by I. T. Lucas
She was swaying on her feet rather than dancing, but Victor was having a blast, and she hated to cut his fun short. The guy hadn’t been this energetic in a long time, and she had never seen him enjoying himself as much anywhere other than her bed.
“Which home?” Turner asked.
“The one that is walking distance away. Why?”
“I vote for going back to the city instead of spending another night here.”
“I don’t have the energy to pack. Let's go to sleep and drive back tomorrow.”
Mindful of the immortals around them, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I have no intention of sleeping. And other activities are problematic with Julian in the next room over.”
That was true, but Bridget was afraid she’d fall asleep on the way. Even without traffic, it was a forty-five-minute or so drive.
“That’s not a good plan unless you’re into necrophilia. I’ll fall asleep on the way, and you’ll have to carry me home.”
His face fell. “I’m sorry. I should have realized that you would be tired. You’ve been awake for a long time.”
“I’m tired, but not that tired. I know where we can go.” She took his hand and started walking.
“Where?”
“My future clinic, or rather Julian’s. I keep forgetting that I have a different job now. No one is working there yet, but it’s fully equipped, beds and all.”
Turner rubbed his hand over his jaw that was now sporting light blond stubble. “I’ve never done it on a hospital bed. Have you?”
“No, unless you count the exam table…”
Crap, she shouldn’t have mentioned it. The last thing Victor wanted to hear was that she’d had sex with Andrew on the examination table in her clinic.
“Hmm, I guess we will need to check out the table in the new place as well as the beds.”
Damn competitive streak. It had taken Victor no time at all to figure out that the only one she could’ve been with that way was Andrew, and he felt as if he had to outdo the guy.
Not that she minded, but the question was whether she could summon the energy for multiple sessions. Normally not a problem, but she was truly exhausted.
“Tonight, or rather this morning, I’m afraid you’ll have to do all the work, lover boy.”
“No problem at all.”
Instead of disappointed, he sounded enthusiastic.
Interesting.
“The door should be open.” Bridget tried the handle.
No one locked doors in the village. At first, she’d been a little concerned about the Chinese crews working and living on the other side of the fence, but Kian had assuaged her concerns. There were two tall chain-link walls, both covered with green tarps, with twenty feet of dead space separating them. Both were peppered with surveillance cameras, and both were wired, so any touch triggered an alarm in the monitoring room.
Infiltration from the other side was highly unlikely. Kian took security very seriously, and doubly so when Annani was visiting.
“Should I turn on the light?” Victor asked.
“No. Someone might come to investigate. Can you see at all?” The blinds were open, and the moon was casting enough light for her, but it might’ve not been enough for Victor’s human eyes.
“I can see the furniture. That’s good enough.”
“Splendid. Lock the door, will you?”
As Bridget opened the door to the first examination room, she heard the lock click into place.
The hard exam table wasn’t what she had in mind, though, and she continued to the next door, which led to a patient room.
That was more like it.
Turning around, she leaned against the side of the hospital bed. “Do you want to play doctor, Victor?”
“That would be an interesting reversal of roles. Are you in the mood for playing a patient?”
Was she?
It would certainly be a novelty. The only time she’d needed medical assistance was while giving birth to Julian, with Hildegard serving as her midwife.
Heck, why not. “What should I do, doctor?” She smirked.
“Remove your clothes and get on the bed, please.”
Hmm, authoritative Victor was sexy. Was she in the mood for playing the submissive to his dominant?
Given that he was full of energy and she was not, it seemed like a good plan.
“All of them?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the closed door. “All of them.”
“Yes, doctor.”
Removing her clothes under his intense gaze excited Bridget. There was nothing like Victor’s smoldering eyes to make her feel beautiful and desired.
“Now get on the bed and lie down on your back.”
“Yes, doctor.”
She was curious about what he was planning to do. If it were her, she would start with palpating the abdomen and continue from there, but Victor might have ideas that were less medical in nature.
With a stern expression, he leaned over the side of the bed and ran his hands down her sides, then up again, brushing against her breasts. “No broken ribs. Turn around, please.”
Stifling a smile, she did. Perhaps she should’ve given him a crash course in examination before starting. He was obviously clueless.
Nevertheless, she was turned on. His hands on her were enough to get her excited.
Running said hands down her back, he cupped her ass and squeezed. “Nothing wrong on this side either. Why are you here, Ms. Ward?”
“For you, doctor.”
Victor caressed her buttocks then squeezed again. “Are you here to seduce your doctor?”
“Yes.”
“That is very naughty of you, Ms. Ward.”
Ooh, he said naughty.
It was a trigger word for her. Naughtiness had consequences she was most excited about. The last time Victor had called her naughty was in Hawaii, during their playacting in the hotel.
Apparently, Victor needed to pretend to be someone else in order to loosen up.
It was one of those aha moments.
She’d just found the key to unlocking his suppressed playfulness.
