Called by Blood

by Evie Byrne

  “And on the basis of her dream, you came here to find me?”

  He lifted one shoulder and smiled, as if the whole thing was a little embarrassing, but unavoidable. “It’s better than internet dating.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’ve had to resort to that.” Helena sniffed, imagining him striding around Manhattan with hordes of Sarah Jessica Parker types staggering after him in their expensive heels.

  “My family, our traditions, they mean a lot to me, Helena. I’m ready to settle down and I want to do it in the old way. It worked for my parents.”

  “They met by dream?”

  He nodded and leaned his head on the glass. “I think my mother dreamed right, Helena.”

  The longing in his voice stopped her breath. His perfect one. To think that such a thing might exist—a perfect mate. Two halves coming together to make a whole. Never lonely again.

  That was delusional thinking. A good relationship was all about hard work, compromise and mutual respect—not magic destiny crap. That’s why happy couples were as rare as hen’s teeth.

  She put the phone down and twisted her hands together, trying to think of something else to say when she had all of two brain cells firing. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “Two older brothers, Mikhail and Gregor.”

  Gregor. His name really was Faustin, and he really was from New York.

  He slid his palm down the glass and straightened up. “Do you have any siblings?”

  “No, I’m an only child.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “They’re…they’ve passed on. A year ago. This is their house, actually.” That’s it, tell him you have nobody.

  His brow creased in concern. “So you’re all alone? I’m so sorry.”

  The empathy in his voice brought tears to her eyes. The hormones were surging again, making her sappy. Yes, it was hard to be alone. She loved her friends, but they were not family. Family had to put up with you no matter what. She wanted them back. Before she started bawling outright, she changed the subject. “You’re Russian. Your background, I mean?”

  “Right. But I was born here.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I trade in foreign currency.”

  Whatever that meant, exactly. Helena never had enough money to spare for investment or trading and so paid little attention to the subject. She imagined him sitting at a big table with piles of exotic coins stacked in front of him, even though that was retarded.

  “Do you have a card?” she asked. Also retarded. But she wanted to see something solid, something that proved he had a life outside of hanging around her house.

  His lips twitched in amusement as he reached in his jeans pocket and brought out a slender wallet. “Do you want to see my driver’s license? My social security card?” He flashed these things at her, all legitimate looking. He showed her a couple of credit cards, a library card, a subway pass and a Borders gift card in there too, decorated with candy canes. Then he pulled out a business card and pressed it against the glass.

  “FFS?”

  “Faustin Financial Services. I also do some investment consulting.” He tucked the card in the door frame and left it there like a salesman. “What about you? What do you do?”

  “I’m a freelance radio producer. I do a lot of work for NPR.”

  “Really? I listen to NPR all the time.”

  A public radio fan? Then he must be her life mate. Well, unless maybe he was Garrison Keillor’s life mate.

  But he seemed interested, truly interested. “Tell me something you’ve produced that I might have heard.”

  “Uh…” Helena’s mind went marvelously blank. It was hard to remember anything when he looked her straight in the eye. A warm fluttering started between her legs. Oh, jeez. “Uh, last week they aired a story about the little kid who rode his bike across America…”

  “To commemorate his brother’s death? I heard that one.” He had the strangest look to him as he said that. Something like pride. “That was your idea?”

  She nodded, dry mouthed. “Look, this is a ridiculous way to talk. I should let you in, but I…”

  “No.” The sudden harshness of his voice made her take a step back from the glass. “Don’t let me in if you have any doubts in your mind, because once you invite me in, I’m going to make love to you. It is the first thing I will do. We will not have dinner or a glass of wine first. We will not chit chat or watch a movie. You let me in this door and I’m taking you. Understand that.”

  Scared of him once again and scared of her own reactions to him, Helena took another step back and hugged herself. “Why are you like this?”

  If looks could melt glass… “You were on the stoop with me. Answer yourself.”

