by Michele Hauf
Undone, this woman literally unfurled beneath him, changing from a controlled, bladed and vengeance-seeking hunter into a soft and supple vixen receptive to pleasure.
Beautiful danger, she.
He lifted his head from her breast and she tilted the goblet to his mouth. The wine was not sweeter than she, but it was just tart enough to ward off the growing desire for something else he wanted to drink from her. Yet the blood hunger pangs poked at his nerve endings, unwilling to let him forget the one thing necessary to his survival.
And when she stroked his fang—he never should have told her how that action aroused him—he had to grip the sheets tightly not to lunge to her neck and sink them into sublime heaven.
“You torture me, Lark,” he said on a tight moan.
“Don’t say that. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
He took her fingers from his mouth and kissed them. “It is a torture I could endure ever after. Lost in you, falling deep into your skin, your breasts, your mouth.” He glided his fingers down between her legs. “Your wetness.”
Setting the goblet aside on the nightstand, he moved up to kiss her mouth, and she pulled him in for a greedy devouring, wrapping her legs about his hips and crushing her breasts to his bare chest.
“Give me your madness,” she whispered. Her eyes sought his. “Take me beyond the strange darkness that haunts you and show me how you want me. Kiss me. Bruise me. Kill me with your need.”
Her words frenzied his want, and Domingos followed her commands, kissing down her jaw—avoiding her neck—and moving to her breasts, where he suckled roughly and brought up the color of a bruise to her skin. Pretty, his mark. And there, below the gorgeous mound of bosom, he licked along her ribs, snaking his fangs over skin, teasing at making a cut, but knowing he must not.
He could, but he mustn’t.
You can. We need her.
Lark’s body responded to the tease, nudging against his mouth, begging for a roughness he was willing to give. Sucking hard at her skin, he tasted the salt and sweet of her, and when he pulled away, he admired the love mark coloring her pale flesh.
Gliding a hand down between her legs, he pushed one leg aside and pinned it down with a knee. With his other hand, he gripped her wrist and pressed it high against the headboard.
Lark sucked in a gasp, her lips parted as her gaze locked to his. Pleading? Yes, she was his now, and he could do as he wished, and while she squirmed, she didn’t utilize anywhere near the strength he knew she possessed.
Hooking a hand up under her knee, he drew up her leg and she pressed the heel of her foot against his shoulder, her toes curled against the skin that wasn’t damaged. Domingos bent to worship her with his tongue. No roughness here, only the soft yet insistent lashes that he knew would bring her to the edge. She clutched his hair, which he liked because he could gauge her needs with each tug or push against his head. Yes, more, like that. Or maybe, no, not so hard. Or even, linger, do that longer.
“Domingos.” She thrust back her head, releasing her grasp on him and stretching her arms out across the pillows. “Find me, find my core and burn it. Mark me.”
Mercy, he wanted to do just that. Mark her with his fangs.
Not yet.
Soon.
Keeping his tongue on her clit, he slid his fingers inside her, moaning at the heat of her, the slippery entrance and clutching muscles that greedily begged for all that he could give. Unrestrained gasps, short cries of “Yes!” assured him she liked it all. And when her hips bucked and her voice let loose loudly, he did not stop until she pushed away his head and rolled to her side, drawing up her legs to her stomach briefly, then rolling again to her back and letting out a laughing sigh.
He loved that orgasmic laughter.
“Fuck, that was good,” she said breathlessly. “You are a master.”
He licked a fang and offered a wink. “I could listen to you come all day. Much better than the noises in my head.”
“You’re okay?” She pushed up onto her elbows, sweat pearling on her breasts and belly, and lush hair spilling into her lashes.
“Yes.” He lied only a little. The insistent nudge to bite her tingled at the roots of his fangs, but the voices only whispered for him to take her and did not yowl like a skinned cat. One small, yet odd, blessing. He could manage for now. Stroking aside the hair from her lashes, he asked, “Again?”
“Mmm...” She reached for the goblet and finished the last of the fragrant wine. “It’s my turn to make you come, lover. But first more wine.”
He claimed the bottle and instead of pouring another goblet, offered her the bottle, which she took and tilted back to those lush red lips. Quickly sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she handed him the bottle, which he indulged, while she unzipped him and hastily drew out his cock.
Domingos groaned at the contact of her hot fingers to his shaft. Wine dribbled down his chest. Lark bent to lick it away, teasing her tongue to his nipples, all while squeezing his rod and drawing him closer, onto the bed again.
He tilted up her head and tapped her mouth. She lashed his fingers with her tongue and she drew them into her mouth as she would his cock. The intimacy of their hold, her hand on his cock and his fingers in her mouth, floored him. A man should be thankful for such trust, and he was.
