by Kate Serine
He shifted position again, rolling on top of me so he was between my legs, his hips pressing into me in urgent need. “Jesus, Trish,” he groaned before his mouth captured mine again, his tongue slipping between my teeth in an insistent caress.
My God, as kisses went, it was off the charts. I could’ve gone on kissing him for hours, days! Even without his hips grinding so maddeningly against mine, I was on the verge of coming just from the way he was making love to my mouth. And when he began pressing those fevered lips to my cheeks, my jaw, it was just as intoxicating.
When his hand finally slipped up under my T-shirt and caressed my skin, I thought I was going to come undone. I shuddered, a precursor to what was building deep inside, when his thumb passed over my nipple. I choked back a moan and arched my neck, granting him access to the curve of my throat, dying for him to explore every inch of me, place those hot kisses on my skin over and over again.
But Nicky’s hand instantly stilled. His lips hovered near my skin as he whispered, “What the hell?”
I swear my heart stopped for a full three seconds. “Nicky?”
He slowly drew back, his brows pinched together as he reached up and pulled the collar of my T-shirt away from my neck. “Did one of those vampires get a taste of you the other night?”
I began to tremble. “No.” I swallowed, but my mouth was so dry it didn’t do any good. “Why?”
He ran his thumb across my skin and gave me a look so full of pity and disappointment, it made my heart shrivel. “I think maybe you’d better tell me about that nightmare.”
My heart dropped, and when he started to draw away I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Not now.”
He frowned. “What—”
I grasped the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine. I’d waited for far too long to be in his arms to let this opportunity pass by. I was taking him. I didn’t give a shit what happened afterward, but for now he was mine. And I’d be damned if some fucking vampire was going to ruin it for me.
To my relief, Nicky responded to my harsh kiss with his own hot enthusiasm, and the marks on my neck were forgotten as his hands began to roam again. And when his hand slid down my belly and slipped under my waistband, I was shattering apart even before he reached the tight little bud of nerves that was screaming for his touch. Then his fingertip began to move in a slow, deliberate circle, and I was shattering apart all over again, my body curling up into his before arching back again.
“Oh, yeah,” he hissed in my ear, his fingertip unrelenting, winding me up again. “That’s it. Come again for me, Trish.”
I honestly didn’t think it was possible, but when his hand slid down farther, delving deeper into my wet heat, I was ready to go yet again. First one finger and then another slid inside me, slowly advancing and retreating.
Writhing against his hand, panting with need, I slid my palm down to where his erection had escaped the folds of his towel and took him in my hand, making him jerk and squeeze his eyes shut on a juicy curse. Impatient for more, I grabbed his towel with my other hand and tore it off, then gripped his bare ass. And, holy hell, what a fine ass it was.
“I need you inside me, Nicky,” I gasped. “Right. Now.”
His fingers plunged deeper as his mouth curled into a smug grin. “I thought I was already inside you,” he said, punctuating his words with another thrust.
I moaned, closing my eyes and rolling my hips against his hand. But then he suddenly withdrew. My eyes snapped open to see what was wrong, but before I could ask the question, he was yanking my pajama pants down and tossing them aside.
“Oh, God,” I gasped as he sat back on his heels and grasped my hips, jerking me toward him. In the next instant he was plunging deep, filling me, his powerful thrusts creating a blissful friction that sent me careening over the edge again within seconds. My release was so powerful, it made him groan and pitch forward to brace himself on his elbows.
“My God, it feels good inside you,” he murmured.
I tried to respond, but all that came out was a gasp as he shifted ever so slightly, hitting a spot that set off an explosion of light in my head. He chuckled at the choked scream that came next, obviously enjoying the way his body was affecting mine. His smug pleasure set off something inside me, something savage and animalistic. Without thinking, I bit his shoulder. Hard. Hard enough to break the skin.
“Ow! Shit!” he shouted, flinching away. He went completely still and pulled back to gaze down at me, a startled expression on his face.
I stared at the tiny drop of blood on his skin, horrified at what I’d done. “Oh, God,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what—”
I didn’t get a chance to complete the sentence before Nicky’s mouth was on mine again, his kisses rough and harsh this time. And when he grabbed my hands and pinned them over my head and began to move his hips once more, the source of his startled expression was now clear. He wasn’t surprised that I’d bitten him; he was surprised that I liked it as rough as he did. And, honestly, that was as much of a surprise to me as it was to him. But I loved it. I loved his hard thrusts. I loved how his muscled body overpowered mine. And I loved it when his teeth nipped and teased my skin, drawing out the kind of pleasure I’d only dreamed of.
And when Nicky finally let go, his release was so powerful, his strangled scream echoed off the bedroom walls. And it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. Even reliving the sound in my head as he lay there, collapsed in exhaustion in my arms, my body cradling his, made me want to go at it all over again.
To my mortification, my muscles began to twitch, grasping onto his shaft, begging for more. His soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and when he lifted his head to peer down at me, he was grinning from ear to ear.
“You’re going to be the death of me, doll,” he drawled.
Now it was my turn to chuckle. “Yeah?”
