by Jane Ederlyn
“Tell me about yourself. What are you doing in town?” he asked, after a deep swig of beer.
“No. Let’s talk about you,” she said matter-of-factly.
Surprise flashed across his features like fireworks and he chuckled.
“Do you always bust your beau’s balls this way?”
“You are not my beau.”
“But you’re here.”
“You are misconstruing this visit for something it’s not.”
“So what is this?”
“You promised you’d tell me more about yourself.”
“About me or how I make you feel?”
“If I hadn’t come, you’d insist on barging in again.”
“Yeah.”
He took another swig and stood, pushing the ottoman away with his foot. He put his bottle down and joined her on the sofa.
“You smell like spring lavender and your skin feels like cool rose petals. You’re intoxicating and you’ve haunted me since the moment we met. I’m glad you came.”
She cocked her head and searched his eyes. Despite the phony ring to his words, she found only sincerity.
“You are as curious as I am,” he said.
“About what?”
“About us. This thing.”
“There is no thing.”
She shifted toward him and their knees touched.
His heartbeat quickened.
Marie closed her eyes and tried to ignore the thundering drum of blood rushing through his veins.
When she opened her eyes, she discovered his pupils dilated and their hue transmuting into gold. She wiped the small beads of perspiration on his forehead then cupped his face. Odin closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.
Marie studied the lines of his face, the straight brows, long eyelashes, and the blush underneath his skin. He was so warm, warmer than humans, and trusting, despite what she was.
The shrill of his cell phone startled them.
Odin opened his eyes and searched hers. They stared at each other, a barrier of silence stretched between them, connecting them with an invisible thread.
The phone rang again, impossibly loud and persistent.
Marie blinked. “Are you going to answer that?”
“No,” he said.
She tore away from his stare, wanting to distance herself from the ache that was building inside her. This had started out as a mere curiosity, needing to know more about him and werewolves in general, but now that she had touched him, she wanted more.
“Do you live alone?”
“No more talking.” Odin leaned forward and caressed her face, slowly and tenderly, as she had just done to him. He traced the softness of her cheek with his thumb, as the pad of his hand, hovering but not touching, warmed her face. His finger found her mouth and lingered on her bottom lip before pressing her mouth open.
She licked gently then nicked him. He pulled his thumb out and they both stared as a bright dot of blood appeared and trickled in a lazy, snakelike flow.
Her eyes lightened, her ache for him melding with thirst. She grabbed his hand to hold it still and her tongue darted across the red trail before taking his thumb into her mouth. She sucked.
Heat flooded his body, engulfing her in its wake. She let his thumb fall out of her mouth and her eyes fixated on the curve of his neck. Her lips and throat were unbearably parched and she was determined to have more of him. She bit her lower lip and raised her dress, repositioning herself over him, facing him, and straddling the thick steel beams of his thighs. She liked the feel of his hot thighs between her and pressed against them.
Odin touched his forehead to hers. “You smell so good,” he groaned. Then he nudged his face into her, nuzzling his nose in her neck and drawing in her scent with slow, deep breaths.
His enormous hands roamed her back and waist, raising her dress further until he reached her lace-covered bottom. With a cheek in each palm, he kneaded and squeezed.
She steadied herself on the back of the sofa and buried her own nose in his neck. She inhaled, as he had done, and swam in the smell and feel of his body. She fanned her tongue against his skin and was shocked by the intensity of his pulse. It pounded against her tongue. It pounded in her ears. She lifted her face and stared at his neck. Her fangs extended. Without thought, she pushed his head to the side and skimmed the flesh of his neck with her teeth.
“What are you doing there, beautiful? Are you thirsty?” Odin asked.
Her hand flashed to her mouth. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He clasped his hand over hers and moved it to his chest. “I want to taste you, too.”
He released her hand and slid up her arm to the back of her head and brought her face into his. Desire simmered in the liquid-gold depths of his eyes. He kissed her lips and engulfed her mouth.
Shivers flurried across her skin as he slipped under the delicate barrier of her undergarment and followed the curve of her buttock toward the core of her womanhood. He inserted first one then two fingers into her and she rocked against his hand as the long digits plunged in and out.
“More,” she groaned.
He ignored her until his fingers were soaked with her arousal. Then he added a third. Her body tightened around him, moving against his fingers as her orgasm pulsed toward the edge.
Pulling on a fist full of locks, he hauled her face to his and devoured her mouth, his hot and hungry tongue twisting around hers until a fang nicked him and drew blood. He pulled away and licked his mouth.
“The girl likes it rough.” With a wicked grin, he bit her shoulder.
Her body arched as desire blazed from her shoulder to her loins. She needed him to stop the emptiness torturing her body.
He captured her mouth again while his fingers continued exploring and pressing. She strained against them until they plunged deeper. With a last shudder of exquisite pleasure, she climaxed.
