When he didn’t answer that, she pushed at his leg.
“Well?” she said. “Did you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think Quaaludes would work on vampires.”
“Are there any Quaalude-equivalents in the vampire world?”
He frowned, thinking.
He took another few long swallows of blood, still thinking.
“None that I know of,” he said finally, lowering the container back to his leg.
Still looking at him, she pursed her lips, eyes puzzled.
Her voice grew a touch sharper.
“Are you trying to butter me up before you go and attempt suicide again this weekend?” she said.
Thinking about that, he contemplated a smart-ass reply, then thought better of it.
Holding her gaze, he shrugged, his expression still.
“I still want to do it,” he said. “I have no intention of dying, Wynter.” He paused. “You saw me fight? That night, I mean?”
“I know you avoided me after,” she said, her voice annoyed again.
He leaned over the table, putting down the heat-capture container and pressing the lid closed. Once they were free, he wrapped his hands into her hair, pulling her against him. Leaning his mouth down to her ear, he spoke in a murmur against her skin.
“I’m trying to figure out how to apologize to you––” he said, soft.
“I don’t want an apology, Nick––”
“––I’m also trying to figure out how to say thank you––”
“I don’t want your gratitude, either, Naoko.” She turned her head to glare up at him. “You are completely impossible. Do you really not know how maddeningly, frustratingly, ridiculously impossible you are? Were you this bad in relationships as a human?”
He knew it wasn’t a real question.
At least not one she expected an answer to.
He found himself thinking about it anyway.
“Yes,” he said, blunt. “Yes. I was.”
She blinked up at him.
He saw her thinking he was just giving her shit, and he tugged her hair and head back again, kissing her mouth. She fell into the kiss as readily as she had before, her hands sliding into his hair. He found himself slowing down, slowing deliberately, holding her back as he kissed her neck, forcing her to wait, his fingers gripping her hair, trying to gauge how much she would let him control things.
She softened, the more he forced her to conform to his pace.
When he paused next, raising his head, she had her arm coiled around his neck. She pulled him closer, but when he stopped her, she looked up at him, her head tilted back, and he let out a low groan, unable to help it.
He lowered his mouth back to hers and she tightened her arm, pulling him closer. He let out another involuntary groan, his arm wrapping around her back, half-lifting her up to him.
He didn’t track the mechanics of it.
He didn’t even try to move like a human.
Lifting her easily, he brought her up to the couch, turning to bring her under him. He used his hand and knee to spread her legs… and then, after the barest pause, he rested his weight. Once he had most of it pressed into her, he stared down at her face, watching her pant, watching her eyes close as she reacted to what he’d done.
He leaned his body into hers and she pressed up against him, letting out a weak, almost pleading sound.
Then he was off her.
He disentangled himself roughly from her hold… and she clutched at him, protesting, more in sounds than words… at least until he was sitting there, at the edge of the couch, looking at her.
“Take off your shirt,” he said.
She stared at him.
Then, sitting up, she tugged up her shirt, pulling it up and getting it half-stuck on her arms and shoulder in her haste to get it over her head. Something about that, about her getting tangled in the cloth, made his cock hurt, even before it occurred to him she was doing what he said. She dropped the shirt to the floor and waited.
Fuck.
He got up off the couch altogether before he knew he intended to. Pushing her backwards into the cushions, he unfastened the front of her pants, not wanting to wait for her that time. He got up again, long enough to yank them down off her, then to do the same to her underwear.
He didn’t bother trying to slow down his movements for that, either.
He undressed her like a vampire.
It turned him on more when he realized she was okay with it.
More than okay with it; it turned her on, too.
He stood over her briefly, staring down at her on the green couch.
It didn’t occur to him that the green almost matched her eyes until he saw all that skin there, the contrast with her brown skin and pale, blue-green eyes.
“Fuck.” He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until he saw her face react.
She motioned towards him, her hand and fingers fascinatingly graceful.
“Take off your clothes,” she said.
He stared at her.
Then he gripped the collar of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. He’d barely dropped it on the floor before he was unhooking his belt, then the front of his pants.
He must have done it fast.
He felt her shock when he rejoined her on the couch, both of them naked now. She let out a startled cry when he pressed into her.
She gasped out loud again when he pressed his weight like he had before. He found himself arching into her harder when she gasped, mostly to feel her react.
The heat of her skin brought up emotion, an irrational wash of possessiveness.
The feeling overwhelmed him briefly, closing his eyes––worsening until he groaned, pressing his face into hers. He kissed her neck, coiling an arm around her waist and groaned again.
He wanted to talk to her, like he’d said before.
He had a million fucking questions, too many questions, starting with that extra goddamned sink upstairs, and why she needed such a big fucking bathtub… and whether she cared that he didn’t have extra parts on his cock like a seer… and when she’d had sex last, and with whom.
