Chapter Twelve
Emmy sat quietly in the leather armchair as the locksmith sawed at the remaining cuff on her ankle with a thin, wire blade. She shivered at the chill the fire was slow to dispel. Her hair, still wet from her shower, dampened the shoulders of her robe.
She leaned toward the locksmith, alert to the aroma of his cheap aftershave—and the resonant thrum of his heart pushing blood through his veins. The beats were as clear as the crackle of the fire, the ticking of the clock above the mantle, and the metallic scrape of his saw.
She rimmed her mouth with her tongue, which was already tingling with anticipation of a meal.
The man looked up at her, his gaze falling to her wet lips, and he stiffened. He darted a glance over his shoulder at Dylan and Quentin, before continuing the seesaw movement of the wire blade beneath her cuff.
Emmy smiled when he adjusted his thigh alongside her foot. He thinks I want to fuck him. That would never happen. The duo who stood watch to ensure her good behavior would prevent any playing with her food. Spoilsports!
Not that she truly wanted to fuck him, but she’d give him better—a bite to send his heart fluttering and his dick gushing in his pants.
Instinctively, she knew she had the power to orchestrate the man’s response, physically and mentally. The only problem was she wasn’t sure once she tasted him, she’d be able to stop—drinking and pleasuring, that is.
The urge to experiment with this man was fast becoming impossible to ignore. Her breasts tingled, the nipples sharpening to hard peaks against Dylan’s silver, silk robe. And her tongue massaged her gums and the roof of her mouth, which itched unbearably. Her body was slowly changing, and it thrilled her, awakening hunger that made her teeth ache and power that tensed her muscles.
What would Dylan do, if I drew this man between my hard thighs and pressed my breasts against his chest while I drink?
Emmy gripped the armchair tighter.
The man’s forehead glistened with sweat, and the crotch of his coverall tented over his erection.
Can he smell my arousal just as I can smell his?
One last scrape, and the blade passed the rest of the way through the metal cuff. The locksmith set aside the blade and reached for another tool with handles and a vice-like snout.
Murmuring a husky apology, he carefully placed her foot between his thighs, so that her toes touched his erection, and then slipped the nose of the tool around one edge of the break in the cuff. He twisted upward, bending the metal—and sliding her foot along his cock. Doing the same to the other side of the break, he finally removed her last restraint.
Emmy patted him with her toes, before sliding her foot to the ground. “Thanks,” she said her voice a husky purr.
“Next time, make sure you have the key,” he said, his gaze conveying a message that no doubt meant, “I’m available for a fuck, anytime.”
“Emmy…” Dylan’s voice growled a warning.
Emmy’s gaze left the locksmith, and she scowled at Dylan.
But Dylan’s face remained implacable.
“Dylan, she does need to feed,” Quentin said.
“Perhaps,” she said, “I could offer this kind man a kiss?”
“That’s not necessary,” the locksmith said, looking a little uneasy now that his flirtation was acknowledged.
“A kiss,” Dylan said. “But it ends when I say.”
Emmy smiled at Dylan, and then grabbed the locksmith’s collar in both hands, bringing his kneeling frame in alignment with her thighs. “I’ll be the best kiss you ever had.”
Her lips covered his, and his tongue shoved inside hers with a groan. Peppermint and cigarettes flavored his tongue. Nice, but not what she wanted to taste. Emmy traced her lips along his jaw and nudged him with her nose to raise his chin. The tanned column of his throat was bared, his skin growing steamy—hot with lust.
Her fingers touched the vein at the side of his throat and gasped when his warm blood—millimeters beneath his skin—beckoned her closer.
“Remember to prepare him, love,” Dylan said, nearer to her now.
She licked the man’s throat, alternately laving the skin and suctioning with her lips.
His cock scraped against her thigh, and Emmy gave him what he needed, caressing him with her inner thigh.
“Now, Emmy,” Dylan said.
