepped closer and cradled her cheek. “I can assure you, baby, this is no dream. You’re my mate, and I think I’d like to stay buried inside you for at least a week. So . . . yeah. Not a dream. Not even close.”
Her gaze fixed on his, and she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“What is?” He pulled her toward him.
She drew in a shaky breath, smiling and opening her eyes as she did. “All of it. You. This.” She dragged her hands down his chest. “Seeing you as a friend and not a foe.” She blinked her gaze to his.
He got what she was saying. He needed time to adjust, too. Treating Cordray like discarded rotten fruit had become a way of life.
He nodded toward the bed. “How about we spend the next couple of hours practicing being extra nice to each other then?”
She followed his gaze. “You won’t break my bed?”
“I’ve got to learn sometime.”
One corner of her mouth quirked upward as her lashes fell seductively. “Practice makes perfect?”
A lust-filled rumble broke inside his throat. “Hell yeah, and I believe in lots of practice.”
She bit her bottom lip as he took her hand once more, tugged her into the bedroom, and closed the door.
Chapter 32
Digon sat alone in his study, staring at Micah Black’s application, his fingers laced together under his chin. Rule had intercepted Micah’s interest form personally and brought it to him. Now he had a decision to make.
He stood and paced toward the window facing the eastern horizon. A new day had come. A new era was dawning. One in which he would reveal his true identity. He couldn’t remain hidden any longer. Micah and Cordray were getting too close. Not that he couldn’t hold them off. He could. He just didn’t want to anymore.
He’d always said he would know when the time was right to reveal himself. And the time was now. For so long, he had remained hidden behind his alter ego, but he could no longer stay silent. Too much was at stake, such as the survival of his race.
He closed his eyes, acknowledging the cold anguish in his heart.
If only he could go back in time, he never would have let the situation escalate the way it had. All that had happened in the past thirty-five hundred years was his fault. He alone had held the key to ensuring that events wouldn’t unfold as they had, but he’d been too ill-equipped, too weak to do what had to be done. Of course, doing so would have resulted in civil war, but at least he would still have his daughter.
Now he would make those who had taken her from him pay. He would set right all he had allowed to go askew so long ago.
And Micah and Cordray would help him. He would make them understand, and they would have no choice but to join him. And with them would come King Bain’s royal alliance. He would need that connection to make things right.
“Digon?”
A quiet tap on his door brought his gaze around.
Rule cautiously stepped into his office.
“Yes, what is it?”
Rule’s gaze traveled to Micah’s application. His shoulders lifted proudly. “What do you want me to tell him?”
Digon regarded the application then met the gaze of his closest confidante. No, Rule was more than that. He was family. Just like Sonia, who eased open the door and joined them a moment later, her red hair falling past her shoulders in waves. Eyes so like her father’s expectantly met his and held. She and Rule were a testament to how much he’d grown since single-handedly lining up the greatest tragedy vampires and drecks had ever endured. He had succeeded with Rule and Sonia where he had failed before, and now the three of them faced the toughest test they would ever come up against.
Turning back toward the window, Digon breathed in the smell of freedom.
“Invite him. Tonight. I want him here tonight.” He paused, and a faint smile touched his lips. “The time has come, my friends.” He looked over his shoulder at them. “Time for us to step out from the shadows.”
He could feel the hope and excitement bubble around them.
He returned to his desk and pushed Micah’s application toward Rule. “Soon I will talk to King Bain. He needs to know about Micah, as well.”
Rule rolled the application into a paper tube and held it in his loose fist. “What if he already does? After all, he is the king.”
Digon arched an eyebrow at Rule. “Then we’ll have a lot to talk about, now won’t we?”
The time of Digon was at an end. It was time for his true self to reenter society.
Time for Argon to rise again.
Chapter 33
Trace lay on his left side, facing Cordray, his head resting on his arm. She was on her back, arms stretched under the black, satin-covered pillow above her head. Her face was turned toward his.
Their gazes met in silent acceptance. It was as if they were locked inside a magical bubble, and Trace never wanted to leave. He wanted to stay right here, tucked away with her, where he could continue to discover every inch of her—everything she was—for the rest of his life.
No words could describe how he felt. Cordray was his other half, and now, with her lying quietly beside him, her eyes staring into his with the same sense of wonder he was feeling, he marveled for what felt like the tenth time that his search was finally over.
His gaze drifted to her bare breasts then to her flat stomach and the colorful dragon tattoo that wrapped around her torso. The dragon held a thorny rose in its claw. He understood the symbolism. The rose was considered the perfect flower. Beautiful in its perfection. But even perfection can cause pain. Get too close or hold on too tightly, and the thorns will prick you and draw blood.
With the fingertips of his right hand, he lightly traced a line up the subtle, shallow ridge that separated the two halves of her stomach. The firm muscles on either side quivered as a broken groan trembled from her throat, and he glanced up in time to see her eyes roll back as her eyelids fluttered closed.
