"You want to, don't you?" Something proprietorial flashed in his eyes. "You feel it." He sounded so sure of himself. "You feel your soul reaching for mine. It's our bond. Don't ignore it, welcome it."
She didn’t want to understand what he said, but a part of her recognised the pull, as though every cell in her body played tug-of-war with his, wanting to connect with him in the spiritual sense, emotional, and yes...physical. Why did she want him? He took away the one thing that meant everything to her; the only sister she had in this world. Shouldn’t that override all other emotion and douse the lure tugging her?
"Answer me, Brianna."
She couldn't even do that, too focused on air filling her lungs, and exhaling with low, shallow breaths. She must do something. He waited for a response. The rigid lines of his expression demanded one. She wanted to respond. Not by words, but with her hands, her body, her mouth. Almost shaking with an urge so profound, she gave into her weakness, her desperation for release, for him.
Spreading her thighs, she let him sink between them. More blessed contact. Green eyes grew wide, then narrowed when fixed on her parted lips. Cradling his erection against her hidden desire, she arched her pelvis. He hissed through clenched teeth, fangs elongated. The wonderful sensation rolled through her, and she could not stop from doing it again. She whimpered, wishing the tulle of her dress didn’t prevent the extra contact.
As if reading her mind, he caught the hem of her gown, dragging it higher. He did this with gentle care, livid eyes on her face, maybe anticipating her consent, or a protest. She did not give him one, but even if she had, she doubted he would have listened. He seemed beyond exasperated and wanted what she denied him for days…her. His fist curled around the tulle material, and with a forceful jolt, yanked at the skirt. A rip sounded. Cool air brushed the sides of her legs. He threw the black remains off the bed. In nothing but the trim corset and a pair of black lace panties—very thin, black, lace—she was exposed. A cry trembled past her lips as he drove his hips into her, his erection clad in the stretched pants gliding over her front.
"Je veux t'embrasser."
Wasn’t it bad enough she had no sense of control? Did he have to speak in that beautiful language and melt her insides all the more?
"You want to kiss me?" She thought that was what he said. When she’d travelled with her family to France, her cousin, Amber, bought a phrase book on “How to pick up French men.” She remembered Amber practicing a similar line again and again.
His gaze ran over her face. The soft, sensual look made her heart ache. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my three-hundred years.”
She took hold of his chin, fingers trembling and unstable. “God forgive me,” she whispered, bringing his mouth over hers. Those firm lips were soft and sweet, coaxing her with gentle care. Like this, she was able to forget everything and just feel. Yes, just like earlier when her body numbed, unconcerned with what took place around her. She would lose herself in his arms, and save the regret and shame for later.
He raised his head, and stared into her eyes. “I need more,” he panted, his thickness nudged her centre, driving her crazy with hot desire. "I need to kiss every inch of you."
Unable to voice a coherent response, she gave no reply. His mouth journeyed to her neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin. She bit her bottom lip when he clutched her knee, scanning her thigh before grasping her hip.
"I think we should remove this." One finger trailed from her right breast, over the black organza corset, to the left one. He lowered his head, tongue roaming over the smooth, pale slopes of her cleavage. Heat flushed her cheeks.
His hand slid around her waist, palm flattening against her lower back. Not breaking the closeness, he drew back, dragging her with him. Their low breaths mixed with one another, singing in her ears like their very own music, a composition of their unyielding need.
Sitting up, his hand worked at the small buttons on her back, unhooking them one at a time. Electricity sparked through her veins, made her entire body tense. The last button released, allowing the corset to fall open and warm air brush her bare skin.
His eyes lowered.
Her heart pumped faster.
With gentle hands, he took her arms and drew them aside, allowing the corset to fall over her thighs.
