by J. R. Ward
“Is this what you want from me, angel?” he asked aloud. “Come on, I know you’re here. Is this what you want?”
To emphasize the question, he put his hand under the covers and let it drift down his chest and his belly until it got to the front of his hips. As he gripped himself, he couldn’t suppress the racking arch that rocked his spine or the groan that rose in his throat.
“Where the fuck are you?” he growled, unsure in the dim glow who he was talking to. Lassiter. No’One. The merciful Fates—if there were any.
On some level, he couldn’t believe he was waiting for another female—and the fact that the tipping balance between urgency and guilt was quickly shifting to the former was a—
“If you say my name while you do that, I’m going to throw up a little in my mouth.”
Lassiter’s voice was rough and disembodied as it came from the far corner of the room where the chaise was.
“Is this what you meant.” God, was that really him? Tohr wondered. Hungry, impatient. Cranky because he was juiced up.
“It’s a better direction than you walking out into a bullet shower—” There was a shuffling sound. “Hey, no offense, but do you mind if you put both your palms where I can see ’em?”
“Can you make her come to me.”
“Free will is what it is. And palms, motherfucker? If you don’t mind.”
Tohr outted both his arms and felt compelled to declare, “I want to feed her, not fuck her. I wouldn’t put No’One through that.”
“I suggest you let her make up her own mind about the sex.” The guy coughed a little bit—but then, yet again, fucking was an awkward subject between guys if they were talking about females of worth. “She may have her own ideas.”
Tohr thought back to the way she had looked at him in the clinic when he’d worked himself out. She had not been afraid. She had appeared captivated.…
He wasn’t sure how to handle that—
His body arched on its own, as if to say, The fuck you don’t, buddy.
As another cough sounded out, Tohr laughed a little. “You have allergies to those flowers?”
“Yeah. That’s it. I’m going to leave you now, ’kay?” There was a pause. “I’m proud of you.”
Tohr frowned. “What for?”
When there was no answer, it was clear the angel had already taken off—
A soft knocking at the door shot Tohr upright, and he barely felt the pain of his wounds: He knew exactly who this was. “Come in.”
Come to me.
The door opened a crack, and No’One slipped inside, shutting them in with each other.
As he heard the click of the locking mechanism, his body shut his mind down completely: It was going to feed her… and, God help them both, fuck her if she let him.
For one brief moment of lucidity, he thought he should tell her to go, so they could be spared the aftermath when sex cooled down and heads cleared up… and two people learned that those Molotov cocktails that had seemed like such a fun, exciting idea to make and throw, had, in actuality, decimated their landscapes.
Except he just extended his hand to her.
After a moment, she reached up and removed her hood. As he rememorized her face and form, he saw that she was nothing like his Wellsie. She was smaller and more delicately built. Fair of coloring instead of vibrant. Proper instead of blunt.
He liked her, though. And it was easier, in a strange way, that she was so different. Less of a chance of ever replacing his beloved in his heart with this female: Even though his body was aroused, that was the least important marker of connection. Males with the kind of bloodline he had, when in good health and well fed, as he now was, could get hard over a sack of potatoes.
And No’One, in spite of her opinion of herself, was a hell of a lot more attractive than root vegetables.…
Christ, the romance was just awesome all up in here. Wasn’t it.
She approached slowly, her limp barely noticeable, and when she got to the edge of the mattress, she looked down at his bare chest, his arms, his stomach… and went even lower with her eyes.
“I’m aroused again,” he said in a guttural voice. And fuck him, but you’d think he brought that up to warn her off. The truth? He was hoping to get that look back, the one that had been on her face when he’d made himself come—
And, what do you know… there it was: heat and curiosity. No fear.
“Should I take your wrist from here?” she asked.
“Come on the bed,” he all but growled.
She stretched up one knee onto the high mattress, and then awkwardly tried to bring the other one with it. Her bad leg threw her off balance, however, and she pitched forward—
Tohr caught her easily, grabbing her shoulders and keeping her from falling on her face. “I’ve got you.”
And wasn’t there a double meaning in that one.
Deliberately, he pulled her over him so that she was poised above his pecs. Man, she didn’t weigh a thing. Then again, she never ate much.
He was not the only one who needed to feed properly.
Except then he just stopped, to give her time to adjust. He was a lot of male, and he was aroused as shit, and he had scared her more than enough already. As far as he was concerned, she could take all the time in the world to make sure she knew who was with her—
Abruptly, her scent changed, shifting into the heady spectrum of female awakening. In response, his hips rolled underneath the covers, and she craned a glance over her shoulder, watching his body react.
If he’d been a gentlemale, he would have hidden the response and made sure that this was just about repaying her the service she had given to him. But he was feeling so much more male than gentle.
On that note, he lowered her onto his chest, angling her so that her mouth hit his jugular.
Skin.
Warm male skin against her lips.
Warm, clean, vampire skin that was golden brown, not pasty white. That smelled of spice, and strength, and… something so erotic, her body had returned to that volcanic place.
