by Tes Hilaire
“Don’t do that.”
She blinked and gave another nervous little lick to her lips. “Do what?”
“Gawd, that.” He closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing deeply. “Don’t lick your lips like that.”
“Lick my lips, I didn’t—”
“You did,” he said, giving her a hard glare.
“Okay,” she agreed, then grinned, her white teeth flashing as she wiggled her hips beneath him. “How about that? Can I do that?”
“You’re a minx.”
“But I’m your minx,” she said with another hip grinding wiggle.
“No, you are ma petite peste.”
Her eyes narrowed, but it also had the desired effect of making her go still. He took advantage of the reprieve and peeled himself off her, shifting to kneel on the bed beside her.
“Where are you—”
He laid a finger over her lips. “Hush. Let me do this my way.”
He knew he was asking a lot. His little minx liked to be in control. But he was counting on her innocence making her compliant in this. She was nervous. He could feel it in the slight vibrations that racked her body. Someone with senses less keen than his probably wouldn’t have noticed, but he did and trusted that she would let him take the lead.
She sunk back into the bed, forcing herself to relax and let him take control. He rewarded her with a smile and a caress to the side of her face. Holding her gaze, he went to work on her clothing, drawing the seduction out by making sure to caress every inch of skin that he exposed. He started at the hem of her T-shirt, working it up her rib cage a centimeter at a time. Fanning his hand out under the thin cotton fabric, he would catch the hem with his thumb, pulling it a touch farther, then follow an agonizing roll where his knuckles brushed a series of steps up one rib then the next.
In the silence of the apartment, the ragged edge to her breathing became more and more noticeable the farther up her torso he went. Or was that his breathing? Wait. He cocked his head, his hands stilling. Hell. It was both of them. Damn. This was harder than he’d thought.
Fast. Like a Band-Aid. He grabbed the bottom corners of her shirt and slid it up over her breasts, exposing the lacy pink bra beneath that did little to hide the perfect roundness of her breasts. He was fantasizing about feasting on them when her hands slid alongside his. With an eye-popping shimmy, she pulled the shirt from his grip and over her head. His vision went red.
Get it together, Roland. Think of it as a job that has to be done.
Yet he couldn’t drag his eyes away. She was beyond perfect. She was too perfect. And innocent. The blackness where his soul used to be would soil her if he touched her.
“I used to think it was silly to pay so much for a frilly bra that no one was going to see. Now I’m glad I did.”
He gulped. Taking a series of long deep breaths, he fought back the red haze. He could do this. He would do this.
“Roland?”
Her tone highlighted her uncertainty. And of course she would be. He was staring at her and panting like a convicted rapist. Not the impression he wanted to make. She was safe with him. He would always protect her. Always. No matter the personal cost.
He forced himself to make eye contact. With a twist of his lip he said, “And the panties? Do they match?”
A mischievous twinkle flashed across her brown eyes. With a smile, she reached behind her back and unsnapped her bra, quickly shrugging it off her shoulders where she grabbed it in both of her hands. Before he knew what she was going to do, she’d looped it behind his neck, pulling herself up so her mouth was a hairbreadth from his.
“Why don’t you find out?” she whispered, her breath fanning across his jaw.
Too much. Too close. He needed to stay in control. Which meant keeping her under control.
Rather than kissing her as he knew she expected, he turned his face alongside hers, letting his breath tickle her ear as he whispered his reply. “Why don’t I?”
Then with deliberate care, he sat back, grabbing onto her hands. It showed her lack of experience when she hesitantly allowed him to do so. He took the bra from her hands, loosely looping it around her wrists. She gasped and he worried she might panic. But when he urged her back down, positioning her arms over her head in an inherently submissive position, she allowed it.
Good. The bindings wouldn’t hold her, but it threw her off her stride and back in the place of seducee rather than seducer.
Still, there was a question in her eyes, that faint bit of uncertainty. Instinct, as much as any decency he might have left, had him needing to drive away even that slight bit of fear.