Her pretty little moans composed a melody, and in that moment, Domingos decided he needed more music in his life. He’d denied himself that precious song too long. Be it a woman’s voice, or perhaps the mournful bellow of a cello, he would seek it more often from here on out. Be damned that he was a vampire. He would not taint the music any more than the madness could kill him.
The fingers about his cock tickled across the head of him, a delicious touch that flashed sensation from his shaft and throughout his body. So sensitive there, he felt each stroke as it tightened his muscles, then released them in anticipatory awakening. Every nerve alight with brightness that set him to an ultra-aware state.
“Suck me,” he said, daring his tousled sex kitten. He’d learned she favored a good challenge.
Eyebrow arching, and mouth kissing his wet fingers, she gave him that look he’d seen the first night they’d stood defiantly facing each other in the alleyway—bring it.
Lark bowed to his erection and enveloped him in her hot mouth. On all fours, and kneeling at his side, she wiggled her gorgeous derriere and he smoothed a palm over the soft curve of it. He cried out at the intense pull at his root and almost came were it not for her tight grasp just under the head of his cock. Her tongue stroked him up and down, alternating with suckles and squeezes that put his mind in another universe, one that could never house screaming cats or screeching violins or any other dark diversion that threatened to destroy him.
Lark renewed and saved him. She gave him the desire to continue, to move beyond...
To be better?
Only if you stop the killing.
Pushing the dread thought away in favor of ecstasy, Domingos wove his fingers into her dark veil of hair that spilled across his stomach and, when he could no longer hold back, released it all. The anger, the pain, the fear and the torture. He slammed his hands to the sheets beside him and shouted for the freedom he had gained and would forever have.
And then the phoenix laughed and the cacophony raged anew inside his brain.
* * *
Morning brightened the room, and Lark rushed to pull the curtains shut before the sunbeam could breech the bed and her lover’s bare skin. But as she turned away from the heavy curtains, she felt Domingos’s hands slide up her waist and cup her breasts. His mouth landed on her shoulder, whispering soft kisses along her skin. And he turned her abruptly away from him, her palms catching the high wood dresser that she knew was empty, for he owned very little clothing, save a few things in his closet.
Facing awa
y from him, she cooed as he tilted her hips back and toward his hard cock and pressed his steely length between her buttocks. With one hand at her breast, squeezing, kneading, hurting so sweetly, the other guided his hardness inside her pussy. Slow, so slowly, achingly teasing, until she insisted, “Harder.”
Taking her demand to heart, Domingos slammed into her repeatedly. Gripping her hair, he pulled none too gently, holding her pinned against the dresser to suit his needs.
She loved the possession, the utter surrender to a man’s needs. Arching her back and thrusting her hips up higher, she ensured that he could hilt himself completely. He muttered things like “need you,” “want you,” “fuck you,” “so hot” and “blood.”
She couldn’t ignore that last hissed word—blood—nor did she expect the intrusion of his fangs at the side of her neck.
Chapter 13
It hurt. Twin fangs pierced her skin and sank in deeply. Lark’s blood oozed out from her vein. Domingos’s mouth began to suck as he withdrew his fangs. She shoved at him as best she could, but he’d come at her from behind, and his cock was still embedded deep within her.
She wanted him to stop. This was not the wrong she had asked for.
Or maybe it was.
Fingers clinging to the edge of the dresser, she tilted back her head and shouted, “No!”
He clutched her tighter, his hands greedy at her breasts, his cock now slipping from her and his hips jamming hers against the furniture.
“You said you were mine,” he growled against the puncture wounds.
“Not like...”
A piercing shock of sweetness permeated the stunning intrusion and Lark gasped, finding the orgasm that had been imminent when he’d been inside her only with his cock had not subsided. It raged at her need to push him away, while at the same time, protested the abrupt disconnect, begging for it to continue. It was because of his sucking at her neck, drawing out her life, sneakily mining the roots of her pleasure.
It hurt and she wanted it to stop.
And it felt like nothing she had ever known before—and she wanted it to never end.
“Fuck yes.” Lark reached back and grasped for his head, pulling him down into her, inviting his feast upon her, allowing it, surrendering to what was impossible to fight. “Yes, Domingos.”
Spreading her legs and supporting herself against the dresser with both palms, she fed the enemy what he needed, giving him strength and depleting hers. And it was all good because she had wanted this wrong, even though she wasn’t sure what all that entailed. And now she had it completely.
Don’t regret, her conscience whispered.