She was so damn responsive. She mewled under his touch, submitting herself to him in a way that was fascinating to witness. Not only because—for once—he wasn’t the one in submission, but because she wasn’t normally so compliant. He was used to her sassy mouth and her feisty demeanor, but he liked this softer, milder Cordray. He liked touching her. Liked the way she responded.
Grinning almost proudly, he skimmed his palm up and around the orb of her left breast. He loved how the soft fullness gave and shifted against his hand. How her flesh molded to his gentle grip when he squeezed. What he loved even more was how Cordray moaned as she arched, pushing her breast more fully into his grasp.
He tickled his way to her right breast as she sank back against the mattress on a sigh. Using the tip of his index finger, he swirled circles around her rosy nipple. The center tightened, formed a soft nub, and then hardened as he continued coaxing it. What looked like gooseflesh prickled the areola.
Euphoria shone from her face. Erotic sighs drifted from between parted lips, and her thick black lashes framed hungry eyes as she met his gaze again. Her chest rose and fell heavily, and her legs scissored at the foot of the bed as she squirmed.
She was so fucking goddamn gorgeous.
With a hunger growing within his chest, he pinched her nipple between his thumb and index finger, and then watched in fascination as her body stiffened then fell into shudders as a ragged, choppy moan shivered from her throat. Her stomach muscles trembled, and her thighs pressed together and quivered violently as her hand shot between her legs and clamped down.
He smiled and shifted closer, releasing her nipple. “Did you just come again?”
A ripple raced through her body as she rolled toward him.
“Did you?” His arm wound around her and pulled her on top of him as he rolled to his back. Her hair spilled over his face, his chest, his shoulders. It was thick and soft. Heavenly.
Cordray’s body continued to quake as her hips rocked against his cock, but she nodded a
s she licked her lips then laid her cheek on his chest. “Yes.” She drew in a deep breath, blew it out, and relaxed against him.
How many times had Cordray come since they’d started their marathon in the hall? She seemed to have a never-ending supply of orgasms inside her. Every five or ten minutes, her body released another one, even when Trace wasn’t trying to give her one. And how about that? For once, he was giving an orgasm to a female. Willingly. Of his own desire. Not because he had been beaten to do so. Not because he wanted to take advantage of a rare moment of peace from his beast. But because he was fully in the moment, lucid, and wanted to give pleasure for pleasure’s sake.
“Sam told me you couldn’t feel,” he said quietly, playing with her hair, “but that you can feel me. Is that true?”
She sank more fully against him, almost as if her body were part of his. “Yes.”
No wonder she couldn’t stop coming. Her body had been starved of physical sensation and now had been presented a smorgasbord. It was feasting, and rightfully so.
He brushed his lips over her hair, truly content for the first time in his life. “I’m glad,” he whispered.
His gaze remained on the ceiling, but every cell in his body was fully aware of the extraordinary female lying on top of him.
He didn’t need to look at her to see her. He could feel her heart beating against his rib cage, hear the calmness of her thoughts in the way she breathed and pressed her cheek a little more firmly against his chest, taste her essence on the air and against his tongue, and smell the fragrance of her very soul as she infiltrated every molecule of his being. Looking at her with his eyes and taking in her magnificent beauty was simply the icing on the cake.
“Me, too,” she said. “I can feel every part of you.” As if to punctuate the point, she rubbed her cheek against his skin and caressed her palm down his arm, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. “For so long, I couldn’t feel a thing, but when you touch me, I feel it.”
“How?”
She lifted her head and looked at him as he brought his gaze down from the ceiling to hers. “I don’t know.” She shook her head in dismay. “All I know is that for the first time in a long time, I can feel something other than a vast, empty void. But only with you. No one else.”
“So . . .” He licked his lips and gave her a playful smirk. “You’re saying I’m special.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh God, you’re going to make this a thing, aren’t you?”
“You can’t admit it, can you?” He grinned. “Come on. Say it. Say, ‘Trace, you’re one of a kind. You’re special.’”
She bit back a smile. “You are. You’re going to make this into a thing. Does everything have to be a competition with you?” A coquettish twinkle shone from her eyes, making it clear she hoped he would never change.
Trace chuckled. “If you don’t say it, I win.”
She flashed him a playfully dubious look. “You’re special all right.” She quickly leaned forward and nipped his bottom lip then started to push herself off.
Trace grabbed her around the waist. “Where are you going?”
“Can a girl pee?” She fought him off with a gentle smack on the cheek, which of course got his blood pumping even more than it already was. He liked when she smacked him around.
He let her go. “Hurry back. I’m not done with you.” He watched her disappear into the bathroom then lay back on the bed, arms out to his sides, legs straight and open, cock hard against his stomach.
The smile on his face said it all. This had been the best night ever!
Visions of a teenage human virgin in his parents’ basement, on a lumpy couch, fumbling with the clasp of his girlfriend’s bra came to mind. No matter how shitty the surroundings, or how clumsy his fingers, or how he didn’t know a damn thing about what in the hell he was doing took away from the fact that first-time sex was the best sex in the whole damn world. The kind of sex a guy never forgot.
Did it matter if it only lasted sixty seconds? Did it matter that he’d never properly held a female’s breasts before? Or that he had no experience taking off a female’s clothes?