He reached down, cupping her face, holding her gaze with his own. “One word from you and I stop. Promise.”
She nodded, then closed her eyes, her rib cage rising and falling in deep, even measures as she worked to relax.
He frowned, watching her settle into a distinctly meditative state. Hmm. Relaxed was good. Comatose was not. He wanted her screaming in pleasure.
Heart thudding, he skimmed his hands along the outside of her breasts, sliding his palms around to cup them and lift them together. Her nipples peaked beautifully and he raked his thumb over the dusky buds.
Her eyes flew open, as she drew in a sharp breath. Her chest rising and falling created even more friction where his skin met hers.
She arched her back, her bound hands gripping his silk sheets as she lifted her breasts closer to him, as if begging him to feast upon her. Ah, Gawd. He wanted to, damn but he wanted to, but the moment his mouth touched the delicate perfection of her creamy skin it would mark the true beginning of his internal war. Paladin warrior and mate vs. mindless monster. He would not let the monster win.
Releasing her breasts, he trailed his hands down over her ribs, scowling when he was easily able to count each one—his mate needed to eat more. His fingertips moved under the waistband of her jeans.
“Roland.”
He wasn’t sure if she said his name as a plea for more or as a question. He treated it as both, keeping his explorations to the skin under the rim of her jeans.
“Roland, please, stop teasing me.”
He chuckled. A plea then.
“Do you like pretty panties, mon chaton?” he asked, working the top button of her jeans and then, with agonizing slowness, pulled down the copper zipper. The label on the inside was red and read “Lucky you.” Oh yes indeed. He smiled. Who would have thought his snarling minx would have a sexy, kittenish side too? Or maybe she just liked the fit of this brand of jeans. That wasn’t as fun to imagine though.
With exaggerated care, he flipped open the fabric, curling it down as far as he could without actually removing her jeans. A pretty pink bow peeked out at him, the promise of frilly lace underneath. He was indeed a lucky, lucky man.
Unable to resist, he bent down, nuzzling his nose against the silky little bow as he drew in her scent. Flowers and peaches and musk that was all Karissa.
“You’re cruel,” she told him, and then her hips were wiggling. He reared back to see she’d undone her hands which were now wrapped around the sides of the denim. Needed to stop her, take back control. But instead he watched, his fangs aching to elongate as she worked the tight denim over her ass and started down her smoothly muscled legs.
“And you’re impatient,” he said, clasping his hands over hers. Pulling her hands off the denim, he lifted them to his mouth, brushing them over his lips in a parody of a kiss. “Lie back down, Karissa. Let me do this.”
“What you’re doing is taking too long.”
He chuckled. “Oui, ma petite peste. But let me enjoy this. I promise you will enjoy it too.”
“I am. But you’re still taking too long.”
He shook his head. Stubborn woman. “Lie down.”
She obeyed this time. And when he placed her arms out to the side, urging her to cling to his sheets, she did that too.
“Don’t move,” he said firmly and smiled at the flash in her eyes.
“Only if you hurry,” she snapped back.
So be it. He grabbed onto the jeans, quickly plucking them off the rest of her legs, then went back up and started on the panties. Perhaps it was better this way anyway. This way he could concentrate on the task rather than the heady perfume that marked Karissa’s arousal. And damn but she was aroused. The panties were practically soaking with her juices.
Okay then. Don’t think of that.
When he had her fully naked, he began to make his way back up, following a path of curves and angles up the inside of her calf, across the outer part of her thigh, valiantly not looking at the neat thatch of curls as he traced her hips and dipped in toward her belly. But there he stopped, unable to move on, his gaze caught on the vision of her rising and falling breasts. He glanced through the sloping curve between them and saw her watching him, her mouth parted, her pupils dilated, her lids heavy.
“You are so beautiful.”