Her small breasts were now on display. No smile met his lips, his expression impassive and serious. Her gaze danced over the tense tendons along the pale flesh of his neck, travelling to his cheek and over the faint, indented scar there. It was a beautiful perfection rather than a flaw. How did it happen? Had he obtained it from childhood, or as an adult? The thought never occurred before, but made her eager to learn more about him. His round, green eyes sparkled with heat and passion. In them she felt illuminated by beauty, and that frightened her more than she dared to admit.
"Is there something wrong, mon amour?"
She shot a look at her small breasts, the tan nipples still peaking from earlier arousal. "The way you look at me..." she said, and the heat radiating within her body harmonised her husky tone. “Tell me what you like about me…about my body.” Never in her life had she been so blunt. Surprise made her blink, but she didn’t take it back, too eager to learn his answer.
"Tu es belle." You are beautiful.
He placed a hand over one breast, cupping her with the heat of his palm. Her breath hitched, her nipples strained to hard points.
"They're perfect.” He gave a gentle squeeze, palm abrading the hard bud and making it peak further. “Round, firm, yet with skin softer than powder.”
His other palm fit over her free breast. “It’s as though they were made for my hands.” The low, soft tone of his voice filled with a detectable tension. Her gaze shot to his face once more.
He focused on her body, mesmerised. “The tips are like pearls, beautiful, begging for my mouth.” He sucked in a sudden breath, as though to control himself. “You are perfect."
Perfect? Had anyone ever used the word to describe her? Not that she remembered. The corners of her mouth twitched and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The way he spoke, and yearned for her made her crave him more.
Tristan lowered his lips over hers. Once again all thought escaped her mind. His kiss coaxed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, crushed her breasts against his chest and held him close. Oh yes, she wanted him. Every fibre of her being ached to feel him against her, taste him in her mouth. Her fingers trailed up his front, clasped his collar and struggled with the silk cravat. The warmth of his hands covered hers, and helped loosen the tie. She hurried to remove his jacket and shirt, undoing most of the buttons until her patience failed and she tore the material apart. The last four buttons sprang off his shirt and onto the silk sheets. He yanked the clothes off his shoulders—shoulders that worked like engines, highlighting the rotation of his muscles—and threw them across the room.
Could there be anything more flawless? Her tentative hands ran over the grooves of his abs and up the planes of his pale chest. Now this was what she called perfection. Touching him, enjoying the constriction of his chest at her simple caress.
A small tear left the corner of her eye. He tilted her face, eyes following the wet trail along her cheek. Its warm weight hovered at the edge of her chin. She kept herself still as he closed the space between them, firm lips giving a chaste kiss over the teardrop.
Strong arms slid around her waist, guiding her along the mattress. Brianna inhaled. Open mouth kisses made a slow trail down the slope of her neck and clavicle until he hovered over her breasts. His soft mouth closed around one nipple, and sucked with gentle torment. A whimper shook past her lips.
“Tristan.” Her hips rose of their own accord to cradle his erection, thrusting against him, and he sucked harder. He released her nipple and blew a swirl of air over the hard peak. Lower, he kissed the flatness of her ribcage, nudging the lace panties along her thighs with firm hands.
She raised her bottom, her stomach made co
ntact with his chest as he wrenched the underwear down her knees and ankles. Feathered kisses caressed her hipbone, tongue trailing from the top of her sex to her moist centre. She stilled when he stroked her over and over…then, the earth quaked, trembling through her body in white-hot bliss. Taken to extreme heights, she craved the experience again and again.
A scream almost surged past her throat when he backed away. Why did he stop when she desperately wanted contact? A faint click sounded in her ears. She shot Tristan a look. He stood beside the bed, unbuckled his belt before kicking off his pants.
A flash of movement made her blink. He straddled her, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. His arm slid between them, knuckles brushing the top of her sex as he grabbed his erection, guiding it over her entrance. He did not surge forward, but rubbed the head of his penis between her sleek folds, over the little nub. A whimper trembled past her lips, nails scratching at his shoulders and back.
“Do you want me?” His hoarse voice filled with red-hot desire.
