Know Me When the Sun Goes Down

by Olsen, Lisa

  The pants I had more trouble with, the buttons stiff, and I was worried if I was too rough with them they’d pop off and then where would we be when it came time to go home? Then again, having Bishop all to myself trapped without pants didn’t sound like such a bad thing. I got them open though, but had to pause to tug off his boots first, not an easy feat. The thin boxers were less form fitting than the boxer briefs I was used to, and didn’t leave much to the imagination, practically see through with his thick erection desperate for escape. It popped free of the fabric, hard and ready for me.

  God, he was beautiful. All the delicious ridges and hollows I’d come to love; just knowing his body was the same changed the way I thought of him in those fussy clothes. The tattoo was indeed there, and I stroked it, smiling at the way his muscles bunched and jumped from the light touch. “Still ticklish, I see.”

  His hands captured mine, and Bishop pressed a kiss to each of my palms before setting them on his chest and brushing across the tops of my shoulders. Devouring me hungrily with his eyes, he worked at the closings of my pelisse, peeling off my dress and underclothes in layers, until we were both completely naked. Even then, he patiently removed the pins in my hair, pulling the braids and loops free until my hair hung around my shoulders.

  Neither one of us reached for the other, not at first. I drank in the sight of his taut, muscled body, remembering all too well how it felt against me. I felt his gaze like a tangible thing wherever it landed, the air crackling with electricity between us, the need to connect was so great. It drew us together like magnets until we’d reached the point of no return and it was impossible to stay apart.

  “You are exquisite,” he said, hands sifting through my hair, sliding down my shoulders to rest at my waist, pulling me near.

  “And you are perfection.” My hands slid up his chest as I drew closer. “My Bishop,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest, over his heart.

  “My Anja,” he replied, as if testing out the words. He lifted me by the hips as if I weighed a feather, claiming me for a kiss. The next thing I knew I was laid back against the bed with him stretched out beside me, half covering my body with his. I kissed him for all I was worth; my body remembered his, even if he didn’t, and it wanted more.

  It killed me the instant his touch stilled, and I saw doubt creep into his features.

  “I don’t know if we should do this,” he whispered, his thumb feathering across my jaw. “I am not the man you loved, not yet. I may look and speak like him, but my heart is different. It hasn’t felt love in over a century. And even then, it was…”

  “You are the man I fell in love with,” I replied, leaning into his touch. “You might not have all the same life experiences, but you’re still the same man here, where it counts.” I laid a hand over his heart. “Even if this is only for tonight, I still want this.”

  “I want you too. Only I dare not trifle with your heart. My body burns to give you pleasure, but I don’t know if I remember how to love. I don’t know if I can give you what you need.”

  “Shh, I’ll give enough for the both of us until you remember how.” Leaning up, I brushed my lips against his, a soft cry of relief escaping me as he followed me back down, the rasp of his tongue an unspoken promise. For that night, at least, we belonged to each other.

  Our limbs moved against each other in a sensual slide, the tension crackling in the air like an electrical storm before lightning strikes. I’d been with Bishop so many times before. I knew exactly what to do to make him moan and to make him shout with pleasure. But that night… like his first kiss, the way he touched me was new. As though he wanted to savor every single moment we spent together. It went perfectly with my mood at first, wanting desperately to make a new memory with him in case this was our last time together.

  After a time, his slow touch left me aching with need so badly, I nearly stole control and took him deep inside me – but I didn’t. The reverence of his caress made me feel reborn, like it was our first time and I deserved his worship. Instead, I lay back and let him love me the only way he knew how, with lips and hands and teeth and tongue.

  His touch was devastating, leaving me broken and trembling, stripped raw and open, desperate to connect on a deeper level. I opened myself up to it, feeling those months of desolate fear and misery chipping away, replaced by something new. I touched him back, blindly, with no finesse, any art or skill I possessed lost as I became consumed with the burning need to become one. Still, every sharp intake of breath, every shudder, every groan of pleasure I wrung out of him let me know he felt it too.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer, and I gave a sudden shift, tilting my hips to slide him deep inside where he belonged.