He nodded and slowly withdrew. But before he could completely pull out, he thrust hard, making me gasp. And as he began to move again, he put his lips near my ear and whispered, “But what a way to go. . . .”
Chapter Thirteen
“It had to be Amanda.”
“Amanda?” he repeated from where he sat at the kitchen bar, sipping the coffee I’d made us. “That Ordinary dame Dracula killed so he could use her ghost to try to bump off Caliban?”
I scraped scrambled eggs onto two plates already loaded down with toast and fresh fruit, then nodded. “One and the same. Looks like he’s still using her to do his dirty work.”
“So, do you think she was an early attempt to turn an Ordinary that went wrong?” Nicky asked. “Or do you think he intended to kill her all along?”
“I’m guessing the latter.” I set the plates in front of him and climbed up onto the bar stool beside him, trying to ignore the fact that I knew he was going commando under his jeans. “When Tale vamps come over, we spend a lot of time rehabilitating them, teaching them to control their hunger, feed responsibly, so they can lead a normal life among the Ordinaries and not get into trouble. Part of that program emphasizes the fact that Tale vamps aren’t able to turn anyone else so there’s no reason to kill anyone.”
“Is it true?” Nicky asked.
“As far as we know.”
He blinked at me and said around a mouthful of strawberries, “No one ever bothered to test the theory?”
I shrugged. “Who would you have us use as test subjects? Had the experiment gone wrong, it would’ve resulted in the death of a Tale. And if it had worked, we would’ve had more vamps to deal with and no deterrent to keep them from turning whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted.”
“And no one ever questioned this?”
I pressed my lips together for a moment. “As Al says, ‘You tell someone something often enough, they’ll start to believe it.’ But I think we honestly all believed it, too. I mean, it’s never happened.”
“Until now.”
“What do you mean?”
He poli
shed off the fruit and started in on the eggs. A moment later he finally answered, “These vamps I’ve been chasing—there’s something strange about them. You know that. They don’t have a normal Tale signature. I think he’s turning Ordinaries.”
“We have no proof of that,” I reminded him. “And if it has happened, the FMA will handle it. That’s why we have rehabilitation programs in the first place.”
“You know, the FMA has a bad habit of trying to regulate every aspect of our lives,” Nicky mused. “Now that we’re here, we’re supposed to be able to write our own stories, find our own voices. Maybe they should be a little more hands-off and let us all deal with things ourselves.”
“Careful,” I retorted, jabbing my food with my fork, “you’re starting to sound a lot like Sebille Fenwick and her fanatical pals.” My hands stilled the moment I said it, not needing to turn around to know how much my words had cut him—I felt it in the air. But he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until the dishes were cleared away and all evidence of breakfast disposed of that Nicky spoke again.
“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, running his hand through his hair. He leaned a hip against the counter and regarded me with a frown. “You know, in the bedroom.”
I froze, my stomach plummeting. “What?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I shouldn’t have let things go that far.”
I let out a shaky, nervous little laugh and waved away his comment, trying to act nonchalant, especially in light of my misstep a moment before. “Don’t worry about it.”
Seriously. Please don’t worry about it. . . .
“No, I owe you an apology,” he went on, shaking his head a little. “You were vulnerable and I took advantage of that.”
“No, no, Nicky,” I said quickly. “Really, I—”
“Hell, I’m just sorry, Trish,” he said on a sigh. “It was an asshole thing to do. Won’t happen again.”
My shoulders sagged, wondering if we’d be having a different conversation about what had taken place if I hadn’t just compared him to his wife’s murderer. “Right.”
He shook his head again as if he was completely disgusted with his behavior. “I just . . . I think I’ve been getting in your head for so long, I feel like I know you.”
“I know the feeling,” I muttered.
“The thing is,” he continued, “I’ve been coming on to you since that night in your apartment, and I had no right. Not when I’m getting the hell outta town as soon as this shit is over. It’s not fair to you. I wasn’t good enough for you the day I met you, Trish—and I’m sure as hell not good enough for you now.”
I shook my head, confused. “On the day you met me?”
He nodded. “That day we came over. I saw you lying there in that field and there was something . . . I don’t know. I felt a connection when you looked at me, doll. It was like nothin’ I’d ever felt before or since. Hell, you probably don’t even remember.”
Was he kidding?
“I remember,” I breathed.
His brows lifted and a smile teased at the corners of his mouth, but he quickly shoved it away, resuming his scowl. “Yeah, well, I wanted you so bad at that moment, wanted to keep feelin’ that way, I didn’t even think before I asked you to come with me. I just . . . I just wanted to hang on to that. But when you refused so damned politely, I realized you deserved a helluva lot more than some two-bit thief could offer. You still do. ’Cause when you get down to it, Trish, I’m still the same guy I was that day.”
“Good,” I said, my heart hammering at his confession.
His brows flinched together. “What?”
I closed the distance between us in a few quick steps and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him to me and pressing a hard, hungry kiss to his mouth. When he abruptly broke the kiss and looked down at me, he was panting, his pupils dilated with desire and wide with disbelief at the same time.
“Trish,” he stammered, “I—”
“Shut up, Nicky,” I interrupted. “And kiss me again.”
