“Don’t be. It felt good.” His robotic tone didn’t make her feel any better.
“Just because it felt good physically, doesn’t mean it did your mind any good.”
His met her gaze with surprise. “How do you know?”
“What?”
He gave his head a curt shake. “Nothing.”
“It was clear you weren’t enjoying it. Or you were, but it was giving you flashbacks.” With terrible realization, she decoded what he’d asked. “Rourke, you were abused. Just because they manipulated your body into feeling pleasure doesn’t mean you were okay with their actions. I’m guessing vampires can’t help how feeding feels, pleasurable no matter what. It was wrong. Awful and wrong.”
He exploded in movement. She tensed, prepared for his rage at her interference into his past. Instead, his mouth pressed down on hers, his hands tunneled under her sweater, then switched direction to drag down her pants. With a snarl of frustration, he tore her zipper apart to peel them down her legs and shove each shoe off. Somehow, they sustained their kiss. His tongue pushed inside, and she met it with enthusiasm.
Cool night air wafted over her bare legs while her butt pressed into the chilly seats. He wedged himself in between. Her hands gripped his shoulders for dear life; she didn’t dare touch him in any other way because she didn’t want him to stop. Since he’d arrived in the woods, her body had prepped itself for him.
Any time he was around, her body readied itself.
He broke away from her to undo the clasp of his leathers. When his shaft was freed, she had seconds to register his size and girth before he shoved her legs further apart and placed himself at her entrance.
She was wet for him, but…he was a large male. Her fingers dug in to him and she tried to relax to accept him.
“I won’t hurt you, Grace.”
She pried her eyes off his manhood to meet his gaze. He’d acted as if he was out of his mind with lust, but he was fully present in the moment and concerned about her well-being. As if he hadn’t dug into her heart with the quandary that was Rourke, he’d fully taken root.
Yes, he could prep her, loosen her up with his mouth, with his fingers, she didn’t want him to waste the time. She didn’t want to risk the extra time to give either one of them the opportunity to change their minds.
For encouragement, she rocked her hips. He thrust forward enough so the tip entered her. They both groaned. If it felt this good already, she was going to lose her ever-loving mind. They both moved again, pushing toward each other. Part of her wished he just drove inside, the other part savored his slow entrance.
“Grace,” he breathed. His forehead dropped to hers; he braced his hands, one on the back of the ride, one on the safety bar. His chest heaved like it took great effort not to lose himself.
Tilting her hips more, she grasped his face and pulled his mouth down to hers. Before they touched, she murmured, “Rourke, please don’t stop.”
He withdrew, a wonderfully carnal sensation, but the feeling of loss was almost too much to bear. Stroking her with his tongue, he propelled forward, sliding in just an inch further than he had been. They repeated the process until he was fully seated inside. She shifted her pelvis and rocked herself against him until she accommodated his girth.
It was more than she’d envisioned with Rourke. Cuddling, spooning, even hugging were things they’d have to work toward.
He withdrew from their kiss to nibble down her neck. “Are you ready, Grace?”
“So ready.” She wrapped her legs around him, and the seams of his pants dug into her.
He drew back and thrust.
“Oh my—Rourke!” So. Good.
He rolled her shirt up until her breasts were bared and tugged her bra down. Her pebbled nipples aimed for the sky. He snagged a peak in his mouth. Only then did she let go of his shoulders and bury her hands in his hair.
In and out; their ride seat swayed with the movement. He teased her breasts as his cock set fire to her. A slow bloom of heat spread from her center, flushing her body. When the orgasm hit, it was going to encompass her entire being.
In and out. The first ripples of climax gripped his shaft tighter. He released her nipple and reared back to watch himself impale her sex.
The look of awe across his face undid her. The reverence in his eyes, the rigidity in his torso, like he was stringing himself out to make this experience as long as possible.
Her inner walls clamped down on him. She couldn’t hold back her explosion. Caressing his face once before she twisted her hands in his shirt, she threw back her head to cry out.
“Your ecstasy is breathtaking.”
She only heard him. Her eyes were squeezed shut from the power, but his tone was full of disbelief.
He wrapped his arms around her legs to hold her still while he slammed into her one final time. He gritted his teeth and grunted his release. Rourke’s shaft pulsing within her, his release spilling inside… She opened her eyes to watch while he was lost in orgasm. The characteristic calm of Ozias Rourke was gone, if only for a few seconds.
He sagged, breathing heavy. His hands were still clenched on the seat back and safety bar. Slight dents marred the metal under his fingers.
She relaxed back and loosened her hold on his shirt to stroke his face.
He flinched like he’d been burned.
Rapid footsteps approached their cove. The security guard.
His mask snapped back into place and he withdrew. Not bothering to shove himself back into his pants, he reached down to snatch her pants and shoes. Grace rearranged her bra and shirt until they were back in place.
The glare of a flashlight bounced off various surfaces of the ride.
Rourke dumped her clothing into her arms, then threaded his arm behind her and flashed them away.
Chapter Ten
Rourke released Grace after ensuring she was solidly on her feet.
