Her sad smile broke his heart. “I sucked so bad at it that they eventually quit sending me.”
There was a note of flippancy in her tone.
“Did you suck intentionally?”
Those lips, that mischievous gleam in her eye. Bishop’s heart hammered. He fucking loved that look.
She leaned over the counter and he was certain she wore no bra. “I always suck intentionally.”
His breath whooshed out. Her breasts were on his counter and he was like a hormonal teen.
“Our food is burning, Bishop.”
Shit. He tossed the pan onto a potholder on the counter and scraped the sandwiches out. They weren’t blackened, not that it’d stop him. To keep himself from pulling her across the surface and devouring her, he poured their soup into separate bowls and apportioned out the sandwiches.
Her eyes lit as she sampled the food. “This is delicious.”
They ate in silence, both hungrier than they’d realized. He was finishing his last few bites when she pushed her dishes out of the way.
“That was my first home-cooked meal.”
He frowned as he gathered the empty plates and bowls and dumped them in the sink. “You said you cooked meat.”
One fingertip disappeared between those ruby red lips. She licked that one off, then another before she answered. “We don’t, like, have kitchens. I sear my catch, devour it, move on. When I come to this realm, I try out different restaurants if my host isn’t broke as hell. Fitting term, you know.”
He stalked around the bar, intent on her, needing to touch her. Her brow furrowed at his response and she tracked his progress until her back pressed against the countertop.
“I’m not lying. You think I’m lying?”
No one had ever taken care of her? At the corner of her mouth was a smudge of bright red soup.
“I was telling the truth.” She rattled on as he loomed over her. Her breasts swayed with each lift of her chest.
“I believe you,” he rumbled. And he did. It was his undoing. She was his undoing. “You have soup on your lip.”
She reached up to wipe it off, but he latched onto her wrist with an iron grip.
Her eyes flared, then heated, matching the air surrounding her. He paused, captured in the pools of fire, before slowly dropping his head to lick at the spot of soup.
Instead of holding still, frozen in anticipation, she gripped both sides of his face and smashed her lips to his.
A long groan escaped him and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Solid female. No dainty twig, not even the so-so proportions of bigger human women. Fyra was firm flesh and rounded curves that’d cradle his body.
He pressed himself into her and she returned with force. With a growl, he pushed her pants down to her knees and grasped her buttocks to lift her onto the counter. He broke their kiss and ripped her pants the rest of the way off. The brilliant hair at the juncture of her thighs called to him. Warmth waited for him there and he had plans to bury his face and taste the inferno.
He looked up at her. For once, a female was over him, tall enough so he still didn’t have to bend to attack her. But he was blocked from her hot flesh by the sweatshirt. Ironically, the only time she wasn’t burning through one. Any heat of hers was negated by the cool air wafting off him.
But her clothes had to come off. He lifted her sweater off as she clawed his shirt off.
At last. He got to see her beautiful white globes washed in a red flush. Lifting one in each palm, they molded perfectly to his hands. Using his thumbs, he rolled the nipples and they darkened to a beautiful scarlet.
She stroked his chest and shoulders. “You feel so much better with my own touch.”
He thought the same. Those human hosts had dulled the full effect of his demon. His internal temperature dropped, but her temperature created the most erotic contrast.
“I’m getting too hot. You need to cool me off.” She squirmed and swayed backward.
He breathed a path of cool air along her neck. Her shivers coaxed him downward and he sucked one nipple into his mouth.
As if she was growing too warm and needed him to cool her, he was getting too cold and needed to be warmed. He couldn’t get enough of her. As he massaged and squeezed and nipped, she whimpered for more. He didn’t think he could be too rough.
He released her nipple with a pop and licked a path down her belly. Then back up because her skin tasted divine.
He gave her other nipple the same attention and she hugged his head to her chest. Her scent wafted up. Toasted marshmallows.
Would her sex have the same delectable taste as her blood? He had to know.
“Enough play.” She pushed his head down and lifted her knees. “I’ve wanted this for too long.”
Not timid. Hellfire, could he get more turned on? He must have the impression of his zipper dented into his engorged cock. The pressure was exquisite, but not as much as her coming against his face would be.
He delved in with a long lick. She moaned and propped herself on arms stretched out behind her. The hot pads of her feet pressed into his shoulders.
Smoky sweetness filled his tongue. Widening his legs to brace himself and relieve the pressure against his waistband, he canted his head for easier access to her clit.
Steam rose from where they were connected. Hot on cold.
She moaned and tried to swivel her hips, but he held her tight. He licked down to her entrance and swiped his tongue inside.
“Brimstone and tinder, Bishop. Let me come.”
That husky voice. He did as she asked, demanded. Back to her nub, he lightly caught it between his teeth and released one hand from its hold in her flesh.
His hands were so cold, he almost couldn’t feel them. Until he slid one finger into her. Fiery heat wound up his arm.
Her moan filled the room and her knees fell wide.
“You’re so cold.”
He withdrew his finger, then he pushed in. Another moan. From both of them. Flicking his tongue and setting a rhythm with his thrusts kicked her over the edge.