Hell no. All that mattered was how damn good it felt, and that all he wanted was to do it for the next two weeks without stopping.
The bathroom door opened, and Cordray appeared, smiling at him like she was as happy as he was. Then she pulled up and frowned at the floor.
“What is it?” He propped himself on his elbow.
She bent down and picked something up. When she stood and held up her hand, she was holding a small, black button.
She set it on her nightstand and shimmied onto the bed. “Looks like I’ll have to find out which pair of pants that came off of and sew it back on. Sometimes I feel like all I do is mend my clothes.”
He lay back and moved his arm so she could lie down next to him on her stomach. She propped herself on her elbows.
“What’s that cheesy grin for?” she said, snuggling closer.
He reached around with his other hand and brushed back her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I’ve never felt this way before.” He glanced down at her full lips. “I’ve never experienced anything like this.”
It was an admission of vulnerability, but for the first time aside from Micah and Sam, he felt complete trust in someone. He instinctively knew that his heart and soul were safe with Cordray. He could open himself and show her his weakness, and she wouldn’t abuse his trust.
Was this how it would always be with her? Was everything going to feel this safe from now on? After centuries of fear, loneliness, and despair, had he finally found the one person who could give him peace? Total, undeniable, blessedly granted peace in every way possible?
She smiled and nestled a little closer. “Neither have I.” She bowed her head and kissed his shoulder. “I thought I had once, but . . .” She took a breath and looked deep into his eyes. “Never like this. It was never like this.”
He searched her eyes. He was lost, yet found. Bewildered by how enraptured he was. “I don’t know what to do. What you expect. What I expect . . .”
Biting her bottom lip, Cordray smiled like a shy but thrilled little girl. “Neither do I, but isn’t that part of what makes this so exciting?”
Trace rolled toward her and settled his palm on the small of her back. Her perfect, round derriere was an inviting, curved bounty of flesh. “All I know right now is that I can’t stop”—he ran his palm down one cheek—“touching you.” Everything about Cordray drew him in. He never thought he’d like the smell of anything more than he liked the scent of lilacs, but Cordray’s citrusy scent intoxicated him even more. Being with her was like walking through an orange grove in full blossom.
She sighed and sank into the mattress, letting her head drift downward as his hand explored first one full handful of flesh, and then the other. His fingertips ventured gently into the sexy crease that divided her bottom, and his heart skipped at her moan of approval and the way she parted her legs as his fingers slid lower and found her labia.
She was wet. He had never felt a woman’s arousal like this before. Always, he had been bound, at the whim of his mistress, never able to indulge and enjoy. Now, like the proverbial kid in a candy store, he took advantage of his freedom, sliding his finger curiously up and down the slick opening between her legs, enthralled that he had done this to her.
Quiet, heated murmurs touched his ears, and he glanced at her face to find she had closed her eyes. The sounds emanating from between her luscious lips sounded both plaintive and surrendering, as if she were begging him and giving in to him all at once.
“You like this?” Did his inexperienced caresses on her most private, intimate flesh really turn her on? He felt more like a fumbling fool than a master of seduction.
She nodded and mumbled something he couldn’t understand against the back of her hand, but which sounded like a plea for more.
His dick had been hard for the better part of the last four hours, but he’d been too ench
anted with her—touching her, watching her, feeling her, listening to her—to do anything about his own needs. Right now, all he wanted was to memorize every inch of her skin, every curve, every dip and groove.
“Turn over for me,” he said.
Without hesitation, she complied and laid her hand on his arm as he slid his palm between her legs, letting his fingers part her and return to the slick warmth that spilled from her like honey. Now that the fiery urgency they’d experienced in the hall had subsided, he relished the long, sweet exploration of her body.
“You’re so wet.” He gently swirled his fingertips in her nectar and felt the raised, firm nubbin beneath the pad of his middle finger. Her clitoris. Cordray sucked in her breath as he circled it.
The way her body writhed as he continued to tease her clit drove him crazy.
“I love how you move. How you use your body to show me what you like.” He lowered his head and kissed the side of her breast as he urged his middle finger inside her.
She pressed her hand to the back of his head and moaned, her body twisting toward his.
“I love the noises you make.” He laved his tongue over her rosy nipple, closed his lips over the puckered nub, and swirled his tongue as he did the same with the butt of his hand against her clit.
“Trace . . .” An urgent undercurrent simmered beneath her whisper. Her fingers curled on his skull, her nails digging into his skin.
“Mmmmm.” He couldn’t get enough of her. The way her body quivered, her taste, her heat. The bite of pain from her nails on the back of his head.
“Trace.” Her hips ground against his hand, which he pressed more demandingly against her.
He was halfway on her body now, his leg slung over one of hers, his erection pressing against her hip. He feasted on her breast, stroked her inside and out with his right hand, which trembled against her from a new sense of power, one he had never felt before.
“Cordray . . .” His fangs extended, his hunger approaching insatiable levels. He needed her. All of her. Blood, body, and soul.
“Please, Trace. More. God, please.”