“Tristan,” she said, unable to say anything else through her harsh breathing.
“Answer me, Brianna.”
“Yes.” She would rather die than lie right now.
“Do you need me?” Again, he brushed the head of his penis over her, making her tremble and cry out. “Do you?”
She stared at him, wishing she could freeze his expression, savour every detail of his firm lips, wide emerald eyes, and the absolute adoration they expressed. No man had ever, and probably would never look at her the way he did now. The most shocking part; she didn’t want any other man but him gazing at her like this.
He wanted to enter her and she wanted him to do it. Not so she could rock against him and build an intense orgasm, but to be as close to him as humanly possible, needing the contact she denied herself for days. As much as the thought caused her pain…it pleasured her more. The answer he sought released in a whisper. “You know I do.”
****
The miracle at hearing those words was incredible, as if the heavens opened and let heat touch his skin for the first time in his long existence. Since meeting Brianna, he always considered her the sun. He frowned at the coincidence. Not for the simple fact of her blonde hair, golden complexion, or because she brought the most light into his dark world, but whenever he touched her it made him wonder if warm sunrays felt the same.
She was his personal orb, a living entity that had the power to hurt him…yet, unlike the brightest star in the sky, he was willing to die to have one night with her.
Tristan fit the head of his shaft at her entrance, and surged forward. A groan rumbled past his throat at her hot tightness. He gazed at her, mouth parted, breath surging in rapid pants. No words needed to be exchanged, he understood what she wanted. He lowered his lips over her small, supple ones. She gave into him completely, her tongue meeting his with soft, gentle strokes. He drew his hips back, slow and deliberate, then slammed forward. Sharp nails deep in his back told of her desperation as she scratched up his neck and slid her fingers into his hair.
Night after night, he craved this, longed for her hotness around him, gliding in and out of her. His palms roamed down her arms, over her waist and caught her hips. He shifted position and sat up on his knees, still clutching her, flexing her body back. Her fingers slipped from his hair, legs secured around his waist as he pumped faster. Behind her, she stretched her arms and held onto the big silk pillow.
Here she was, back arched, breasts high in the air and crying his name as he gave all. A sheen of sweat glistened over the pink hue between the valley of her breasts, lower lip caught between her teeth, grey eyes at half-mast and glazed with desire.
Beautiful. Gorgeous. His. She clenched around him, eyes shut as she drove up to meet his urgent thrusts.
“Tristan,” she panted his name over and over.
“Do it. I want to feel you come,” he encouraged. As though his words ignited her body, she shattered around him. A long, lustful moan cried past her lips. He had never seen anything more beautiful than her climax. He dug his fingers into the sides of her thighs, bending over her. Her eyes still shut when he kissed her. She returned the kiss with a fiery passion that matched.
The pumping of her racing heart rang in his ears. He edged back, gaze running from her face to her clavicle. Something about her collarbone made her so sexy, maybe because he wanted to sink his fangs beneath the skin and gain the nourishment denied in the last month. His head lowered without contemplating his actions, mouth easing open…
“Tristan?” Her cautious tone made him pause. Then, he remembered the look of fright when Mikel had held her. The notion of him feeding scared her, and the last thing he wanted to do was terrify his moitié. He turned his face and ignored the urge to bite her delicate neck. Her hands wandered up his arms, anchoring herself upward. Face to face, they stared at each other, mouths almost touching. Her palms ran over his chest and shoved. She did not have the strength to budge him, but he took the hint, leaning back until his body fell against the mattress at the foot of the bed.
She straddled his waist. Dieu, could she be any more beautiful? Her hands flattened on his chest, hips rising up his shaft, sliding downward with sure, urgent thrusts. He gritted his teeth at the severe pleasure each pump of her hips gave. The mix of sweat with her wild orchid scent, the heat of her body, and her moans invited all of his senses. Raising himself on his elbows, he concentrated on her face, her body, riding him, working him. He had no control over his grunts and moans, or the heat consuming him. Perspiration dotted his forehead, trickled down his neck and the line of his spine.