Her skin flushed cherry red. If he were to look into a mirror, he’d see the same glow in his eyes.
She called out his name and pounded the countertop.
Her juices flowed. The perfect dessert after their meal.
He crawled back up her body. The blush covered her head to toe. He tore the frosty fly of his pants open and freed himself. His shaft was as icy as his fingers.
The electrical current was back, sizzling between them. All he had to do was plug himself in.
Although she’d lain with him before in another’s body, she still knew what to expect and he didn’t need to hold back. He shoved inside.
She gasped. Their eyes locked and simultaneously dropped down to where they were connected.
With a start, he saw the bluish tint of his own skin dulling where he touched her and warmed. Likewise, her bright red diminished where he cooled her.
They were opposites, but they paired perfectly in bed. She didn’t scorch his counter, he didn’t freeze it until it cracked.
His hips jerked and began to thrust. His eyes almost crossed at the ecstasy.
Then she leaned in and said the word he’d always wanted to hear.
“Harder.”
Slam. She coated him, so wet from her release, so ready from him. He slid out and whammed in again.
“Yes. Harder.”
Slam. Her butt skidded against the counter. He hooked onto her waist to keep her from toppling over to the other side. Her hands wrapped around the edge to counter the force of his thrusts.
Coming in her mouth had been glorious, but this was…
He bared his fangs. If he fed from her at the same time, he might go catatonic.
“Do it,” she gritted out as she bounced on the countertop.
He struck, hugging her close. Her head lolled to the side and her fiery blood filled his mouth.
The power. It’d been superior when he’d been weak and
injured, but now it infused him with pure strength. She was so strong.
He pounded her and swallowed. The climax surged through his shaft.
“Finally!” she wailed and gave herself over to the crest.
Her walls quaked around him. Heat pulsing over his cold.
Her cries died to a satisfied moan as he spilled his frigid release into her hot channel.
Could it be any more perfect?
Yes. If he took her again in his bed.
Chapter Eleven
Fyra had never felt so dainty as when Bishop lifted her off the counter. She twined herself around him and buried her face in his neck.
He walked faster and she wasn’t interested in inspecting his bedroom as he kneeled on the bed and spread her out under him. His weight was divine. Normally, she’d worry about sizzling right through the mattress, but his cold melted over her and they mixed to a perfect, sultry temperature.
She flicked her tongue out and he jerked, then groaned in pleasure and adjusted to capture her mouth. Still inside her, he moved with a gentle roll of his hips.
Fire licked through her, only to be cooled by the force that was Bishop. She rose to meet his thrusts, their tongues clashed, and like before, he tasted of frost berries.
A minute passed before she needed more, needed harder. The male was too used to fragile women and as long as this bed could stand the beating, so could she. Even if the bed broke down, she’d finish with Bishop in the splinters.
Gripping his ass, she coaxed a rougher pace out of him. The headboard rammed the wall with each thrust.
More.
She skimmed her hands up his back and down his arms and drew them up to anchor onto the headboard.
“Don’t hold back,” she hissed.
Sweet sex was okay and all, but her secret fantasy of being with Bishop in her true form was happening and she wanted the sex to be real.
The corded muscles in his biceps and shoulders flexed as he used the purchase to swing his hips with more power.
His body was over her. Those stupid pants of his were still on. After this climax, she’d drag them down with her teeth.
She was scooting up the bed with the pounding, so she splayed her hands against the headboard and used it to push into him.
He grunted with each thrust and it matched her gasps. So close.
She spread her knees wider. If their bodies were any closer, they’d become wrapped up in themselves until the mixture of passionate demon and lustful vampire became one.
Ripping her gaze off of where they were connected, she found him watching her, his gaze continuously sweeping over her face. She wanted to taste him, the real him. Not like when she’d tricked a small amount of blood out of him to bond with her.
Letting go of the wood panel, she snaked her arms under his shoulders and held on. Then she could rise and kiss her way across his chest to his neck.
He let out a long moan of want. Hadn’t he ever been drunk from during sex? Demons ripped at each other, there was little tenderness, but for vampires, feeding during the act was natural.
Had he really stuck to humans that much? Well, she’d have to remedy that. The exchange of blood was an act of power for her kind, but this was pure pleasure and she wanted to give it to him.
A shudder ran through him and he swelled even thicker inside of her.
She bared her fangs and struck.
He barked out a shout and went rigid. She took a long pull.
Tremors racked his body and his pelvis kicked in short thrusts.
The taste of him hit her tongue. So much more powerful than his kisses. Thick and sweet, like frost berries baked into a pie over a campfire.
One more drink. Her climax rushed forward. Hellfire, it was going to be a big one.
Her mouth filled with what might as well be syrup and she crested.
He hollered her name and the headboard cracked as he rode out his orgasm. The spill of his cool release inside of her was enough to shove her over the edge.
Barely swallowing before she disengaged, she threw her head back and cried out.
They finished together and he collapsed on top of her.
His muscles bunched like he was going to get off her. Maybe he was afraid he’d crush her, but she hooked her legs around his hips and held him close.
