Tempting Gray - Untouchables 02

by T. A. Grey

  Deep masculine laughter trickled over her. She sat again at the cot but this time she was all too aware of the way he watched her, of his naked body.

  “The first time I met you, I’d hoped…” the sentence started and ended as quickly as it begun.

  Arabella leaned closer, her body excruciatingly aware of his. “Hoped for what?” She had to know. For too long she’d hoped many things about that night herself. If this or that could have been changed. But that would be impossible. The past couldn’t be changed.

  “That you’d be her.”

  And with that her heart gave way completely. The love she’d been hoarding in her heart for him bloomed to full size. Almost as if it’d been waiting for this one moment to hear him say those words. Because… The strangled words came from her dry throat. “I didn’t want you to be him.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t want me to be Grayson Blackmoore?”

  She shook her head, all of a sudden fighting the need to cry.

  “Why? Tell me, Arabella. I need to know.” He twined their hands together. The touch took her completely by surprise. How could deny him anything?

  “I didn’t want you to be him because that meant you were mating with another woman.”

  She was back in that moment again. Standing in the crowded, luxurious ballroom at Castle Glimmeric in Northern Ireland—a castle which no longer stood—gaping at the boy who’d just stolen her heart as he mated with Anita Redenver. He was standing up on a stage with his bruid-to-be. His mate. That’s the moment she’d realized he really was who he said he was. He was Grayson Blackmoore. He was untouchable to her, forever and always.

  Or so she’d thought. Now the vampire was literally holding her hand, touching her willingly, even after everything he’d been through. Her dream didn’t seem so impossible. On the contrary, it looked obtainable from where she sat.

  CHAPTER 27

  “I need to shower and you should get some rest. It’ll be sun-up soon. I’ll drive you back home tonight.” She stood, putting space between them. She fidgeted, nervous and embarrassed and unsure. God, she hated all of those feelings, especially in combination with one another.

  He looked like he might say something, like he didn’t want her to go. But if that was true he didn’t say it. Nodding, she smiled shakily and went to the bathroom. She showered the blood off her. Jericho’s touch still lingered where he’d touched her. The cuts on her stomach would heal within a day or two. Though with the blade being made of silver she’d most likely scar. His mark would forever be on her body. The hot spray of water from the shower could do nothing to stifle her shiver.

  The bathroom door creaked open. Arabella unfroze herself and peeked around the curtain—and squealed. “What are you doing in here!” Grayson Blackmoore was in the tiny bathroom with her. He flicked on the fan to catch the steam she’d been building up from her shower.

  “I need to shower, too.” Grunting, he bent forward and slipped down his black boxer briefs. His cock sprung forward from a mass of dark curls that made her mouth water. Even soft, he was mesmerizing. Before her very eyes his shaft began to harden and lift ever up and up.

  Gasping, she looked up into Grayson’s eyes. He’d watched her staring at him this whole time. A mortified blush stole over her. “Sorry!” She slammed the curtain closed and stood rigidly in the shower for a moment. Inwardly, she was freaking out. The curtain pulled back and he stepped in behind her. She was excruciatingly aware of his masculine presence filling up so much space behind her. “Well, I’m done. I’ll just be going now.” She parted the curtain to step out, but a wet, warm arm slid around her just beneath her breasts to keep her from going.

  “I could use your help. The dye’s out of your hair,” he remarked. His voice sounded hoarse but not weak. She swallowed a lump in her throat just thinking how it hurt from all the screaming. Her throat felt equally abused.

  They were naked in the shower together. As her mind tried to wrap around that one, she turned to face him. “Okay, I’m here.”

  It was the first time they’d ever been nude together without being in terrifying circumstances. He looked at her everywhere, slowly taking it all in, a male assessing a female. She did much the same. His body was in prime physical condition, muscular. His cock stood hard and erect for her. The sight made her wet between her legs. The scent of her arousal floated around them with the steam. His nostrils flared as he caught the unmistakable fragrance. His lips parted, for his fangs she realized. They’d elongated. A vampire as old as Grayson could usually control his baser instincts, in this case to not let his fangs drop. The fact that they still appeared showed either how truly weakened he was right now or how badly he wanted her. She shivered, her nipples pebbling into stiff points that the showerhead blasted with water, massaging them.