  “Lodi, sei il mio.” His forehead touched mine, the broken words of praise in his mother tongue telling me everything I needed to know. Part of me would always be his now. Now that we’d crossed that line, Bishop took command, not giving in to the frenzy of need, his strokes deep and sure, driving me to the edge almost immediately, I was so primed and ready.

  He leaned up, changing the angle, and my legs linked around his waist, drawing him deeper. Bishop swore under his breath as my action pushed him past some inner sense of control, his measured pace turning frantic, driving harder, faster. The cords of his muscled arms stood out sharply, and my hands stole up the hard sinew holding tight. Dark hair spilled over his eyes, which were tightly shut with concentration, the curl in his lip telling me he was holding on tight to that vestige of control.

  Suddenly, he shifted, rearing back on his knees, still deeply embedded inside me. That frenzied pump became a slow grind, his hands holding my hips steadily, up off the bed, sending a different ripple of pleasure through me. As good as it felt, I wanted that wildness again, I wanted him to lose himself. I clenched my ankles around his waist, forcing him to go faster, harder, and Bishop’s lip curved into a challenging smirk as we fought for control.

  His hands came away from my hips, and I felt the thrill of triumph as he didn’t fight the pace I set. Only to falter and lose the rhythm as his fingers parted my curls and found the engorged little nub with slick circles. His hips had come to almost a complete stop as his fingers worked me, pushing me closer, only punctuating it with the occasional thrust that made my breath hitch and whimper with loss every time he pulled out again.

  I was close, so close, but I needed to win, I needed to know it was more than about him pleasuring me. I reached out blindly to find his other hand, drawing a finger to my lips. My tongue rasped over the rough pad with a swirl, mimicking his slick fingers down below, teeth grazing along the tip. The instant my fangs punctured his skin and his blood burst across my tongue, his hips bucked involuntarily. And it happened again, and again, each time I drew against his finger.

  His other fingers rubbed frantically, clinging to the need to get me there first, but his thrusts came faster, his moans deeper as I sucked harder. And then he pulled me to him, lifting me up for a blood fueled kiss as he pressed me up against the headboard, muscles clenching as he thrust into me with wild abandon. I clung to him, holding on for all I was worth, our ragged breaths creating a building crescendo in the air. This wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t reverential, it was wild and desperate, and I loved it.

  I waited for the nip of teeth, but it was nothing more than the perfect friction between his body and mine that brought me to a peak, sharp like the point of a blade. My body clenched around him, my fangs finding the strong cords of his neck as I gave myself over to the ecstasy, and now I felt his bite and the unbearable sweet sting as we got caught in that intimate loop of shared blood and pleasure. A shudder went through him as he came with a deep moan, thrusting deeper still as if he wanted to reach my very core.

  Gradually he slowed, still causing aftershocks of delight with every movement, his mouth leaving the feast of my blood to press soft kisses to my neck and shoulder as he held me tight. Until Bishop pulled back, concerned over the awkward press against the wooden head
board. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, settling me down on the bed beside him.

  “No, that was amazing.” Maybe I would’ve felt differently if I’d been human with such an enthusiastic finish, but I wasn’t even sore.

  “I’ve marked your skin,” he frowned, stroking the deep crease at my back from the thick wood.

  “I can take it, I’m tougher than I look.”

  “Yes, I have discovered that,” he admitted with a smile. “And something else as well.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “It was my firm belief that if we shared these intimacies, it would slake my need for you.”

  Uh oh. Was he saying he’d gotten me out of his system? “And now?”

  “Now, I find,” he said, pressing a kiss to my shoulder, “that it has only whet my appetite for more.” And in that moment, I felt him hard and ready against my hip.