She blushed, her teeth nipping at her bottom lip. He wanted to be biting that lip. He settled for pressing his lips against the bottom of her rib cage. Better if he stayed away from her mouth…and her neck. What he had planned was going to be hard enough.
Tracing his hands back down the same path as before, he worked his way to her knees. He didn’t even have to urge her to lift and spread them before she was doing so. Her desire to speed things was obvious with the ease that she was overriding what must be an instinctive shyness. There were not many twenty-four-year-old virgins out there. Frankly, he wondered how and why this miraculous gift came to be.
Because she’s your woman. And only yours.
And right now his woman was laid out like a gift for him to claim. Slipping his hands back up her inner thighs, he stopped inches from the juncture of her legs. There was no avoiding looking at her now, but he made a point of breathing through his mouth. A line of short curls stretched out from the top of her mons downward, the bottom few dewy from her moisture and barely hiding her clit which was already plump with need. And her slit, that gorgeous flower of womanhood, was similarly engorged, the intimate lips swollen and blushed and dripping.
“Perfect.” His voice was choked with dangerous desire, the clawing need to rear up and take her, fuck her, bite her, tearing at his control. He pushed it away, concentrating on the faint tremors of her body beneath his hands. She was nervous, but still she wanted this, wanted him. He was determined to give her all that he could.
He bent down, blowing gently. She gasped, her hips lifting to him imploringly.
“Do you like that?” he asked, more to distract himself than because he was unsure.
“God, yes. Please, Roland. I need…”
He lowered his head, brushing his cheek against the inside of her thigh. “What do you need, Karissa?”
She remained silent; he glanced up over her stomach to look at her. Her head was tipped back, her bottom lip gripped tightly between her teeth as she slowly shook her head from side to side.
“What do you need? Do you want me to stop?”
Her head snapped up, her eyes popping open, pupils dilated as if panicked. “God no.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, which brought about a narrowing of her eyes and a tensing of her thigh beneath his hands.
“Relax,” he whispered, dipping his chin so his hair trailed across the intimate folds. When he lifted his head again, she was wide-eyed once more and practically panting. “Let me love you.”
“Yes, please. That is what I need.” Her legs drifted back open, her head settling against the sheets.
Gorgeous. And his. For now at least. He turned his focus back to his task, bracing himself. He’d known the scent of her arousal was going to be difficult to tolerate. He’d known the pulsing aphrodisiac flowing through her veins, pooling in her core, was going to be a temptation beyond all others. He hadn’t known it was going to be this bad.
He cursed under his breath, concentrating on the sting from where his fangs had scraped the inside of his lips. Monster. Yet he was more. He was her mate. He may have lacked a vital part of his being that should in all rights belong to her, but he could give her this.
He could cherish her.
He lowered his mouth, finally kissing his woman. And while she writhed beneath him, whimpering his name as her nails gripped his pristine white sheets, he decided there was nothing more exquisite than her falling apart in his arms.
***
Karissa lay on the bed, her limbs limp, her ears ringing, and her breath coming in short pants. Oh, and she couldn’t see. The world was still spinning in a kaleidoscope of sparking colors. Holy crap. If she’d known being with a man could be like that, she would never have waited so damn long. She’d had orgasms before—she was a healthy, modern-day woman and saw nothing wrong with masturbation—but she’d never had one like that. Little death indeed. The French were right.
It’s because it was Roland.
Probably. What Roland had done to her had surely been a sin. Nothing should feel that good. And she was a sinner too because she wanted more. She wanted to finish what they’d started. Now.
“Hmmm,” she purred, rolling onto her side. She’d felt Roland shift off of her partway through the explosion and expected to find him there, watching her and smiling that smug smile. But he wasn’t. The only thing beside her was rumpled sheets and her discarded clothing.
Alarmed, she sat up, quickly scanning the room.
He was gone. As in not here. As in he’d left her. After the most spectacular orgasm of her life he’d left. Why?
Maybe he doesn’t want you after all.