  “You’re blonde down there, too.” He sounded surprised, his voice coated thick with lust. He was staring at the thatch of short hairs she kept around her mons.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  He wiped his mouth. It was the hottest thing she’d ever seen. It expressed either one of two things: that he was thinking about eating her down there or that he was drooling. Either of those were good thoughts to be having.

  He shook his head to clear it. “Pass the soap?”

  Thank god. She let out a deep breath she’d been holding. He wanted to get things back to normal. He lathered the soap in his hands and washed his body moving carefully around his wounds. Pink and brown water dripped off of him. When he finished cleaning, he handed the soap back and she returned it to the shower ledge where she found it. However, when she turned around Grayson was there.

  Sure he’d been standing there the whole time but he’d been (fairly) safe on one side of the stall. Now he stood on her side of the stall, nearly touching her. His dark brown eyes flecked with gold almost glowed with intensity. She was his sole purpose right now. When he turned that gaze on you, you were the only thing that mattered to him and it made her feel spectacularly precious.

  “I tried not to think about it. I tried not to look. Hell, I even tried not to smell it. But I can smell it, Arabella, and I want to touch it. Will you allow me?”

  Her lip quivered. He didn’t need to say what it was. She already knew. He wanted to touch between her legs. Her sex.

  The answer came swiftly. “Of course.” Not yes, as in she gave a simple positive answer, but of course, which held far more meaning. As in he had every right to naturally do so.

  His chest pumped to suck in oxygen. Hers matched his rhythm, their bodies already becoming in sync. She didn’t know who moved but they became closer and closer yet. Her hand curled around his shoulders as she stood on her toes to reach his mouth as he leaned down to meet her. A hand settled on her lower back above the cleft of her butt. She ached for that hand to drift lower and squeeze her cheeks. She loved being touched there so much.

  And then they kissed. A meeting of lips. A pairing. He kissed her slowly as if he was savoring it. When the kiss grew deeper she swallowed his taste on a moan. Deeper and wetter the kiss grew until their mouths clung together. He tasted like glorious man and that hint was wickedly delicious. She could kiss him forever.

  But he ended the kiss and trailed his lips across her jaw to her ear. He bit her earlobe making her breasts ache to be touched. She was ready for him now. With a little kissing and a touch of petting and she was wet as if he’d made her come. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, then to the top of her breast. Then he did the same to the other. The anticipation was killing her. That safe hand supporting her back did not reach to grope her like she wanted it to.

  “Grayson.”

  At the mention of his name, he finally cupped her between his legs. Thick, long fingers stroked through her soft, wet folds. His eyes closed and she could only watch him as his lips parted and he simply touched her. He rubbed her lips, her short curly hairs, circled around her tender nubbin and then slid a finger home. He turned his head away as he thrust that finger
in and out of her. She could only hold onto his shoulders under his erotic ministrations, her hips writhing against his touch.

  “What do you think?”

  His eyes opened and her knees almost gave out at the raw look he gave her. He kissed her hard and resumed stroking her folds and nub, circling it until she panted.

  “What do I think?” he repeated. “I think touching you isn’t enough.”

  He dropped gingerly to his knees before her. Then he pushed up one of her thighs and held her leg open for him. He completely revealed her to him. She panted, needing his touch to extinguish the fire inside her. The touch came. Gentle at first then more persistent, hungrier. A man settling into an erotic task. His tongue drove through her, tasting, licking, and flicking. He ate her and while he did it, he made the hungriest, sexiest little sounds she’d ever heard. Arabella arched into his touch.