They were both breathing deeply. The sheen of sweat between them evaporated in small wafts of steam.
She rolled them over and rose until she hovered over him. “Hellfire, Bishop. Your blood has quite the punch,” she bent and whispered, “if you know what I mean.”
He flinched and his gaze darted away, his mouth set. She chuckled and twined her fingers between his. If he didn’t want to talk about why his blood had a distinct brimstone aftertaste that had nothing to do with their bond, she wouldn’t either.
Curling back into him, she murmured, “When can we do that again?”
***
Bishop stepped out into the hallway.
Demetrius and Rourke had knocked lightly. Not enough to wake Fyra, who Bishop had had to untangle himself from.
That was a lot of fucking they’d done.
He’d almost panicked when she’d drunk his blood. Not a sampling, not a quick taste, but a full-out drink.
Don’t share your blood, dear, Mam had warned. It’s as important as staying out of the sun.
Would I die, too?
Mam had sighed. Yes, maybe not immediately, but they’d kill you.
It’d taken a while for alarm to register when Fyra’s lips had latched onto his neck because—wow.
Her mouth on his neck was erotic enough. Those fangs, during sex…
Bishop couldn’t go back to safe and restricted human sex. But he couldn’t risk his own kind tasting his blood. Fyra had tasted his blood and—the extra zing she mentioned had to be from their bond.
Then why had Mam warned him until the day she died?
“Dude, did you hear the question?” Rourke snapped in front of his face.
Bishop’s gaze focused. Had they been talking to him?
Demetrius’s nostrils flared. “I assume you’ve been exposed to her secretions since the last time we talked.”
“What were you thinking?” Rourke hissed.
“He wasn’t thinking with his brain,” Demetrius said wryly. He grew serious. “How bad does this cloud your reasoning with her? Are you going to be able to sense when she’s a danger to us or are you going to turn on us to protect her?”
Bishop scowled. “You guys are my first priority. Always. Nothing’s changed. Only that I found someone I don’t have to treat with kid gloves in bed.”
“You’re bound to her.” Rourke’s dark expression only appeared impassive. If Bishop said the word, his friend would go in and dispose of Fyra.
And he could try. His demon was wily.
“I know that.” Bishop ran a hand over his face. “Look, I can use it. While her and I are…living together…I can gather information. She doesn’t censor what she’s thinking very well.”
Demetrius rested his hands on his hips. “Can you trust what she lets slip? It might not be an accident.”
“I honestly don’t think she realizes she does it. Most of the details I’ve passed on to you have been just her talking unfiltered. No interrogation needed.”
The last minute of conversation filled Bishop with a sense of sleaziness. Using Fyra, tricking her in return, shouldn’t sour his stomach so much. Especially not when it was filled with her decadent blood.
So much power. If D asked him to tear down the compound, Bishop could do it without raising his heart rate. Then rebuild it again without taking a break.
“Spend the night with her. Seduce her.” Demetrius quirked a brow and took in Bishop’s disheveled appearance. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and get her talking. Meet with us in the morning before we turn in.”
He was tempted to decline, but it was to protect Fyra as much as his team. They didn’t know how Rancor could find her, but t
he bastard had proved that he could.
He nodded and shooed them away before Fyra woke up and heard them talking.
He entered his suite and was surrounded by her toasted-marshmallow scent. His pulse kicked up. What if she’d overheard?
Scanning the living area and kitchen, he didn’t notice anything out of place. He stepped out of his boxers and went to his bedroom.
She was curled up on the bed. Not quite in the position he’d left her. The farther he got into the room, the more he was overcome with a sense of sadness.
“Hey, are you awake?” He crawled in behind her.
She drew in a breath that shook slightly and turned to face him. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but maybe it was because she was tired.
Singed spots dotted the sheets under where her face had lain. They hadn’t burned up the sheets otherwise, so what had changed?
“What’s wrong?” He brushed a strand of hair off her face.
Her cheeks glistened with dampness and he frowned. “Oh, nothing.” She swiped at her cheeks. “Bad dream. Same old, same old.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“I…” Her lips quivered. “No. No talking.”
When he thought she’d break down and cry, she pushed him onto his back and mounted him, and no, they didn’t talk for the rest of the night.
Chapter Twelve
Fyra feigned sleep, keeping her breathing deep and even, while Bishop rolled out of bed and gathered his clothes. Then she heard soft rustling as he stealthily dressed in the hallway.
And he thought she was transparent.
I can gather information. She doesn’t censor what she’s thinking very well.
It was almost as bad as finding out Trance had been using her to out her mother. The hurt she’d been riddled with had made her half expect to see her mother’s body in the hallway between the three vampires and their secret conversation.
Then Bishop had caught her crying. Embarrassing. She was supposed to be one of the worst things roaming around in this realm, and she’d been crying over a dude.
Someday, she’d learn her lesson and quit trusting guys.
So, after some more sex because she was an opportunist, she’d fed Bishop information. All about Rancor, because she could use Bishop, too. And his whole team. They wanted underworld information, they could have Rancor.
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