He didn’t need any urging. And soon we were easing down onto the kitchen floor. I remember that the terra-cotta tile was cold against my back, but then all other thoughts ceased except for the feel of Nicky’s hands skimming across my skin, the warmth of his body as it pressed against mine, the pleasure he brought me as we made love there on the kitchen floor. As rough as the sex had been earlier, I was surprised at how gentle he now was, how tender and loving was each caress.
At some point we ended up back in the bedroom and when we finally collapsed into each other’s arms, I still found myself wondering if I was trapped in some wonderful, blissful dream and if any moment I would wake up and realize that I was still alone, cold and lonely, in my own little bed in my apartment.
Nicky pressed a kiss to my shoulder and then peered down at me, his brow furrowed. I reached up and cupped his cheek, smoothing my thumb across his skin.
“Hey there,” he said. “Welcome back.”
“Sorry?”
“You drifted away from me there for a minute,” he explained. “Where’d you go?”
I sighed. “Got lost in my thoughts, I guess.” I ran my fingertips along the tattoo at his shoulder, then, suddenly seeing the picture in the design, I blinked at him in dismay. “This is a spider.”
He nodded. “Took a helluva long time to get the damn thing to stay. My Tale body kept trying to heal it before the guy could finish.”
“So, why a spider?” I asked. “You’re not taking the nickname the Agency has given you that seriously, are you?”
Nicky grinned. “They didn’t give me that nickname. That’s what I told them to call me.”
I shook my head, confused. “Sorry—what?”
“When I figured out that they were on to me, I decided to leave them a little calling card and signed it The Spider.”
“But why?”
“I guess I’ve thought of myself that way for a while now,” he sighed, lying back against his pillow with his arm behind his head. “I mean, I frightened Miss Muffet away on my first day in the Here and Now, didn’t I?”
My heart hopped up into my throat, making it hard for me to get my voice past it to ask, “So the tattoo, it was . . .”
“It was a reminder,” Nicky finished. “A reminder of everything I wanted and didn’t deserve.”
“Oh, Nicky,” I breathed. “You don’t understand. I didn’t say no to you that day because I thought I was too good for you or because I was afraid of you. I—”
The doorbell suddenly sounded, cutting me off.
“Who the hell got past my gates?” Nicky mumbled. He pressed a kiss to my lips, then threw back the covers. “Stay here, doll. I’m going to go see who it is.”
I grinned as he strolled, naked, toward the bedroom door. “You might want some pants, lover.”
He gave me a wink. “Don’t think the Bible thumpers want to get a good look at this?” he asked, sweeping his arm down his torso.
I giggled and lobbed one of the pillows at him. “Put some clothes on and see who’s at the door. Then you’d better get that fine ass back in here. I’m not done with you yet.”
His brows shot up as the doorbell rang again. “Well, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
I was still grinning when I heard the thunderous pounding on the front door. “Damn,” I muttered. “Insistent little bastards.”
I heard Nicky open the front door and then male voices. I sat up, listening intently, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. Then there was a loud crash and a chorus of shouts.
“What the hell?” I muttered, throwing off the covers and grabbing a shirt and pair of pajama pants from my suitcase. I raced down the stairs, not giving a shit what might be waiting for me. My only concern was for Nicky’s safety.
When I reached the bottom of the steps, I slid to a halt, quickly assessing the situation. Four FMA agents were laid out on the ground, two of them apparently unconscious. Another three were
pinning Nicky against the wall, while another tried to put handcuffs on him.
My God—they’d sent eight agents? What the fuck?
I raced forward, grabbing one of them by the scruff of the collar and jerking him away. “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.
The guy I’d grabbed pivoted and took a swing at me, but I ducked his arm and came up swiftly, pinching each side of his trachea with my fingers, cutting off his air just enough to quiet him down. “Somebody explain this shit right fucking now!”
The guy who’d been putting handcuffs on Nicky took him roughly by the upper arm and turned to face me.
“McCain?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back, his tone condemning. “Married to the job, huh?”
“Don’t worry about it, Trish,” Nicky said around a split lip that was already swelling. “I’ve gotten out of worse.”
“Worse?” I repeated. “What the hell is happening here? Why are you guys taking him in?”
“Apparently, he roughed up one of the guys from the Agency,” McCain explained as the other agents helped their comrades who were coming around and trying to get to their feet.
“What?” I shrieked. “That’s bullshit! Nicky was protecting me. That asshole Spalding and his boys took out Halloran’s girlfriend and her bodyguards and then got rough with me when I showed up.”
McCain shrugged. “Sorry, Trish, that’s not the story they told Al. He ordered us to bring Nicky in.”
I blinked at him in disbelief, my chest constricting with that particular brand of pain that went along with betrayal. “Al did this?”
McCain nodded. “You’ll have to take it up with him. In the meantime, I gotta take in your—what?—boyfriend?”
When I pressed my lips together in an angry line, McCain shoved Nicky toward the open door.
“Wait!” I snapped. “You could at least let him put on some shoes and a shirt, you jackass! It’s February, for God’s sake.”
McCain pegged me with an irritated glare, but said, “Fine. You have two minutes to get him something to put on.”