As she breathed in, the scent of him—that male scent—produced an unprecedented reaction. Everything went instantly instinct, her fangs dropping from her upper jaw, her lips parting, her tongue coming out as if it intended to taste.
“Take it, No’One.… You know you want to. Take me.…”
Swallowing hard, she pushed herself up from him and met his burning eyes. There were too many emotions to decipher in them, and the same was true with his voice and his expression. This was not easy for him; then again, this was his marital room, where he had no doubt been with his mate a thousand times.
And yet he wanted her. It was obvious in the tension of his body, in that arousal that even beneath the covers she could see.
She knew the troubled crossroads he stood upon, torn between contradictions: She was the same. She wanted this, but if she fed from him now, things were going to progress, and she was not sure she was prepared for where it would take them both.
Except she was not going to turn away. And neither was he.
“Do you not wish me at your wrist,” she said in a voice that was nothing like her own.
“No.”
“Then where do you want me.” It wasn’t a question. And, dearest Virgin Scribe, she didn’t know who was talking to him like that—low, seductive, demanding.
“At my throat.” His words were even lower, and he moaned as her eyes went back to where he had seemed to deliberately put her.
This mighty warrior wanted to be used by her. As he lay back against the pillows, his huge body appeared to be in that strange thrall she had seen before, held captive by invisible binds that were nonetheless impossible for him to break out of.
His eyes stayed on hers as he tilted his head to the side, exposing his vein… on the side opposite of where she was. So that she would have to stretch across his chest once more. Yes, she thought, she wanted that, too… except before she made any kind of move, s
he gave her inner core a chance to panic. The last thing she wanted was to become overwrought and undone in the midst of this.
Nothing bubbled up from the depths. For once, the present was so alive and captivating that the past was not even an echo or a shadow—she was, in this moment, wiped clean.
And very clear about what she wanted.
No’One reached out her arm and stretched herself thin as she surmounted the impossible expanse of his torso. His size was nearly a joke, the juxtaposition of their bodies absurd—and yet she was not afraid. The hard pads of his pectorals and the broad beam of his shoulders were nothing to be threatened by.
They merely served to sharpen her hunger for his vein.
His body arched upward as she laid herself upon him, and oh, the heat. Boiling up through his skin and magnifying her body’s need, sure as a simmer was made into a rioting fervor.
It had been so long since she had struck any male. And back in her earliest past, it had been done only under the strict supervision of not just her father, but the other males of her bloodline: Indeed, throughout all of it, there had been a ceremonial feel, biology tempered by society and social expectation.
She had never been aroused. And if the fine, gentlemale she’d used had been, he had wisely shown no such reaction.
This was everything that the former experiences had not been.
This was raw, and wild… and very sexual.
“Take from me,” he commanded, his jaw locking, his chin lifting, his throat becoming even more exposed.
As she brought her head down, she shook from head to foot, and she struck with no grace whatsoever—
This time, the moan came from her.
His taste was like nothing she could recall, a screaming roar in her mouth, over her tongue, down her throat. His blood was so much purer and stronger than that which she had had, and oh, the power of him. It was as if the potency of his warrior’s body poured into hers, transforming her into something so much more than she had ever been before.
“Take more,” he urged in a rough voice. “Take everything.…”
She did as he commanded, readjusting the angle of her head so that her seal was even more perfect. And as she drank with renewed gusto, she found herself becoming acutely aware of the weight of her breasts as they rested on his chest. And of the ache in her gut that no matter how much she took in seemed only to get sharper. And of the languid nature of her legs… as if all they wanted to do was fall open.
For him.
The reversal of her tense rigidity was so complete, it felt irreversible, and what did that matter? So consumed was she that she cared for naught but more of what she was getting.
THIRTY-ONE
Tohr orgasmed shortly after No’One’s first strike. There was just no stopping the contraction of his balls or the pulsing shocks that traveled up his shaft or the explosion that blew out the head of his cock as he jerked underneath the sheets.
“Fuuuuuck… No’One…”
As if she knew what had just happened, and what he was asking permission for, she nodded against his throat. Then went so far as to take his wrist and push his hand under the sheet.
No asking twice on that one.
Spreading his legs, he stroked his rigid length in a rhythm that matched the pulls on his vein. And as he released again, his arousal kicking like mad, he dipped down, gathered his sac, and squeezed hard. Pleasure and pain became a fun-house mirror, the distorting reflection of one against the other amplifying everything from the feel of the fangs in his neck to his below-the-waist eruptions.
The sense of letting go, of putting aside the pain he struggled with night and day, was such a fucking relief. He was the lake temporarily melted and free from its ice cover, and he reveled in his openness to her, the way he let himself lie there beneath her slight body, captured and held by her dainty weight and her powerful bite.
It had been so long since he had felt anything good deep in the permafrost of his soul. And because he knew that all of his burdens would be waiting for him when this halcyon sunrise faded, he drew himself even more into the experience, deliberately clothing himself in all the sensations.