  “Gray,” she whispered, trembling. Those dark eyes met hers. His dark head of hair stood out in stark contrast between her thighs. His tongue curled lovingly around her clitoris stroking it with a masterful touch that left her quivering. And then he slid his fingers home inside her, thrusting them deep. In and out. Over and over again. The rutting motion tingled her nerves where he touched her. The pressure became intense. It was too much. If he didn’t stop she was going to— “Gray!”

  Her cry pushed him past the point of no return. His groan joined her, and, bless him, he tongued her faster. And pitched her forward into the abyss. Her body jerked as white-hot pulses crashed through her one by one. Delirious with pleasure, she fought to keep from moaning. When that didn’t work she took to biting her lip to keep from waking Sophie. The pulses slowed as he eased down the pressure on her sensitive clit. He lingered, kissing her and pumping his finger in and out. It was like having cake without the icing. She wanted it all and she wanted more. Needed more of him. She had to know what it felt like to have his cock slide deep and full and hard inside of her.

  Slowly, he stood. On the way up he pressed kisses to her hips, the dip of her belly, the mounds of her breasts, and the pulse at her neck. Unable to resist, she wrapped her hand around his cock. It twitched in her hand making her laugh with feminine delight. Such power she had, or at least that’s how touching him made her feel. It had been a long time since she’d touched a man’s cock and his did not disappoint. Thick and long and oh so hard. Her mouth watered for a taste of him.

  “It’s been a long time for me,” he admitted.

  Her breath caught. She hadn’t thought of that. It must have been years since he’d been with Anita intimately. She stroked his length, learned his shape and size before cupping the heavy sacs below. Pleasure saturated his features into a mask of ecstasy. Each touch seemed to put him further under a hypnotic spell and she wanted to keep him there. Two-handed she stroked him, twisting her hands this time and squeezing harder, then giving him a good tug. His head fell back on a throaty groan and then he kissed her dizzy before breaking away. He shut the water off and whipped open the curtain.

  “What are you doing?” she sputtered.

  He was saying no to this. Her heart broke seeing him climb out of the shower. He handed her a towel and wrapped one around himself.

  “Taking you to bed.”

  Oh.

  CHAPTER 28

  “How did this happen?”

  “They had help. We checked the surveillance footage and saw Kane Gunner helping them. It looked unexpected. Earlier in the night, Kane was talking to the girl, Arabella. I believe he was sexually interested in her,” the guard said. He was the highest-ranking soldier Vincent had left. The other had been Jericho. Grayson Blackmoore had taken everything from him that mattered. Both of his sons. Both. There was nobody left. All of his family was extinct. Taken from him with brutal force.

  “Kane was sexually interested in her and so he risks his own life for a woman he does not know and helps break them out? In the process giving Grayson opportune time to overwhelm my son and kill him.”

  The soldier swallowed. “I loved him like a brother.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, Mr. Donato.”

  Vincent ordered one of his men to fetch warm water and a washcloth. While he waited for him to return, Vincent undressed his beautiful son. His eldest boy. His first-born. Their mother had died in childbirth with Domico. It was always just them. The three of them. Nothing had ever broken their family apart. No matter what challenges they faced, they always moved past them together. As father and sons. And now they were both dead.

  Tears fell silently down Vincent’s pale face as he stripped his boy. First his shirt. It was sticky with blood but easy to pull off since his head was no longer attached to his body. He was a stump. The head sat a few feet away. Vincent pulled it back to his son’s body and placed it against the severed neck making his son almost look whole again. Almost.

  “Mr. Donato,” the guard, a vampire who went by the name Cross, had worked under Vincent for well over a hundred years. He’d proven himself trustworthy many times over and so had become as close to the Donatos as they let anyone. “It would be my honor to bring Grayson Blackmoore’s head to you.”

  His boy naked, the vampire returned with a bucket of warm water and rags. “Thank you, Charlie.” Charlie nodded and backed away silently.

  Vincent wet a washcloth then wrung out the excess water. Then began the slow process of cleaning his son’s body. “Where were you tonight?” he asked softly.

  HIs son’s beautiful face, the smooth cheeks and straight nose stared up at him from unseeing, dead eyes.