Well, let the games begin!
“I know. Are you going to punish me?”
“What kind of punishment do you have in mind?” His voice sounded husky.
In response, she wiggled her butt.
He slapped one cheek playfully, then the other, and back to the first one. “Your ass is perfection.” He kneaded. “It’s firm and yet soft. And just the right shape and size.”
That was a matter of opinion. Some might have thought that it was too big, but Bridget liked it exactly the way it was. She also liked when Victor paid attention to it. Her backside was definitely an erogenous zone.
“I love it.” He delivered two quick smacks one on each side.
“You’ve mentioned that once or twice.”
“It is worthy of worship.” He leaned and softly kissed each cheek.
His lips were awfully close to where she wanted them, and Bridget couldn't help but arch up a little to let him know what she needed.
It was Victor’s turn to be in charge, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hint at what she wanted.
“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” He blew a hot breath on her moist folds. “Do you want my mouth here?” He blew another breath.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I want your mouth on me.”
He kissed her butt cheek. “Here?”
“No.” She smiled into the mattress.
He kissed the other cheek. “Here?”
“No.”
“You need to tell me where exactly you want me to kiss you.”
44
Turner
“Kiss the center of my desire,” Bridget breathed.
Turner smiled. This, like many other little things, hinted that his lady was a product of a different generation. It wasn’t that she was shy, Bridget was the
most assertive and confident woman he’d ever had the pleasure of being with, but she refused to use the vulgar language of today’s generation.
Victor appreciated that.
Other men might have found contemporary vernacular sexy, and he didn’t have a problem with that or look down on those who enjoyed it—to each his or her own—but personally, he preferred Bridget’s refinement.
Cupping her heart-shaped buttocks, he licked into her.
Bridget lifted up, giving him better access.
Impatient to be inside her, he launched a coordinated assault, using his fingers and his tongue, going hard and fast and bringing her to a quick orgasm.
For a change, he didn’t bother folding his clothes, letting them land in a heap on the floor. If he didn’t get inside Bridget in the next second, he was going to explode.
Climbing on the hospital bed, he grabbed her hips and lifted her bottom up.
She widened her stance, the exposure wrenching a strangled groan from his throat. In one powerful thrust, he seated himself all the way inside her.
Heaven. Home. He and Bridget were in perfect harmony.
Sucking in a breath, Turner stilled. If he started moving now, it would be over in moments.
She pushed back into him, greedy for every fraction of an inch, then swiveled her hips, grinding her beautiful ass into his groin.
He gripped her hips harder, holding her in place. “Patience, my love. Give me a moment if you don’t want it to be over in thirty seconds flat.”
With a gasp, she stopped immediately, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that it hadn’t been in response to his command.
Turner threw his head back and hissed out a breath.
Hell of a time and position to finally admit his feelings to the woman. But the thing was, he hadn’t internalized the shift that had been gradually happening, or rather hadn’t verbalized it even inside his own head.
Draping himself over Bridget, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to hers. “I have great timing, don’t I? I couldn’t have chosen a less romantic delivery if I tried.”
“Did you mean it?”
He nuzzled her cheek. “Yes. Subconsciously, in my heart, I knew I loved you for a while, but I was too set in my old ways to internalize it inside my head.”
Bridget pushed back against him until he had to pull out of her, and then turned around to lie on her back.
“Come here.” She opened her arms.
Turner practically fell upon her, crushing her with his body. But Bridget didn’t seem to mind, holding him to her in what felt like the unbreakable embrace of iron bands.
“I love you too. I knew it in my heart and my mind, but I was too chicken to admit it.” She sighed. “It was so stupid of me. I wasted precious time.”
He lifted his head and kissed her lips. “Nothing was wasted. Those are just words. What matters is that we are together.”
“Make love to me, Victor.”
He did. Twice.
There would have been a third time, but after her third orgasm of the night, Bridget succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.
Turner got dressed, and then did the same for the sleeping Bridget. It was like dressing up a mannequin. From her bra and panties to her dress and shoes, she didn’t crack an eyelid. The woman was out like a light.
As he carried her to their future house in the village, it occurred to him that he hadn’t felt such vigor in years. He’d made love to Bridget twice with barely any pause in between, and he’d been ready for the third moments after climaxing for the second time. The nap couldn’t have been responsible for that. And carrying Bridget felt effortless. She was a small woman, but he’d carried her on other occasions, and it hadn’t been as easy.
Lifting his leg, he opened the front door by depressing the handle with his foot, then closed it by giving it a slight kick. He passed Julian’s closed door and entered the master bedroom the same way he’d done with the front door.
Everything was easy, effortless.
Kian must have done something to him. The guy had been behaving suspiciously the entire time.
After undressing Bridget, Turner tucked her in bed, and then walked outside and sat on a lounge chair.
There was a puzzle he needed to solve.