No, she didn’t believe that. The few times she’d been coherent enough to read him she’d gotten the impression of barely checked desire. Which would mean that he should be here, as eager as she was for the next step.
“Roland?” she called tentatively, tilting her head to listen for his response. It was then she heard it, the shower in the bathroom. Uh, wrong.
She didn’t know what the heck he thought he was doing, but that wasn’t going to fly.
She wrapped herself in the top sheet and moved from the bed. Her legs held, from anger or rejuvenated by her orgasm, who knew, and she marched into the bathroom.
The air was moist and cold. No steam. Strange. Through the rippled glass she could make out the curve of Roland’s back and shoulders, the rippling muscles of his legs and, damn, he had a fine ass. She was so engrossed by his ass that it took her a moment to notice what his hands were doing. One was braced against the tiles in front of him and the other was lowered in front of him, working off a measured beat of movements that went up and down, up and…No effing way. He was jerking off? He could have been inside her right now but instead he was here? Using his hand?
She must have made a noise, a gasp, or a choked cry of hurt and disappointment. Roland’s head snapped up, his hand stilling as he twisted to glare over his shoulder at her.
“For Christ’s sake, Karissa, go away.”
It was impossible to miss his anger. His voice was a rumbling growl of warning. And that wasn’t even mentioning the hellfire in his eyes or the wicked curve of his elongated canines. She took a step back, one hand clutching the sheet to her as the other searched for the doorframe.
Coward.
She tried to shake off the condescending inner voice. Couldn’t. It was right. Going got tough and she ran. And here she was. About to run. Again.
Roland had turned his back on her once more, seemingly content with the assurance that she had left or was at least in the process of leaving. Well tough for him. She was done with running.
“Why didn’t you…”
His shoulders tensed, the pumping hand dropping to his side and clenching into a fist. An image of that fist pummeling into the demon in the alley came back to her. The demon had staggered under the impact but remained upright. She, on the other hand, could be crushed by that fist.
The cold air in the bathroom froze her vocal cords. She raised her hand, letting the wa
rmth of her palm seep some heat into her throat. Roland wouldn’t hurt her. She tried again. “I mean, why did you leave?”
His shoulders lifted and he spun around. He was obscured by the running water and the rippled shower door, but there was no hiding the fact that she’d been right about the state he was in—both his eyes and fangs, and his cock.
She sucked in a breath, forcing her chin up to keep herself from staring. Even distorted by the glass, she could tell he was impressive. Of course, she knew that, having felt his erection pressing against both her belly and her ass on numerous occasions. And just the memories of those moments were enough to send heat pooling down between her thighs.
“If I let myself go, I’m going to bite you.”
Karissa blinked. Her first thought was would that be so bad? But she quickly tossed that away. Yeah, it would be bad. Worse than the supposed link the Paladin’s marking ceremony might bring, a vampire could flat out control those whose blood he drank. It was a legitimate concern. Yet, for some reason she wasn’t concerned.
She took a step forward, her hand unclenching so the sheet dropped to the floor behind her. Completely naked, she closed the distance so she stood inches away and mirrored him through the shower door. “No you won’t.”
He laughed, running his hands down over his face, wincing when the action cut his canines into his lip.
“Oh yeah?” He smiled an evil, twisted smile that emphasized the bead of blood forming along the wound. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.” The fact that he was trying to protect her told her as much. She grasped the door handle, yanking it open, then before he could object, she stepped over the lip and into the cold stream of water.
He didn’t attack her, didn’t grab her up either, but quickly gave ground, retreating as far as the five-by-five custom tiled shower would let him.
“It’s cold in here.” She reached out, twisting the knob toward hot. She looked over at him, noting that though his hands were both fisted at his sides he was also panting, his eyes locked on her breasts.
She stepped forward. He trembled, so much so that she thought the only thing keeping him up was the tile at his back. Except his cock. His cock was having no problem standing at attention.