When the trembling subsided, she slid down his thighs. He grunted and reached for her, crushing her against his erection. She pushed her body away, but her hands crawled up his inner thighs. He groaned in expectation, but she bypassed the bulge in his pants and traced down his hips and outer legs.
“M-M-Marie.”
She palmed his bulge. “Is this what you want?” She outlined his erection then lowered the zipper, releasing him from the constraint of his jeans. Her brow arched. She traced the pulsing vein, following it down the length of his shaft. He moaned and she closed her hand around him, pulling on it gently as her thumb played with the slick, engorged head.
Odin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He sucked in a breath and enfolded her hand. “If you don’t stop I’m going to come.”
“Not yet.” The pulsing, intoxicating heat of his organ enthralled her. She wanted him to fill her, to explode inside her, to warm her from the inside out with his seed. Their eyes met and his desire mirrored hers.
“I can’t wait—” he broke off. In a burst of movement, he stood and flipped her. Her knees landed on the seat cushions and she grabbed the back of the sofa. Behind her, he slapped his body against hers and slipped his hands underneath her arms en route to her breasts.
She moaned and arched, pressing her butt against him. Impatient with her clothes, he pulled her dress off and bra down with rough, eager hands. Anticipation fueled her ache. Seconds lapsed as she waited for his heated touch to return. When he finally touched her breasts, she gasped.
“So soft.” There was a hint of surprise in his voice. “And perfect in my hands.” He narrowed his attention to her sensitive tips and teased until she writhed in response.
“Odin . . .”
With a hand occupying her breasts, the other drifted down her belly. He found her nub, wet and swollen, and rubbed it as he positioned his
erection against the valley between her buttocks.
The air crackled and popped. She glanced over her shoulder to find him transformed into a werewolf, his large ash-colored snout sniffing and prodding.
Marie’s fangs protruded. Like a lioness in heat, she turned her head and hissed, then shuddered as the wetness of his tongue made contact with her flesh. She pushed against him, rising up as he lapped again. Moans escaped her as she convulsed with wave after wave of sensation.
Odin shifted back into human form. And by the tortured ecstasy on his face, she understood that her acceptance and response to his animal form had destroyed the last vestiges of his reserve. She understood because she was the same.
With a low growl, he thrust into her. The contractions of her orgasm drove him over the edge, and he rammed into her with deep, syncopated thrusts that electrocuted them in sensations. Over and over, he moved against her until finally, they fell into a pool of oblivion.
He slipped out and turned her to face him.
She grinned. “I want more.”
His smile blasted her. “Just give me a minute. I’m not two hundred years old anymore.” He dragged her onto the area rug and settled between her legs. Despite his words, he was already hard. He inched into her until his erection sank into her core and then stilled.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she thrust up. He shivered and slid his entire length out before sinking back in. Again and again, he rocked his hips in the untiring rhythm.
She slid her hands up and down his back, and over the crest of his backside, caressing and clawing. When she tightened around him, a shudder rippled down his body. She wrapped her legs around his hips and squeezed. His subsequent shudder flowed through her in a wave of pleasure.
He growled, a feral and husky sound that filled the room and caressed. Her loins exploded, spreading a trail of flames across her body.
“Harder,” she demanded, her words split apart into a succession of moans.
His full weight fell on her, as he pumped faster and deeper. She shuddered and the last of her contractions rushed him to climax along with her.
When the current of sensations subsided and their bodies finally stilled, she squeezed him again, milking his shaft of every warm drop. They both sighed.
“I don’t think I can move,” he said.
She made a sound from underneath him, and he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. He bit her hair, playfully tugging on curls.
She played with the hair on his chest, drawing circles. Absently, her hand slipped into his belly button and grazed his lower abdomen.
His eyes widened, both surprised when his loins stirred again.
She laughed.
“Upstairs, woman.” He hoisted her over his shoulder, slapped her bottom, and carried her into the bedroom. Dropping her on the mattress, he followed her down, but she rolled until she was on top.
“My turn now.” There was a definite advantage to this position, as she guided him inside her and then splayed her hands on his wet torso, spreading his warm sweat all over her body and breasts as if it were an expensive cream.
She loved the heat of his body and lowered herself onto his chest to draw more in. Her nipples rubbed against the heat and hair, and the accelerated movement of their hips flicked the peaks back and forth in a tantalizing motion similar to his tongue.
In a frenzy of instinct and arousal, she sank her fangs into Odin’s neck.
He shuddered and bucked upward.
The gush of the hot, sticky fluid brought her over the edge and she climaxed. She unhooked her fangs and flicked her tongue over the two wound marks.
He moaned.
She looked down and their eyes locked.
“Something’s happening with us.”
She looked away. “Yes, we have good sex.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Something did happen, but she couldn’t admit it to him. He was a complication she couldn’t afford and it was best if she didn’t see him again. She shifted. Before she could disentangle herself, he grabbed her waist and held her still on his erection.