  Helena paced back and forth in front of the sliding glass door, chanting her inner mantra, Dang, oh dang, oh dang.

  Since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him, she’d wanted him, and that was the truth of the matter. He didn’t hide his desire, he was clear in his intentions. That was the difference between them. He told the truth while she waffled and flirted and lied and called the cops when things got too intense. So who wasn’t playing fair?

  Let him in.

  He’d probably talk to her though the door all night, but she didn’t know if she could do it. She couldn’t think. Hell, she could barely stand. Either she had to take him up on his offer or go lock herself in the closet.

  She’d been thinking of him as caught on the deck, behind glass, but she was the one who was trapped. He had all the world behind him.

  I’m tired of being afraid.

  Faustin leaned against the door while he waited for her answer, head down, palms flat against the glass as if he was thinking about pushing the door off its tracks. “I need you,” he said, almost too low to be heard.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Frightened, she wrapped her arms around herself. That gentle pressure made her breasts ache and tingle. Her skin was oversensitive, stimulated by the soft knit of her sweater dress. She’d never been so aroused. Part of it was knowing a man wanted her that much. Another part was knowing that she’d have to risk her life to find out if her instincts were right. The instincts that told her to open the door.

  Trust yourself.

  He’s a public radio fan, for crap’s sake.

  Do it.

  In the end she decided that if she couldn’t trust her instincts, if she was going spend all her life being afraid anyway, then what business did she have being alive?

  She threw the door open wide and he strode in, caught her up in his arms and kissed her. He was freezing cold, but his kiss could melt Antarctica. He tasted like heaven. As good as she remembered.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, but let him take the lead. This time she’d be careful. She wouldn’t lose control and scare him away. Not this time. Not like with Jeff. Or Rob. Or David.

  Faustin drove her backward across the living room, until her heels hit the staircase and she fell to the stairs. He followed her down, claiming her mouth with a probing, insistent kiss.

  And then he just stopped. Stopped and stared at her. Helena groaned to herself. She recognized that look.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Nothing.”

  “You okay with this?”

  “Yes.”

  “You scared?”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “You’re not a virgin?”

  “What? Of course not.”

  “Thank God.” He blew out a breath. “So what’s the deal? You weren’t like this last night.”

  “I don’t know what happened last night. What am I doing wrong?”

  “You’re not doing anything wrong. You just seem unenthused.”

  “I’m enthused. Believe me. I can hardly restrain myself.”

  He rolled off her, coming to rest on his elbow beside her. “Yeah, and now you’re sarcastic. Helena, if you don’t like what I’m doing you have to tell me
.”

  “I’m not being sarcastic.” Tentatively, she reached out and brushed his hair from his eyes. “I swear, I want you so bad that I have to control myself.”

  He relaxed a little, to her relief, and began to slide his hand up her hip. He watched her reaction from under lowered eyelashes. “Why should you control yourself?”

  “Because it’s not…” She lost her train of thought when his hand reached her breast. “Because I get a little out of control sometimes. Because…there’s been complaints. About me.”

  “Complaints?”

  “I bite.”

  His eyes widened and he laughed. But not in a mean way. “Seriously?”

  “Bite, scratch, claw. I don’t even know what I’m doing, but if I stay mellow it doesn’t start. So don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

  His eyes took on a wicked sparkle. Pulling her on top of him so that she straddled his hips, he said, “What if I like being bitten, scratched and clawed?”

  “You’re just saying that.” Sure, some people were into pain, but most people honestly didn’t want to be mauled in bed. That was normal. Her former fiancé, Jeff, had a zero tolerance policy regarding her aggression. Bed wasn’t a battleground, he said, and a man liked to set the pace anyway. And before him Rob was so freaked out by the scratches she left on him one wild night that they broke up shortly afterward.

  Alex’s hands crept under the hem of her dress. The twinkle faded from his eyes as something more intense moved in. “I want you to do your worst. Believe me, I can take whatever you dish out. But I’ll pay you back in kind.” Putting his mouth next to her ear, as if they weren’t all alone, he whispered, “I’m going to fuck you senseless. That’s a promise.”