  The guard fumbled. “I…I…”

  Just as softly he continued, “Is it true that while my son was butchered, you were fucking a man in the bathroom?”

  He flushed bright red. “N-n-no, that’s not true.”

  Wiping gently, he cleaned the blood from his son’s chest and arms, his legs and feet and groin. He remained silent to his guard. Normally he would be disappointed in the lie from Cross, but he couldn’t feel anything else when his heart was about to rupture from agony. His tears splashed onto his boy’s body and he cleaned it up.

  With his boy cleaned, he pulled Jericho’s torso onto his lap, then pulled the decapitated head along too. He sat on the floor and held his son one last time. The pain in his chest burned like hot lead poured down his throat. Before he knew it, he began singing. It was a song the boys’ mother used to hum when she’d been pregnant. After she died giving birth, he had continued the tradition, wanting his boys to have a piece of their mother with them.

  “When wintry snow starts fallin’

  Don’t mind the frigid chill

  ’Cause I’ll be back again soon

  When summer comes a-callin”

  He picked up his son’s head and held it up to his own. I love you, my boy.

  Tears misted his eyes as he placed a final kiss on his son’s cold lips. Carefully he placed the body back on the ground as it’d been. The head rolled on its side listlessly at an unnatural angle.

  “Please, don’t,” Cross begged. The hardened soldier showed the first signs of fear. It stunk worse than his dead son did.

  Vincent stood and made his way over to Cross. “Turn around,” he said softly.

  Conflict warred on the soldier’s face but he did as ordered and turned. Vincent gazed at the man’s back from head to toe. Cross stood here and not his son. There was something wrong with that. In Vincent’s mind the world was like a puzzle. With his sons in his life that puzzle had been complete. Finished. Whole. Now?

  After Domico died the puzzle had fractured massively. Irreparable damage never to be fixed. At least he’d had Jericho. With him he could salvage what was left and continue with the puzzle. That was until tonight. The second fracture struck the puzzle destroying it into millions of pieces. Like trying to turn breadcrumbs into a piece of toast. It could not be put back together.

  The garrote wrapped around his palms like dental thread twining ’round index fingers. The silver would
have burned but his leather gloves protected him from the poison. He tugged on the wire to test its strength. Cross stood still, breathing hard. That filthy stench of fear suffocated Vincent like being smothered.

  He struck. Hard and fast, he wrapped the wire around Cross’s neck and yanked him back viciously. Cross choked, gurgling saliva. He bucked and kicked, grabbed at Vincent’s hands as he wheezed, his face turning purple. The silver smoked as it ate through his skin like acid. Vincent’s biceps strained as he applied more pressure—pulling harder until Cross leaned back on the heels of his feet choking. His own breaths came hard. What many people didn’t realize, even he had made the mistake from his first kill a long time ago, was that killing wasn’t easy. No, it wasn’t the taking of the life that was difficult. That had always come easily to Vincent. It was the physical strength required to kill. Because victims fought back. Much as Cross pathetically tried to now.

  The silver wire cut past the skin and began embedding deeper into his neck. Vincent squeezed the garrote tighter until the wire was no longer cutting but squeezed deep into his muscle. Cross’s fighting turned violent but Vincent simply held on until the kicking stopped, the wheezing slowed and Cross finally went limp. He let the vampire drop to the floor with the wire stuck in his neck. Cross blinked rapidly. He’d fallen to his knees and his cheek was smashed against the concrete. His lips floundered open and closed like a fish out of water.

  “Kill Grayson, the tracker, and his whole family and I won’t kill you. If you can’t do it, kill yourself.”

  Vincent left his guard in a mess of his own blood, struggling to pull the wire out from his own neck. It was in deep so the task wouldn’t be easy, or pain-free. Vincent had made sure of that.

  “I am so sorry. I will do whatever it takes. I’ll kill them all for you. I swear it!” Cross said, voice faint.

  Vincent lifted his son’s body into his arms, grabbed the head, and carried him home without a backward glance.