Another groan. He was closer now, losing himself. His head fell back, and he roared at the ceiling as hot seed shot from him. A scream met his and he observed Brianna. Total bliss captured her features, erupting from another climax.
Limp, quivering, she fell against his chest, head in the crook of his neck as they both lay in one breathless mass. He bent forward and stared at her closed eyes. They weren’t shut tight, but slumberous with relaxation from the aftermath of their lovemaking. He kissed her damp forehead, wrapped his arms around her waist, and turned on his side, holding her. The rise of their chests made perspiration brush between them. Still on the opposite side of the mattress, he didn’t bother shifting them to the head of the bed.
The delicate image of her struck his heart like a lightning bolt. “Are you all right, ma chérie?”
“Hold me. Just hold me,” she whispered.
He did not reject the request and kept his arms around her. “What we shared was incredible. Emotions like this cannot just be from a bond. We have something deeper.”
The soft sound of her breathing and normal heart rate made him wonder if she had fallen asleep. “Are you still with me?”
“Yes. I’m just listening,” she murmured, snuggling closer to his chest. He wanted to ask if she felt the same way, but heat warmed his cheeks at the likelihood of her rejection. Right now he should enjoy the afterglow, pretend this was just another day for them, instead of the possible truth that could bring his world crashing down.
“Tell me something, Brianna? About your life, your childhood, anything.” He wanted to know, learn everything about this woman.
“There isn’t much to tell.”
“How about the type of child you were. We never had a sister growing up, but my brothers and I always scared the girls playing tea parties with their princess dresses. Cynthia still hasn’t forgiven us for it after all these centuries. Were you like that as a child?”
She snorted a half-laugh. “No, not at all. Ripped jeans and baggy t-shirts was my style. I was a tomboy through and through.”
“Ah, I guess you wore a backward cap also.”
“In fact, I did…a red one.” Silence lingered. “What about you? Did you dress in princess dresses when you scared Cynthia and her tea-party?”
He chuckled, the sound almost foreign. “No. We dressed as pirates, of course.”
“Oh, of course,
” she mocked. “You’ve known Cynthia a very long time. It’s nice that you have fond childhood memories.”
“She was a little brat, would follow us around everywhere, especially my brother…” He stopped, nudging the thought aside, before it had a chance to destroy his mood. “Enough about me. Tell me more about you.”
“I was shipped from foster home to foster home as an infant, then placed in the Tennessee Children’s Home.”
“What about growing up there?” He struggled to imagine a life like that, coming from a big family with both parents and four brothers.
“It was…” she trailed off, as though unable to find the right words. “Lonely.” A quivering sigh hissed past her lips, running through him and causing another twinge in his heart.
“I had one friend, but friends weren’t mothers or fathers. I felt trapped in that place, and yet I could do nothing but endure it. Most nights I cried myself to sleep, feeling so unwanted, not understanding why other children were being adopted and not me. The day the Johnson’s adopted me was the best day of my life. I’m forever grateful to them for taking me out of that place.”
Guilt shot through him, sudden and intense. For most her life she had felt imprisoned in an orphanage, and now he kept her prisoner again. He struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to ask more, learn more.
Brianna yawned, and he shut his mouth.
She needed to rest. He wouldn’t ask her any more questions for now. The fact she didn’t shove him away, but was content to remain snuggled in his arms made him grin.
The doubt clouding his mind moments ago slipped away.
If anything, their lovemaking proved their bond. She might not tell him tonight, but she did love him. He hoped she would realise and admit it before it was too late…too late for them both.
Chapter 11
It was late, or early. Hell, it might even be midday, she didn’t know. Brianna stared at the ceiling. Strong arms wrapped around her, holding tight, as even breaths passed over her shoulder. Every limb hummed at the memory of what they’d shared, and how they exploded in each other’s arms.
Killer Temptation Page 14