  Helena couldn’t repress a shiver of anticipation.

  “Now give me some tongue.”

  She bent over and brushed his lips with hers. Dry. Teasing. Coming in for another pass, she flicked her tongue across his lips. He smiled and she brought her mouth down over his. Their lips parted. He caught her head and sent his tongue sweeping through her mouth, challenging her. She met it, caught it, sucked it deep. At the same time, she eased herself backward until her clit met the hard ridge of his cock, and she started a slow grind.

  “That’s more like it,” he said with a grin as soon as she gave him back his tongue. He nibbled at her lower lip. She offered him her tongue and he caught the end between his teeth. Just before she panicked he released it in exchange for a long, lush kiss. If there was such a thing as oral literacy, Alex had it in spades.

  “Take off your dress.”

  She tugged it over her head, bringing her slip with it. That left her in her bra and thong. Her best black lace bra and matching thong that she’d put on that morning while fantasizing about him, truth be told. It wasn’t that she’d been planning this, it was just that thinking about him made her feel sexy. All day she’d been hyperaware of her underwear and high heels.

  He took in the new view with a slow, lazy, devastating smile. “Very nice,” he murmured. “Now get upstairs before I fuck you right here.”

  Feeling spectacularly naughty, Helena said, “What’s wrong with right here?”

  “I hate doing it on the stairs.”

  “You’re experienced?”

  “One person gets a tread jammed in their back, the other ruins their knees. Carpet burn, chipped teeth…” He trailed off, as if he’d forgotten he was talking, then sighed. “God I love your breasts.”

  Helena laughed. He said, “You have a three second head start. I’m taking you where I catch you. You better hope it’s not on the stairs.” She stared at him, not sure if he was joking or not. “Go!”

  She took off, scampering up the steps, her high-heeled boots slipped on the carpet. He caught her ankle right away, but she kicked free and cleared the landing. She was fast, but there wasn’t anywhere to run. He shoved her up against a wall. Shrieking, she ducked under his arm and made it through her bedroom door. He caught her around the waist and threw her on the bed. With a shrug he threw off his overcoat and stripped off his sweater. Under it he was bare, and so beautiful, smoothly muscled, his skin winter white and flawless, his nipples rose red. No tats, no scars, just a thin line of black hair bisecting his lean stomach.

  Hungry to touch him, she caught him by the waistband and yanked him to the bedside. Praying he was serious about the aggression thing, she ripped open the buttons on his fly. He wore no underwear. The head of his erection sprang out, flushed the same rosy red as his nipples. Oh lord, it’s so beautiful. Her breath went shallow with excitement as she peeled his jeans off his hips and took him in both hands.

  Faustin held very still, until she took her first taste, swiping her tongue along the frenulum. Then he cried out, as if surprised, and sank his hands into her hair. He tasted of salt and anise, of all things. She took him in her mouth, stroking his head with the flat of her tongue. Definitely anise. Strange. Delicious.

  That all too familiar desire to consume her partner came forward. The blind drive that made her bite and scratch like an animal. She clamped down on it, delicately dragging her teeth up his shaft. He let out a long, shuddering breath. Again she took him into her mouth, and this time she let herself sink her fingernails into the firm muscles of his ass. Just to see what he’d do.

  He fisted his hands in her hair. In her mouth he grew even harder, his pulse throbbing under her tongue. With a grunt he pried her off his gleaming cock and shoved her on her back. Ripped off her bra. Kissed her so hard she whimpered.

  She let go. She nipped at his lips, his chin, his ears. They rolled across the bed. She kicked and clawed, trying to stay on top. But he was god-awful strong, and when he brought that strength to bear, he pinned her on her back easily, holding her wrists in a bruising grip.

  “Give?” he growled.