He wanted to know if she’d fucked anyone while he’d been stuck in New York.
Thinking about those last few things, in particular, and about Malek being here, watching her, probably knowing exactly what she was, he groaned again, leaning his forehead on her bare shoulder.
That time, it wasn’t all about sex.
“Bite me,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear.
He groaned louder, even as he shook his head. “No.”
Her fingers wrapped around his arms. He felt her frustration intensify… he fucking felt it, almost like he had bit her, like he was reading her emotions through her blood.
Feeling that was worse than her saying it.
It was worse than her asking him for it.
He kissed her throat, groaning as he pressed his lips and fangs against her, then sucked on her, using his tongue and fighting not to nip at her with his teeth. His mind fought to wrap around what he was doing, how easily he’d fallen into this, how little it took to give himself permission to do it… how badly he wanted to order her around, ask her questions, claim her in some way he couldn’t even think about rationally.
“You expected me to leave,” he said.
Paranoia hit him, even as he said it.
“Were you hoping I’d leave?” he said.
She smacked his chest, in a way that might have hurt, if he were human.
His fingers tightened in her hair, even as he pulled himself half off her. She hit him again, and he grabbed her wrist, pinning her down, kissing her mouth.
“Have you fucked a vampire before?” he blurted, raising his head.
She shook her head, her face flushed. He realized part of it was his choice of words, not to mention what they implied.
“No.”
“What about a seer?” he growled. “Have you fucked a seer?”
“No.”
“A hybrid?”
She hesitated, and his jealousy worsened.
Her fingers slid into his hair, gripping him hard, forcing his eyes open. He hadn’t fully realized he’d closed them until he found himself looking down at her.
“Hey,” she said, soft. “Don’t be afraid, Nick. Don’t be afraid of me.”
“Why do you have two sinks?” he said. “In the bathroom?”
“I was married. We bought this house together.”
His jealousy grew debilitating as her words sunk in, closing his chest.
He looked away, feeling his jaw harden.
“Hey.” She gripped his hair tighter. Her voice grew lulling, soft. “Nick. Honey. Calm down. It’s okay. I promise you, this is okay––”
He shook his head. “You can’t promise me that.”
His hands were on her even as he said it, stroking her skin, feeling her react as he made his way down her body. One hand slid between her legs.
His fingers were inside her before he made a conscious decision, and she moaned in shock, arching up against him. He felt her again, felt her emotions hit out at him, strongly enough that he groaned, pressing his face against hers. His fingers stroked and caressed, exploring, and she writhed under him, gasping.
He felt her willing him to fuck her.
He felt her willing it, pulling on him with all her might.
She didn’t speak… he couldn’t hear her… but God, it felt so damned real, and the feeling was so disturbingly familiar he clenched his hand in her hair, making her gasp.
“Please,” she murmured. “Please… don’t walk away, Nick. Please.”
He clenched his jaw, raising his head.
He stared down at her, watching her look up at him. Her eyes grew unnaturally bright, and he felt every part of his self-control sliding away from him.
Her hand was on his chest, massaging and stroking muscle and skin, and he flashed to waking up to her, to her feeding him, stroking his face. He saw himself grab her hand, putting it on his cock while he fed, barely conscious while he fed and she stroked him…
He let out a deeper groan.
She was looking at him when he opened his eyes.
She caressed his face, his lips, his fangs, his jaw, pulling on him… willing him…
He spread her legs roughly.
She softened, gripping his neck as he positioned himself over her.
“You said you loved me.” Her voice was a whisper, softer than a murmur. Her lips brushed his ear. “You woke up and told me that. You didn’t know what you were saying. You weren’t even awake… but God, it fucking hurt, Nick. It hurt, because I knew you didn’t mean it. I knew you didn’t know what you were saying.”
He closed his eyes.
Hanging over her, he hesitated.
Bare, not a breath… not even a second…
A vampire’s hesitation, there and gone before a human heartbeat…
Then he arched up into her.
She cried out.
No… God… she yelled.
She fucking yelled.
He angled into her, his eyes closing as he went as deep as he could.
He felt shock on her, disbelief, heard her heart stop in her chest, her breath catch, her throat contract. They hung there like that, and then she was panting, clutching at him. Her arms wound around him, her legs, seemingly every part of her, and something about the way she held him caught in his chest and throat all over again, confusing him even as it turned him on.
He arched into her, hard, throwing his weight behind it.
She called out his name.
That shocked him, too.
Then it nearly made him bite her.
He felt her pulling on him, wanting more, wanting more, harder… more.
He tried to do what she wanted.
He kept his mouth off her, away from her flesh as he slowed down, but his chest hurt as he raised himself up. His fangs extended as he raised his head and chest. He didn’t feel any of the nervousness he normally got from humans when he got aggressive, much less when his fangs extended like that, turning him into an animal, a monster.
He didn’t feel her drawing back, or wanting him to ease up.