Emmy positioned her mouth over the pulsing vein and her vampire’s fangs automatically slid down to pierce his neck.
The man gasped, but Emmy continued to massage his cock, until he surrendered to her tender attack, his arms circling her waist to clutch her tightly.
Emmy’s mouth filled with blood, setting fire to her senses. Rich, warm, pulsing—it glided past her tongue and down her throat. Her body warmed, her pussy moistened.
And then it wasn’t enough that his blood spilled into her mouth, she wanted to bathe in his blood, be filled with his sex.
“Enough, Emmy,” Dylan broke through the haze of desire that clouded her mind. He was squeezing her shoulders.
She disengaged her teeth and licked closed the wounds she’d made. She rubbed her face on the back of her hand, ensuring her face was its human form again, then raised her head to smile at the locksmith.
“You’ve done a fine job tonight,” she intoned. “We paid you well, but you can’t recall much about the evening. You need a beer.”
“I need a beer,” he repeated.
Quentin helped him to his feet and shoved his toolbox into his arms. “Time to head home.”
“Time to go home.”
As Quentin lead the locksmith away, Emmy leaned back in the chair and breathed deeply. “That was the most amazing thing.”
Dylan grunted and walked toward the bar. He poured a drink and knocked it back. When he turned to look at her, the scowl he’d worn froze.
Emmy had opened the robe and raised both thighs to drape over the arms of the chair. Her smile widened when she saw his gaze dip to her cunt, open and swollen with unrequited desire.
“I’m not sure I’m flattered,” he bit out.
His jealous anger fueled her fire. “C’mon, Dylan. I was only hot because you watched.” She wet the tip of two fingers in her mouth and lowered her hand to her pussy. Finding the hard kernel of nerve endings, she rubbed her fingers in circles on her clit, and deliberately squeezed and released the walls of her vagina to tease him.
His chest rose sharply. “I’ll not watch you fuck another man,” he said. “That I won’t share.”
She raised a single eyebrow, mocking his anger. “It’s our nature to answer our bloodlust with sexual lust,” she said.
“Baby, you’re such an expert,” he scoffed. “You’ve been a vampire for all of two hours.”
“Some things you’re just born knowing.” Like pushing your sexual buttons.
“In the future, you’ll let the lust build while you feed, but save the fucking for me.”
“Will you always be there when I’m done with a meal?” she said, with a lazy glide of her fingers inside her juicy cunt.
“Always,” he ground out the words.
“There’s so much you didn’t tell me. About how powerful this hunger is. Have you taken men as well as women?”
The corners of his lips curled. “Already asking questions, Emmy?”
“I haven’t changed all that much.” She let her head fall back against the cushion and arched her back, lifting the taut points of her breasts. Anything to entice him to take her.
Dylan stepped towards her. “I’ve taken men as well as women.” His hands pushed his pants down his thighs and he stepped out of them. Proof of his desire for her rising straight and engorged between his legs, a pearl of cream glistening at the tip. He knelt before her chair.
She scooted her rear to the edge of the seat. “Did you…do it…with them?”
“Sometimes,” he answered honestly. His tongue stabbed into her vagina, coating his tongue with her cream, then circling to spread the moisture on the thin lips
that framed her opening. “The lust can be overpowering, without a partner to hold you in check.”
“Or a fuck-buddy to take the edge off?” she asked, knowing her coarse words would incite him to lose his restraint. She needed his violence.
“You do have a way with words, love,” he said, his breath gusting against her pussy.
He tongued her clitoris—sharp, quick jabs that left her gasping. Her hands gripped his head, but he resisted coming closer, delivering a long swipe of his tongue along her quivering flesh. Then he licked lower, tonguing her nether mouth. Dipping the tip of his tongue inside then fluttering lightly around her asshole.
Emmy wanted to kill him for teasing her, instead she shrieked, bucking her hips to encourage him deeper.
His palms cupped her buttocks and held her still for his plundering, and he alternated stabbing into her cunt and her asshole.