  “That’s ambitious,” I snorted, raising a single brow. “You’re ready for more already?”

  “As a matter of fact, always. Always and forever.”

  “Then I accept the challenge,” I grinned, straddling him with one fluid movement, my breasts brushing against his chest as I pressed his hands up over his head. “More coming right up. But this time, I’m in charge.”

  “As you command, madam,” he grinned back.

  We took turns taking charge in every position I could think of (and a couple I hadn’t), reminding me that Bishop wasn’t a product of Regency times, and had been no stranger to carnal delights. Though it was a little icky to think about how many women he must’ve been with over the years, I definitely appreciated his skill and inventiveness, glad to see he still had that sense of playfulness I loved about him so much. Still, it was intoxicating to hear his surprised intake of breath as I showed him something new, and to hear my name from his lips on a broken cry of fulfillment.

  It was near dawn when we collapsed in each other’s arms, feeling almost drunk from the sense of peace and satisfaction that was bone deep.

  “Was it always thus between us?” he asked softly as the candles flickered, about to die out.

  “Yes. Every time with you is magical,” I answered with a happy sigh, my fingers twined with his. “We are made for each other. Even death can’t keep us apart. Sorry, I should stop bringing that up, huh?” A deep furrow of worry creased my brow, and he leaned down to kiss it away.

  “Don’t take on so, love. It’ll never happen.”

  Just like that, my smile came back. “You’ve never called me love before.”

  “Have I not? You are the embodiment of love.” He kissed my shoulder, and I giggled.

  “I think I like this old-school romantic version of you.”

  “You must bring it out in me, madam.” He kissed me again and then settled back against the pillow. “Did I not offer you endearments before?”

  “You called me bâobèi sometimes.”

  His brows climbed skyward. “I spoke to you in Chinese?”

  “It was sort of a thing between us. It was from Firefly, a... a favored book of mine.” I wasn’t about to explain the concept of a space western or even TV to him, he had enough to deal with.

  “Well then, my darling... my sweet... my starlit sky...” Bishop punctuated each endearment with a kiss to my forehead, my cheek, my lips. “I shall endeavor to treat you with more tender care in the future.” And with that promise, his eyes closed and he drifted off.

  In the future. Which future would that be?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Ooh, somebody’s hittin’ the walk of shame,” Bridget crowed the instant I dragged myself into the suite the next evening. It wasn’t even an early walk of shame, it’d taken half the night for Bishop and I to make it out of the inn and back to Vetis. “Spill! I want the total play by play, girl.” She grinned from ear to ear, and I wasn’t even coy about what I’d been up to.

  “Oh Bridget, it was magical!”

  “Old-timey Bishop’s still got all the right moves to ring your bell, huh?

  “So many bells,” I sighed, collapsing against the sofa, exhausted. We hadn’t stopped to hunt since Bishop had to get back to tend to some Order business, and I hadn’t wanted to explain why I needed to feed again so soon. A vamp my age should’ve been able to go at least a few days between feeding.

  “Good. Now that you’ve sealed the deal so he’s on board with the no-boat policy, we can make tracks and go back home.”

  “Why do people keep saying that? We have over a week left here, can’t you let me enjoy it? Better yet, why can’t I stay here?” As soon as I said it aloud, the idea crystallized in my mind – why couldn’t I stay in the past? Why risk an uncertain future when I’d already found happiness with Bishop in the past?

  “You’re not serious, are you?” She stared at me with growing horror. “Holy shit... you are. Anja, you know that’s not an option.”

  “Why not?” I scowled, kicking off my slippers and tucking my feet up under me on the couch. “What difference does it make if I’m with Bishop now or then? I love him just as much.”

  “The gypsy dude said you had to return or kerfuffles would happen. We’re already kerfuffley enough, don’t you think?”

  “That was when I was going to encounter myself, but I won’t be born for almost two hundred years. I could totally stay here with Bishop for a while.” I wasn’t sure how long I had, but I knew I wanted to spend the time with him.