Her pulling on him blotted out any last element of his rationality, his ability to comprehend what was happening… or even if he might be hurting her.
She was still saying his name.
There was something so soft in that… so insanely fucking open and soft.
He gripped her hair, putting every ounce of his weight into each thrust, at least what he could, with how tightly she held him, especially with her legs.
He found an angle she liked.
He found an angle and friction she liked and she let out a drawn-out cry.
He found himself gasping, despite his lack of needing breath.
He realized some part of him was trying to talk to her, to communicate with her in some way, to force breath up out of himself, into speech, even as he worked that angle harder and slower, forcing her to slow with him. Some part of him wanted to yell at her again, maybe just to dominate her, again in some way he couldn’t fully articulate.
He got more precise, watching every muscle on her face as he experimented with it until he saw her eyes change to the point where he couldn’t think straight.
He fucked her there, hard, harder––
Then she was coming and he groaned, feeling her spasm around him, watching her head tilt back as her body bucked up against his, moving with him in a kind of animal rhythm that had him fighting not to bite her again, if only to feel how it was for her.
He slowed, waited, then grew more precise again.
She came a second time and he lost it…
Then he was climaxing, gripping her like she’d gripped him, his arms around her shoulders and waist, forcing the small of her back into a curve so he could go deeper, grinding up into her as she talked to him, telling him…
God, he could barely listen to her.
She told him how it felt, how fucking good it felt, how amazingly fucking good his cock felt…
She asked him to bite her.
She begged him to bite her, so she could feel him.
She told him how badly she wanted him to drink from her.
He groaned when she got to the last, even as he pulled out of her, making himself do it, if only to force himself to pause, to pull back.
He pulled out of her, but couldn’t bring himself to move away from her.
He lay with her instead, and fought to calm down.
He fought to think, to calm the fuck down.
He lay on her, groaning and fighting to calm down, still holding her too tightly, tightly enough that he should have been worried about hurting her for real.
When he could see again, she was kissing his throat, her tongue and lips caressing and pulling at his skin. She worked her way from his jaw down to the base of his neck, then her fingers were in his hair as she kissed his face, pushing him lightly with her hands to get him to move off her, to shift to his side.
He moved with her prompt, already feeling what she wanted, already half-gasping from deeper in his chest. She slid down his body, and then she had her mouth on him… and he gripped her hair in his hands, still fighting to calm the fuck down, even as she started kissing his cock, maddeningly slowly at first, with a sensuality that blanked out his mind.
After she’d been doing it a while, he stopped caring about calming down.
He stopped caring about any of it.
He had no idea how long she kept him there, like that.
He fell into that no-mind state in a near relief.
He couldn’t see anything past it.
He couldn’t make himself fucking care about anything past it.
When he came, it shocked him.
It hurt. It fucking hurt, and he groaned, half in pain. He’d been in such a liquid, pleasure-filled, completely mesmerized state… climaxing came as a shock, a pain
ful, twisted jolt of pleasure and pain that had him fucking her mouth, his fingers clenched.
She moved with him.
She moved with him and he groaned, watching her.
She stayed with him until he finished.
Then she was off him, and he yanked her up to him, pulling her under him to kiss her mouth, her throat, her breasts. His fingers slid back inside her, and he wanted to taste her, like she had him.
She heard him.
She fucking heard him that time… he was sure of it.
“Nick.” She kissed his face, his throat, kissing and biting his shoulder. “You can do what you want. You can do whatever you want.”
His eyes closed.
She murmured the words, gasping them, her eyes glassy, her hair matted to her neck with sweat. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.
“You can, Nick. I promise you, you can. I want you to… I want you to…”
“I’m not going to bite you,” he said.
He met her gaze, fighting to hold it when he saw the frustration rise there, the wince of pain when his words sank in.
He realized she was in pain.
That fucking seer’s pain…
God, he’d forgotten all about that.
It was what happened to seers.
It happened to them when they wanted to fuck. More than fuck… that had been explained to him, too. That pain happened to seers when they wanted to connect, when they wanted to get closer to someone, to merge with them in some way, sometimes even to possess whoever they were with––assuming that pain was aimed at a specific person, and not a frustration with isolation, a lack of sufficient affection, and disconnection more generally.
How the hell had he forgotten about that?
He didn’t realize he was groaning until she was caressing his jaw again, tracing his lips, the extended fangs behind those lips.
“Gaos,” she said. It came out as a soft groan, half a whisper. “Gods… why do I want you to drink from me so badly? Why, Nick?”
He forced her legs apart.
His mouth was on her.
He closed his eyes, losing himself there.
He didn’t do what he said he wouldn’t do… what he told her he wouldn’t do.
He didn’t bite her.
He had to be careful. He had to be really fucking careful. He managed it somehow, even through her frustration, even when she fought to buck up against him.
Eyes of Ice Page 20