Emmy’s belly tightened, her pussy releasing a gush of cream. Dylan groaned against her core, the vibration engorging her clitoris, so taut that each teasing flutter was exquisitely painful. Abruptly, he sat back on his heels.
Left gasping, Emmy stared at him. Willing him with her gaze to take her.
“What do you want, Emmy?”
“You,” she breathed.
His jaw tensed. “Tell me.”
“Your cock in my cunt,” she said between gritted teeth.
His face grimaced as he pushed his engorged penis down to press at her opening. “Not good enough, Em.”
“Fuck me, Dylan.”
His mouth opened, about to say something. Inexplicably, he looked disappointed. Then shook his head and slammed into her—all the way to the mouth of her womb.
Emmy let loose another shriek, and drew back her knees to her chest, giving him greater access to move unimpeded.
Dylan pulled out, and then rammed forward again. “Promise, I’ll be the only man you invite inside you, Em.”
“You’re all I need. All I want.”
“Promise.”
“I promise. Only you. Just move, Dylan. I’ll die if you don’t move.”
Dylan leaned over, ramming into her, pressing her deeper into the chair with each hard thrust.
Then he halted, buried so deeply, Emmy could swear he’d feel her heartbeat against the head of his dick. She hadn’t thought about it before, but she was glad she had a heartbeat—and then she couldn’t think because his hands cupped her buttocks and moved her up and down on his cock, grinding her pussy against his pubic hair. His dick was a hard steel shaft, shoved so deep inside its thickness expanded the walls of her vagina.
And he was changing—which triggered Emmy’s metamorphosis. The plates rose beneath her cheeks and forehead, her teeth slid from the roof of her mouth, and her body filled with power. She shoved him to his back on the floor and leapt on top of him, securing his hands on the ground next to his head.
He snarled, a signal of his approval.
She reached between their bodies and clasped his cock in her hand, pushing it toward the mouth of her pussy.
The round, blunt head slipped into her. And she shoved her hips down hard to take him all the way inside her. His hands pushed on her hips to make her rise, and soon she bounced on his cock, a rigorous contest of wills as she forced down and he pushed back.
Faster, and faster, her thighs smacking his hips, levering, forcing, pounding.
His hands rose to her breasts and he squeezed hard, twisting. The harder he squeezed the more exquisite the pain. She leaned into his hands to encourage him.
Then he caressed her cheek, and her nose nuzzled his wrist. Too tempting to ignore, she bit into him, sucking deeply, her belly drawing taut, as she flexed her thighs a final time and drove downward, cramming her cunt over his dick as hard and deep as she could.
She felt as though her head exploded. Her body was wracked with shudders of completion. Finally, she went slack, folding over him like a blanket.
Her head rested over his heart. Its rapid beat, a reassuring measure that they both lived and breathed. They’d come too close to losing each other in the fire.
Slowly, she became aware that he changed, relaxing into his human self. She rather liked the beast and smiled at the thought of coaxing him out of hiding again. She turned her face to lick his salty skin.
“Are you preparing to make another meal of me?” he asked. “I’ll have to replenish my blood soon, or I’ll be sucked dry as a mummy.”
“Would you like that?” she asked. “For me to suck you dry?”
His arms tightened around her. “Are you ready for round two, so soon?”
“It is a vampire’s blessing—this rapid recovery.” She flexed her hips producing a slurpy sound that made her giggle. “I think we’re probably soaking the carpet beneath us,” she said.
“You did blow a geyser.”
“Me? And none of this dripping goo is yours?”
“What can I say? You inspire me.”
She licked around one flat, brown areole. “Your daytime staff will think we peed on the rug.”
“And how do you know I have any staff?”
Emmy lifted her nose to the air and inhaled. “Because I can smell them here.”
His hands glided over her sweat-slicked back, and she rose up to let her nipples graze his chest. They had an eternity of loving to explore, but she wanted it all, now.