  Bridget came to sit beside me on the sofa, her face earnest. “Anja, I want to go home. I don’t belong here. I need hot showers and tampons and BBQ Corn Nuts.”

  All at once I realized how selfish I was being. “Right. We’ll find a way to send you home then. If you need my blood in you again to make it happen, we can do that.”

  “Ah... are you sure we should be messing around with something like that? What if you end up sending me to caveman times or something? I am not gonna dodge a T-rex just so you can get a little touch.”

  “So we’ll get some advice on how to do it properly. There has to be a witch around here somewhere, right? We have at least a week to come up with the game plan. Let’s find out what we have to work with.”

  “Okay, but...”

  “I don’t think I can leave him again, Bridge.”

  “Fine.” She gave the biggest roll of the eyes, but when Bridget looked at me again, I knew she understood. “So where do we find a witch in these parts? You said they burn witches in this time.”

  “I don’t know, but I have an idea who we can ask.”

  * * *

  “So, Clay.” I gave him my most winsome smile. “You spend a lot of time in town, right?”

  “I do,” he replied, sharpening a wicked looking blade that reminded me of the one Mason had used to take out Scotty and Marta.

  “I don’t suppose you know where we can find a witch, do you?”

  His mouth opened and then closed again without replying, a thoughtful look coming over his face. “It’s possible that I do. Why do you ask?”

  “We need some advice that only a witch can provide”

  “Or a gypsy who’s got some mojo of her own,” Bridget added.

  “Yes, a gypsy witch would do, but we’re not picky, as long as they have power.”

  “Why do you need advice from a witch?”

  “I’m... not at liberty to say at the moment,” I hedged, and he turned back to sharpening his knife.

  “Then I’m not at liberty to disclose the whereabouts of my witch.” His brows drew closer together, expression darkening. “Not that she’s my witch.”

  I started to understand why he was so protective of her. “I don’t want to hurt her, all we need to do is ask her a few questions.”

  Still, he hesitated. “Give me your questions and I’ll ask her for you.”

  “No good. These are kind of private questions.”

  “Just give him the stink eye already, Anja,” Bridget sighed. “We really don’t have time for this.”

  “I’d rather
not if I don’t have to,” I scowled. “Clay, can you please tell us where we can find her? I promise no harm will come to her. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

  “I believe this conversation has come to an end,” Clay declared, sheathing the knife in the back of his boot and grabbing his hat.

  “Aw man, you asked for it,” I muttered, blocking his exit and catching hold of his will with my own. It’d been a long time since I’d compelled a vampire, but it was as easy as lying. “Clay, I need you to tell me how to get to your witch friend’s place.”

  “I don’t know how to get there. I’ve never been to her home, it’s spellwarded to keep her safe.”

  “Spells are good, that means she’s got juice,” Bridget pointed out, and I was inclined to agree with her.

  “How do you find her then?”

  “She finds me,” he said, smiling. “I never know when she’ll seek me out next, but it’s always when I’m on patrol.”

  “That’s no good,” Bridget scowled. “We need to find her STAT.”

  “I guess we have no choice but to follow Romeo here into town and hope that she makes contact with him. What does she look like? What’s her name?”

  “Bertie? Her skin smells like the sun, and her blood tastes like the sweetest mead...” Clay stared off dreamily into space.

  “Yes, I get it, she’s extra tasty,” as were most witches I’d encountered so far. “But what does she look like?”

  “Honey blonde hair, darker than yours,” he replied. “Brown eyes, and a beauty mark just below her lip that begs for kissing.”

  After a half dozen more questions, we dragged out some of her basic descriptors. Bertie was shorter than me, more endowed in the chest area and hips, and she favored the color red. He had no idea what her last name was, or where she lived, but she always sought him out in the same neighborhood.

  “I think that’ll do for now. Let’s get out there and find her.”