  Oh yes, said part of her. But another part of her liked getting him all riled up and it said, “Never.”

  He watched her for a few seconds. She tried to hold his gaze, to look defiant. But his expression changed. It went from hard to meltingly soft. Like magic, all the fight drained out of her.

  “Alex?”

  He bent low to kiss her. “Give?” he murmured against her lips.

  “Give.” He let go of her wrists and began to make love to her.

  Alex loved that she’d used his name. He wanted to hear her say it over and over. He loved that she had so much fight in her. And real predatory instincts. He was ridiculously proud of her.

  While they’d wrestled, she’d tested her straight, dull teeth on his throat. He’d never let anyone drink from him in his life, but the thought of her doing it was wildly erotic.

  Gathering her close, he began to kiss her. He loved her body. Her long, strong thighs. Her white neck.

  He passed his hand down her belly and between her parted legs. Her thong was soaked. His first touch made her whole body jerk, the second made her sigh. While he nibbled her neck, he brought her to an easy orgasm by circling her clit with a light finger.

  Soon as she stilled, he pushed the thong aside and plunged two fingers into her hot, tight core. Gasping, she dug her boot heels into the mattress and lifted her hips high. His cock twitched. He wanted to be belly to belly, buried inside her, but even more than he wanted that, he wanted to learn what made her tick. He finger-fucked her slow, then fast. He scissored his fingers and thumbed her clit. All the while watching her closely, listening to her breaths speed up, changing up his technique until she began to gasp and whimper. By the end he knew how to play her, bringing her to the cliff’s edge, then pulling back, over and over.

  “Please,” she moaned, low and husky.

  “Please what?”

  “Stop…please…I need…” She twisted and writhed, clawing at the sheets. “Oh…oh…what are you doing?”

  “What do you want?”

  He thought she’d say, “Let me come,” but instead she said, “You. Inside.”

  “Then on your knees.” He said it before he kn
ew what he was saying, in a voice that wasn’t even his own. “Show me your ass.”

  His pulse surged as Helena hauled herself to her knees. Her arms and legs were shaking. Alex began to tremble too, but his voice was firm. He knew exactly what he wanted.

  “Drop your head to the mattress. Spread your knees. Wider.”

  Helena did as he said, clutched the sheet in her fists. Her cunt was swollen and red, and so wet even her thighs glistened. With a sharp twist he ripped the thong off her body and threw it aside. A long, visible shudder passed down her spine.

  He plunged into her. With a throaty cry, she came. Her cunt’s powerful contractions made his eyes roll back in his head. When she stilled, he withdrew and sank in again, deeper, savoring her heat, her tightness.

  “Up,” he rasped.

  She stood on her knees and he held her sleek, hot body tight against his chest. He curled his tongue around her ear, and teased the sensitive hollow behind her earlobe.

  “Helena.” He caressed her breasts and belly, he covered her nape with kisses. But these gentle gestures did not disguise the fact that he offered her no real mercy. “Open,” he whispered. “Let me in.”

  Helena shook her head from side to side. He pushed her head back down to the bed, and nudged her legs apart a little further. “Take me.”

  With a long sigh she let go. She opened up, and suddenly he was seated as deep as he could be. Very near coming with the pure excitement of it, he lifted her up again so he could wrap his arms around her and kiss her throat.

  “Is that…all…you’ve…got,” she gasped, shivering and shaking with little proto orgasms.

  He snorted in her ear, and she laughed. Her laughter vibrated through his body. He wanted to hold her this way forever.

  “Think you can handle more?” He licked his forefinger and tested her swollen clit.

  “Ah!” She was so stretched, so sensitive, that the lightest touch sufficed. For her.

  Not for him. He took hold of her hips and gave her a long, twisting thrust. She dropped on her hands with a guttural cry. Something in that cry sent him over the edge. Forgetting everything but his need to lose himself in her, he plunged into her again and again. Helena bucked against him, yowling like a cat in heat, her every move making him crazier.