“That was close,” she muttered.
He’d flashed them to the area along the trail she’d fled to the first night. Early rays of dawn brightened the sky; he needed to get her to shelter.
When she shook out her pants to step into them, he finally adjusted his own clothing, which included restraining his nearly full again erection back behind the zipper.
He was still shaking.
Hellfire.
The embrace of Grace’s body was unlike any he’d experienced. She was warm, receptive, and it’d been a long time since he’d been with a female who didn’t crave pain with her pleasure.
Now he knew why. It was harder to maintain his distance when an inviting body beckoned him, offered comfort. He didn’t want to get close to anyone. Didn’t want the pretense of a relationship. Not again. Not even if it was natural and not forced upon him.
Her beauty when she’d climaxed… The ethereal vision would haunt him for years. Soft, brown skin aglow in the moonlight; her halo of hair and ridiculous zebra headband framed her face. And her curves…glorious. Most female vampires resembled runway models—long, lean, and defined. Grace outdid them all. He’d kill to see her lovely body, covered by nothing, strutting down his hallway every day of his long life.
Foolish fantasies for a foolish street rat. Bartering with the kid opened the floodgate to early memories. And that was before he’d been sold.
The idea of her as a true mate was pleasing enough, but his bonding instinct remained dormant. She admitted to being interested in him, but she would forever remain out of his league. A good-hearted, gracious female did not need to be attached to him, even if it was to while away the time until they met their true mates.
Grace moving on with a true mate? The low rumble of a growl escaped.
She glanced up from tying her shoe.
“We must return you to headquarters.” He must return. His dirty secret of not being from a prime family revealed itself in his low tolerance of early daylight hours. Strong blood ran in his veins because he was a stubborn bastard. But without the extra power of prim
e, his time exposed to the weak rays of the sun was much more limited. Grace was younger and a commoner; she must already be uncomfortable.
Not that she seemed so. The shadows of the trees caressed her soft skin, still flushed with desire from what they’d done earlier. She straightened and he experienced a weird sensation, like his heart flipped. He rubbed his chest and grimaced.
“Are you okay?” Her golden eyes searched his with concern.
He was accustomed to his team checking on his well-being after a mission gone wrong, but to have Grace’s regard…. He looked after her; it shouldn’t be the other way around.
“Are you ready to flash back?”
She reluctantly nodded and threaded her arm through his.
After they entered headquarters, there was an awkward moment when they needed to go separate ways.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” he offered.
Her hand remained tucked around his bicep and he didn’t encourage her to remove it.
She inhaled sharply and stopped. “You didn’t tell me how Bishop was.”
“Three against one is nothing for him.”
Relief chased away the alarm in her expression, and they resumed along their path. Until she stopped again.
“And the boy? Has anyone found him?” Guilt crept into her eyes, like she was ashamed they’d been intimate at the fair while the young boy was still in danger.
“Bishop and Zoey are searching for him.” Rourke didn’t mention how he’d supplied them with plenty of information on slavers, and with immense gratitude, they didn’t ask. “Demetrius is working the prime vampires we know are possessed.”
Her eyes widened. “How many?”
What was better, tell her about blood slaves or discussing demon baits? “Six that we know of, but we’re sure there’s more.” He continued toward her room, pulling her along. Her arm stayed in his and they both seemed to prefer it that way.
“How would they use the boy?”
“This boy is a commoner, but they may try what they’d do if they had a prime child. We’ve learned they can bind a child to a demon and when the child comes of age, he or she can be used to aid in the demon crossing to our realm. While the child is too young to repeat the bonding phrases, they can raise and groom him to gladly give himself up.”
Grace’s lovely body shuddered. “That’s awful. If I can do anything to help find him, I will.”
Her compassion floored him. He and his team dedicated their lives to help their people. It often served to provide him with several examples of the worst of the worst in all species. Vampires who sold their children, killed for power, killed for revenge, killed just because… Grace came from a good home. A commoner who’d lived a treasured normal life, but wasn’t begging to return to one, everyone else be damned. She’d been dumped into this world, yet the boy topped her priority list.
Of course her situation and the child’s were nearly identical.
They reached her door.
“Are you coming in?”
He should say no. Go back to his room. Recover from a mind-blowing quickie so he didn’t sink further into Grace’s orbit.
“Rourke,” her voice dropped low, almost shy, “we didn’t have a chance to do anything to mellow out after… Come in. I’ll find something to eat and we can talk.”
He didn’t talk to his partners. He unlocked or unhooked them, zipped himself up, and left. But Grace wasn’t a partner.
She was—what?
She dropped her hand from him and stepped inside. The ball was in his court.
He took a measured step inside, and she swung the door shut behind him.
The room had a more lived in feel than his did. Betty’s handiwork was everywhere and Grace’s presence capped it off.
She sorted through cupboards and drawers in the kitchenette. Cheese, crackers, and summer sausage were gathered into a pile on the counter.
“Have a seat.” She slanted her head toward the small table.
She was feeding him. Again.
He frowned. He ate with people. Occasionally, he dined with them, but avoided that whenever possible.