Why had Kian chosen Turner as his drinking buddy when he should’ve been celebrating with his clan?
And his explanation for the martinis was bullshit. The other immortal males had been drinking whiskey straight from the bottle and not attempting to act gentlemanly at all.
Turner smoothed two fingers over one side of his neck and then the other. What if Kian had decided to induce him in secret?
That was the only explanation that made sense to him.
He shouldn’t have passed out from four girly cocktails.
Kian must’ve slipped something into the drinks. It was easier to do with a sweet-tasting cocktail than with straight up whiskey or vodka or even beer. Those were familiar tastes and any foreign substance, unless it was tasteless and odorless, would have been easily detected.
The guy must’ve waited until Turner passed out, carried him to his house, and bitten him there, away from prying eyes.
But why?
Bridget had said that if Turner wasn’t a Dormant, the venom could actually help him. Was Kian trying to test that theory?
But why in secret?
Turner smoothed his hand over his bald head. Perhaps Kian didn’t want people to know. But that didn’t make sense either. He had personally induced Roni. Turner was no less valuable than the hacker, probably more, and Kian was well aware of that.
Had he done it to spare Bridget anguish?
If she didn’t know Turner had been induced, she wouldn’t worry.
Except, that wasn’t like Kian. He was a good guy, but he wasn’t all that sensitive or empathetic.
Hell, what was he missing?
Kian had bitten him, Turner was almost sure of that. The only thing he couldn't figure out was the guy’s motive for doing so in secret.
The implications, however, were disastrous.
If Kian’s venom made Turner feel like a young man in his prime but had failed to induce his transition, it meant that he wasn’t a Dormant.
He was a plain old human.
45
Bridget
A gentle kiss woke Bridget up.
“It’s noon. We should get going,” Victor said.
“Noon? Oh, wow. That was a good sleep.” She stretched her arms over her head.
Bridget had woken up a few times during the morning hours, but since no one had demanded she get out of bed, she’d gone back to sleep. After all, it was Sunday, and everything was good in her world. Victor had finally admitted that he loved her and she’d admitted the same to him.
It was a new stage in their relationship. It was exciting, marvelous, and she’d been afraid to wake up and find out that it had been a dream, or that she’d imagined it.
“Yeah. Most everyone is gone already. Julian went home hours ago.”
With a sigh, Bridget flung the comforter off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I can be ready in ten minutes.”
“I’ll make you coffee.”
“Thanks.”
Was it her imagination, or did he seem a little off?
Bridget shook her head. Victor was just being Victor. Some silly romantic part of her had expected to wake up to a changed man that smiled and told her he loved her at least every five minutes.
But that wasn’t the guy she’d fallen for. She’d be lucky to hear those words coming out of Victor’s mouth once a day, if that. Probably once a week. Or once every anniversary—provided they were lucky and everything turned out okay.
Don’t be greedy.
All throughout her five-minute shower, Bridget kept reminding herself to be thankful for what she had and not to wish for more. Well, wishing for more was fine, but bemoaning what was lacking was not.
No one
was perfect, and no relationship was perfect either, not even those that seemed to be.
Only hopeless romantics believed in a perfect mashing of two people into one entity. She wouldn't have wanted that even if it were possible.
The way she thought of a healthy relationship was two complete and independent circles that overlapped only partially, creating a common wedge between them. Some couple’s wedge was wider than others, but a complete overlap was unhealthy because it meant that one circle swallowed the other.
When she got out of the bathroom, Victor was waiting for her with a steaming mug of coffee. “I packed my stuff and yours in the laundry bag, but I didn’t know what you wanted to wear, so I didn’t pack any of your clean things.”
“Thank you.”
Someone was in a hurry.
Bridget took a few sips of coffee before putting the mug down on the nightstand.
“Do you want something to eat?” Victor asked.
“No, it’s fine.” She picked the outfit she wanted to wear from the suitcase and handed Victor the towel before sitting on the bed. “Could you please put it in the laundry bag?” She pulled her panties on.
Unfortunately, they were not in a hotel, and there was no one to come clean after them. They’d brought the towels with them.
“Sure. Can I pack your toiletries too?”
“Yeah. I’m not going to bother with makeup.”
He leaned and kissed her lips lightly. “You don’t need any. You’re beautiful the way you are.”
“Thank you.” She beamed up at him.
When Victor said things like that, he meant them. It wasn’t flattery or empty words to make her feel good.
That was the flip side of what Victor perceived as his lack of charm. He didn’t have a romantic repertoire, and he didn’t give a lot of compliments, but whenever he did it was sincere.
They spent a few moments cleaning up, leaving the house in the same condition they’d found it. A couple of robotic floor vacuums were programmed to sweep the place once a week, but there was no way to automate dust cleaning from the other surfaces, like tables and chairs and counters, which meant that until they moved in permanently, everything had to be covered.