“No,” he said huskily. “We’re not done.”
Odin woke to the smell of bacon and eggs. It wafted up to the second floor with the allure of a siren and made his stomach rumble. Sleepy and disoriented, he rubbed his eyes and blinked against the blinding light. He glanced at the window. The shades weren’t drawn and full morning sun streamed in. Images of the previous night surfaced, and he cursed. He shot his arm out to protect Marie but found only an empty space of wrinkled sheets. Was she making him breakfast? Her scent lingered on the pillow, and he breathed her in with a sigh of contentment.
Then he remembered she’d bitten him. He kicked off his sheets and leapt off the bed. In the bathroom mirror, he inspected his neck, but didn’t find any punctures. Werewolves heal quickly, immediately if they shift, but he had never been vamp booze before, so he hadn’t known for certain how his body would react.
With a spring in his step, he flew down the stairs, eager to show her his neck. His stomach rumbled again, and he chuckled. “Good morning, beautiful.”
As he turned the corner, he froze at the sight of his packmates. Where was Marie?
“Good morning to you, too, honey bear,” Egon said, as he dished out strips of bacon from the frying pan. Lagmann grunted as he poured coffee. Simultaneously, they caught a whiff of lavender and gaped up at a naked Odin.
“You obviously weren’t expecting us,” Egon said.
Odin padded to the hall bathroom, grabbed a towel off the rack, and secured it around his waist. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked and plopped into the empty chair at the head of the table.
Egon’s hand froze mid-air over a plate. He sniffed. “Dude, it’s not the rogues that smell like lavender, it’s you.”
Lagmann stared at Odin.
“I was expecting a vampire,” Odin said by way of explanation.
Egon shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would you greet a vampire naked? Are you going soft on us?”
Concern darkened Lagmann’s features. “He would if the vamp was a woman. Tell me you didn’t sleep with her?”
Odin shoved a strip of bacon into his mouth, smiled, and waited for the onslaught of questions and reprimands.
Chapter XII
A week later, Abby was in the library when the gate bell buzzed, barely a tinkle above the humming of the vacuum cleaner. Carmen silenced the appliance and soon after, her voice boomed out of the intercom announcing a delivery from the gallery.
Abby frowned. They’d already received their pieces. She picked up her desk phone and dialed the gallery manager. It took two rings before the other woman’s voice sang her name across the line.
“Jude, there must be a misunderstanding. We have—”
“Oh yes. Please accept my apologies for not calling. As you know, Mr. Ulfsson bought the Bonnard intended for Marie, but he felt so guilty about stealing it out of her hands, he’s decided to give it to her.”
“Okay, send me a bill.”
“You don’t understand. He is giving it to her. He assured me there were no strings. Isn’t that romantic? And he’s so dishy. All those gorgeous muscles! Marie is such a pretty young thing and must have loads of admirers, but I suspect she’s as affected by him as he is by her. It was quite obvious. And I don’t mean the painting. His eyes followed her all night and even after when she left.” The gallery manager took a deep breath and expelled an equally deep sigh.
“Thanks, Jude. I’ll get back to you on this.” Abby hung up the phone, pressed the button to open the gate, and went outside to meet the truck.
She looked up at the sky. The sun was lowering, but it was still too bright and blue for Marie to wake. What would s
he think about the gift?
The diesel engine of the white truck labored noisily up the paved driveway. It pulled up to the front-door entry, stopped, and two men jumped out. Abby didn’t recognize one of the men, but the driver was a regular. He wore the gallery delivery uniform of navy service pants and shirt, with his name stitched in gold over his breast pocket, and a matching baseball cap. She greeted him as she looked over the packing slip.
“Where do you want it, Miss Abigail?”
“You can leave it in the foyer, just inside the door, Frank.”
He looked skeptical. “Are you sure? This one’s packed pretty tight and it’s real heavy. We can take it into a room for you.” His voice had the polite drawl of a transplanted Southerner.
“It’ll be fine,” Abby repeated. He couldn’t know that too heavy for a human was not too heavy for a vampire.
The two men carried the crate indoors and lowered it carefully onto the marble floor. “Love your house, Miss Abigail. It’s like a museum,” Frank said.
“Thanks.” Abby smiled. She liked him and one day, when they’d have to leave South Florida, she intended to leave him one of their many paintings.
“Would you like us to open it?”
Abby nodded. After a quick inspection, she found the painting as perfect as it was in the gallery. She signed and returned the paperwork, adding a generous tip. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
She watched the truck skim a few branches as it disappeared through the trail of trees. She was still waiting to open and close the gate for them when the doorbell rang. No calls had come in. How had he gotten in?
She’d suspected that accepting the painting was a bad idea. Why hadn’t she trusted her instincts? She looked through the peephole and opened the door. “Mr. Ulfsson, I presume?”