“You’re a greedy witch.” His hands swept lower to close over the globes of her ass, pressing down, driving his cock deeper.
“Aren’t you glad?” she asked.
“Anybody for pizza?” Quentin said from the foyer. Then he blew out a loud breath. “I say. I see what you meant when you said she had an ass to die for.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Now that you embarrassed her half to death—” Dylan began, hands on his hips.
“Embarrassed? Em?” Quentin raised both brows. “I’m half-certain the girl likes being caught in flagrante dilecto. It happens too often for mere circumstance.”
Dylan scowled, shoving his feet into his pants. “Man, you sound pompous!”
“I practice,” Quentin said, with a Cheshire grin, picking up the silver robe.
Dylan grabbed the robe and rolled it in a ball. Emmy had forgotten it during her long screech and lope up the stairs. “Care for a drink, before you leave?” he asked, pointedly.
“A scotch, please.”
Dylan poured their drinks, and then joined Quentin, seated before the fire. “All right, there was a point to your interruption?”
“Yes. I spoke with Navarro while you two were playing hide the sausage.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes. “And?”
“Navarro’s seeking a sanction against Nicky from the council. He’s to be killed on sight.”
Grim satisfaction filled Dylan. “Now, we only have to find him.”
Quentin’s face grew uncharacteristically serious. “Dylan, don’t you think Em has had enough excitement for a while?”
“I’m not taking her with us. But I can’t let him get away. He must be hunted. Emmy won’t be safe until he’s dead.”
“He almost killed me, too,” Quentin said. “It’s personal now.”
“You mean, let you go on your own?” The thought would never have occurred to Dylan. They were a team.
“You need time with her to tutor her properly in our ways. Not that she isn’t a quick study—a natural, actually. And you need time by yourselves. You haven’t known each other that long.”
Dylan contemplated the wet spot on the rug. It really did look like one of them had peed.
“You aren’t worried about her, are you?” Quentin said.
“No.” Dylan answered too quickly.
“What is it?”
Dylan sighed. “Would she have stopped in time with the locksmith, if I hadn’t intervened? Or would she have killed him?”
“She was just overcome with the bloodlust. It was her first time. Are you worried that she’s lost her soul?”
Dylan
lifted his glass and let the whiskey slide down his throat. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But I’m about to find out.” He set the glass on the fireplace ledge. “Where will you start looking? I know you, you’ve already got a lead or two.”
“I’m thinking of catching a few waves. He has a vamp brother in Florida.”
“Florida? So far? You’ll be in unknown territory. We haven’t developed council ties that far south. Don’t go and get yourself dusted.”
“Just keep that girl out of her clothes—and out of mischief. Oh, and you can sleep easy. The council’s providing watchers until Nicky’s found.”
Dylan walked with him to the front door. They shared a glance up the stairs.
“You’re one lucky Paddy.”
“Bleedin’ toff.” Dylan smiled crookedly.
They shared an awkward embrace, before Quentin turned and let himself out the door.
* * * * *
Dylan slipped beneath covers that held a wintry chill. Emmy hugged the far side of the bed, her back to him, her shoulders stiff. “Emmy, we have to talk.”
“You don’t have to say a thing. I lied. You were right,” Emmy said, her voice quiet. “I wanted to fuck that locksmith to death. Wanted to bathe in his blood.”
Dylan held his breath. He’d let her speak. He needed to know the state of her soul—and whether he’d lost her forever. And if she wasn’t whole, she was his responsibility—although ending her new life would likely kill him.
“Thanks for stopping me.” She turned towards him, tears on her cheeks. “I couldn’t have lived with myself, if I’d taken his life.”
Dylan closed his eyes, relieved beyond words. Remorse was only possible if one still cared about human life.
Emmy’s breath caught on a jagged sob, and she pushed back the covers to get up. Dylan couldn’t bear to look at her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
Her gaze met his, but his face was closed, remote.
“Ho—ome,” she wailed, her face and what was left of her composure, crumpling.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
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