When No’One finally retracted her fangs, the drawing lick of her tongue as it sealed the puncture wounds made him come all over again: the wet, warm drag over his skin translated down his body to his erection, which kicked and bucked, sending out more of what already covered his lower belly and soaked the sheets.
He stared up into her eyes as he orgasmed, biting down on his lower lip, kicking his head back—so that she knew exactly what he was doing.
And that was when he knew… she wanted some for herself.
Her luscious scent told him so.
“Will you let me make you feel good?” he said hoarsely.
“I… I do not know what to do.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes…” she breathed.
Rolling onto his side, he gently pushed her against the mattress. “All you have to do is lie there—I’ll take care of everything.”
The ease with which she complied was a humbling surprise—and an immediate cue, as far as his libido was concerned, to get her naked, mount her, and come all over her.
Not going to happen. For so many reasons.
“I’ll go slowly,” he groaned, wondering which of them he was speaking to. And then he thought… fuck, yeah, he was going slowly. He wasn’t sure he could remember what to do to a female—
From out of nowhere, a shadow crossed through his mind, jumped out of his brain, and barged in between them, darkening the moment.
With a sad ache, he realized he couldn’t remember precisely when he and Wellsie had been together for that final time; if he’d known their future, he would have paid much greater attention to so much.
No doubt, it had been one of those comfortable, forgettable, but ultimately profound sessions in their mated bed, with both of them half-awake and happy to ride the currents—
“Tohrment?”
The sound of No’One’s voice scrambled him, threatening to completely derail what was happening in the present. Except then he thought of Lassiter… and he thought of his shellan in that gray underworld, trapped in that desolate field of dust.
If he stopped now, he was never going to come back to this moment, this potential, this situation again with No’One… with anyone else. He was going to get permanently stuck on the road out of his grief—and Wellsie would never be free.
Damn it, as with so many things in life, you had to push through the obstacles, and this was the big one. It also wasn’t going to last forever. He’d had well over a year of mourning and grief, and there were decades and centuries of it in front of him. For the next ten minutes, fifteen minutes, hour—however long this lasted—he needed to stay only in the here-and-now.
Only with No’One.
“Tohrment, we can st—”
“May I loosen your robe?” His voice sounded dead to his own ears. “Please… let me see you.”
When she nodded, he swallowed hard and brought a shaking hand to the tie of her robe. The thing loosened with little or no help from him, and then the folds were free of her sheath-covered body.
His sex kicked hard at the sight of her barely concealed from his eyes, his hands… his mouth.
And that reaction told him that unfortunately… or fortunately… he could do this. He was going to do this.
Sliding his hand around her waist, he paused. Wellsie had had such a lush body, all feminine curves and female strength that he had loved so much. No’One wasn’t like that.
“You have to eat more,” he said harshly.
As her brows came together and she appeared to retract from him, he wanted to punch himself in the head. No female needed to hear about shortcomings at a time like this.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said, eyes probing the thin fabric that covered her breasts and her hips. “I just worry about you. That’s all.”
As she relaxed again,
he took his time, stroking her through the simple linen coverlet she wore, slowly moving over onto her belly. That image of her suspended upon the crystal palm of the pool’s blue water, floating with her arms out, her head back and her breasts tight at the tips made him groan.
And gave him a specific direction.
Trailing his fingertips upward, he brushed the bottom of her breast—
The hiss she let out and the sudden arch told him that the contact was more than welcome. But there was no hurrying. He’d done that down in the pantry; not going to happen again.
With languid ease, he went higher until his forefinger surmounted her nipple. More hissing. More arching.
More exploring.
His body was roaring, his cock straining against the covers, against his self-control, against the tempo. But he was keeping things under wraps down below—and shit was going to stay that way. This was about her, not him, and the quickest way to flip that table would be to get his naked body anywhere near her.
It had to be her blood in him. Yeah, that was it. That was the cause of his crazy urge to mate.…
When No’One was thrashing her legs on top of the duvet, and she had gripped his forearm with her nails, that was when he cupped her whole breast, switching his thumb for his forefinger as he stroked her.
“Do you like,” he drawled as she gasped.
The reply she eventually gave him was nothing but a bunch of sounds; then again, all that erotic straining gave him his real answer.
She really liked the way she felt.
Encircling the small of her back with his arm, he gently lifted her up to his mouth. He had a moment’s hesitation before he latched on, just because he could not believe he was actually doing this to someone: It had never occurred to him that he would have any kind of sex life outside of memories, but here it was, up close and personal, so to speak, that electric connection sparking, his body naked and aroused, his mouth about to taste someone different.
“Tohrment…” she moaned. “I do not know what I am…”
“It’s okay. I got you… I got you.”
Dropping his head, he parted his lips and brushed at her nipple through the sheath, going back and forth, back and forth. In response, her hands dug into his hair, feeling good against his scalp, tightening, scratching.