Grace was serving him. Again.
“Did you cook and clean growing up?” He spoke to her delectable backside sticking out of the fridge door.
“Of course.”
“It was expected of you?”
“As chores, yes. But also to teach us to be responsible adults.”
She emerged with two beers and a pie.
Rourke freaking loved Betty’s pies. It didn’t matter what flavor. It didn’t even matter what was inside because its only use was to hold the crust up.
His worthless mother never baked. His even more useless father never stepped foot into the kitchen. His masters only threw food at him.
She settled next to him and doled food out while peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. “This makes you uncomfortable.”
He was embarrassed it was noticeable. “Yes.”
She paused and faced him. “Did you have to…”
Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out. “I was a slave. In every sense of the word. One way to control me was through food. Otherwise, if my master wanted me to clean, I cleaned. If he wanted me to entertain, I danced. If he wanted blood, I offered my vein. If he wanted—” Rourke clamped his mouth shut.
Holy shit, he’d never admitted that to anyone.
Her hand rested on his. “It’s okay, Rourke. I’d guessed as much from your peculiarities.” A swell of the I-gotta-get-outta-heres welled up, but she distracted him yet again. “I want to go straight to dessert, but I know my stomach will get upset if I don’t have something with substance in it. Dig in.”
As Grace attacked her cheese and crackers, he eyeballed the pie. Betty made everyone a pie on their birthdays. He’d never told her when his was, but somehow a motherfucking pie showed up on his doorstep each year on the correct day.
“If you want a piece, go for it,” Grace said around a mouthful.
Was his pie fixation obvious?
One deeply guarded secret of his was his love for sweets. He never indulged. It was hard enough to be civil and not tear into regular food like a caged beast.
Betty’s infamous pies were the exception. No one insults the old vampire by not eating her baking.
Grace polished off her last cracker and produced a knife to cut the pie. He must’ve still been covetously staring at the dessert because she set the knife down and handed him a fork.
“I think we can work this off later.”
His brows popped up at her suggestion and blood raged back to his dick. She wanted to have sex with him again. Of course his partners were always amenable to laying with him again, but he assumed it was because of the way he used the tools. Like Manka said, he was a good fuck.
When she saw he wasn’t going to be the first to dig in, she stuck her fork in the middle and pulled out a heaping bite.
Sexual appetite mixed with sweet cravings while he watched the—hellfire, apple pie was his favorite—disappear between her pink lips.
Huge restraint. It took an enormous amount of self-control to secure his own bite and not tear into the thing with bare hands.
They ate in tense silence. As long as Grace continued, so did he. Soon they were scraping the bottom of the empty dish.
“Oh my god, that was delicious. It was homemade, wasn’t it?”
He nodded, fighting back wild emotions. His belly was full of dessert, Grace’s scent teased him and it was laced with his. The most powerful aphrodisiac ever.
“Ozias?”
His real name was a splash of cold water on his libido.
“You don’t like that, I’m sorry. I think it’s a cool name.”
“No, it’s nothing.” Rourke kept everyone guessing what prime family he belonged to, and Ozias had a dump truck of memories attached. “But I prefer Rourke.”
Her voice dropped to a husky growl. “What if I only say it in bed?”
&nb
sp; That was it. His carnal need to fuck this female until she smelled like him, tasted like, and thought of only him roared back.
Standing up, he drew her up with him.
He systematically stripped her of every article of clothing and plucked her hair band out. Her desire clouded around him, whipping him into a frenzy. He forced himself to take a slow step back to view her gorgeous body.
High, rounded breasts strained for him with each breath. Her torso curved into a spectacular ass and strong, shapely legs. Curls framed her face, the color of a late summer sunrise: golden rays fading into the darker sky.
“You are amazing, angel.”
Aw hell. She blushed.
“You don’t believe me?” He closed the distance between them to gaze down on her.
“I feel like I’m seeing myself through your eyes when you look at me like that. I just never expected it from…”
He knew what she was getting at and he prepared to erect his walls. “A cold, unfeeling bastard.”
“No.” Her hand stroked down his cheek in a move she seemed to enjoyed doing. “Such a ferocious warrior. I’m so normal, and you’re so… Look at the life you lead. I’ve seen those vampires in the club. Those females are your caliber. Not me.”
“They have nothing on you, Grace. I could walk away from each one of them. And I did, many times. Our coupling was like a contract. I need this; you need that.” His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples. “I couldn’t walk away right now if you shoved me out of the door.”
She looked incredibly pleased, and that satisfied him. He wanted to please her, show her he wasn’t trash.
“Can I take your shirt off?”
He tensed. He didn’t do naked during sex—too much exposure. Opened the door and let the vulnerability right it.
“Just your shirt,” she repeated. “You have an amazing body. I’d like to touch it while I’m riding you.”
His shirt hit the floor. She chuckled. “Sit.” He stiffened. “Please, and only if you want to.”
Her hands hovered above his pecs, like she was waiting to see how he’d react.
Rourke (New Vampire Disorder Book 2) Page 11