I don’t think I will, she silently answered, as Domingos’s mouth slipped away from her neck and he sank to his knees on the floor behind her, his hand trailing down the back of her leg until he turned away to crouch forward, facing the bed.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, covering his face and bowing into his hands.
A drop of her blood spattered the floor near her toe. Lark breathed in. She felt woozy, as if no longer in her body, and the orgasm was fluttering away. Panting, her muscles stretched, her core worn to a luxurious exhaustion. At her neck, her skin burned and she felt her blood seep from the wounds. It spilled down her collarbone, dripping onto the floor again.
But she wouldn’t change what had just happened. Not at this moment. Later, when her head was clear and she stood outfitted in Order gear and wielding a stake, her mind-set might pull a one-eighty.
Until then?
Raking her fingers through her lover’s hair, she pulled his head back and against her stomach and held him there, feeling minute shudders rack his body and wondering if he was sobbing.
“You needed blood,” she said, stroking his hair, weaving in her fingers and clinging. “I’m glad it was mine and not someone else’s.”
He looked up, eyes frantically searching hers.
“I mean it,” she said. “I really do. But I don’t want to transform to a vampire.”
“You won’t,” he rushed out. “I licked the wound. It should heal before nightfall. Lark, you’re too good to me. And your blood—so sweet and rich. I needed it. I couldn’t stop myself.”
She squatted, bringing herself eye level to him. Teasing her finger along his neck, she stroked it over his shoulder to where the burned skin just peeked up from the back. Her damaged vampire lover. How strange was that to think? Yet she needed him as much as he needed her, because walking through this wrong had become so right to her.
“If the Order learns you’ve bitten me, I’m dead.”
“But you won’t change,” he protested. “I made sure of it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve been tainted by the enemy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” She kissed him fiercely, bruising her mouth against his. He tasted like blood, but it didn’t offend her. “I could have kicked you across the room to stop you. You know that.”
He dashed his tongue out to taste the lingering pressure from her kiss. “I do know that. We’re a match to each other in the physical fight.”
“You just keep believing that, vampire.” She gave him a small smile. “I wanted you inside me like that. When your cock is inside me...” She traced a finger down his semihard staff. “It meshes us together intimately and without words. It’s a beautiful thing. And when your teeth were inside me...” She touched his mouth, and he allowed her to tap a fang. “It gave you the power I want you to know again. You owned me in those moments, Domingos. And I like how that made me feel. Controlled, yet never dominated. Did you feel that power?”
He nodded. Grabbing her across the back, he crushed her against him, nuzzling his face against her neck. “Don’t ever want to lose you. You put the music back in my life.”
If only that were true. Beyond the pain of being bitten, Lark could hope for Domingos to someday have back the piece of his missing soul.
“Will you ever play the cello again? I’d like to hear you.”
He shook his head against her body.
“Maybe someday,” she whispered. “No need to rush it. We’ve enough to deal with as it is. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about the Order now.”
“What is there to do? They’ll never know. The wounds will heal to smooth skin. Not like my back.”
“Doesn’t matter if they scar. What I wonder now is, do I even need the Order of the Stake anymore?”
She stood and strode to the window, almost parting the curtains to look outside, but at the last moment, remembered and turned to admire her long, lean vampire wandering across the room to claim the half-empty wine bottle.
“You joined the Order for vengeance, yes?” he asked.
“Yes.” She slid a knee onto the bed and sat, one foot toeing the floor.
When he offered her the bottle, she tilted back a swallow, then wished for something more substantial, like eggs and bacon. He might have just quenched his hunger, but hers yet needed abating.
Stroking the bite wound carefully, she winced at the violence to her skin. She’d let him do it. No regrets.
“I vowed to stake one vampire for every day they made my husband suffer.”
“And how many days was that?”
“Three hundred and sixty-six. A year and a day.”
She spoke with surprising lack of emotion. Since she’d said goodbye to Todd while lying prostrate in the chapel, it was as if she could now stand beside all that had happened in her life over the past two years and look at it more analytically. With reason and acceptance.
And realizing that straightened her shoulders and made her smile. Not because she was glad to have put it behind her—what she’d shared with Todd would always be a part of her—but because she’d stepped into the ineffable idea of freedom she desi
red. Though the idea was not yet completely formed in her mind, she felt she was drawing nearer to it all the time.
“You would have been number seventy-two,” she commented.
Standing before her, Domingos lifted her chin and pressed the wine bottle to her lips. She drank from it as he fed her.
“I could still become a number to you,” he suggested.
“No. Never.”
“So, find a new seventy-two and move on.”
“It’s not that easy anymore. I...” Falling back across the rumpled sheets and flinging her arms high and above her head, she closed her eyes. “Do I need it anymore? Really? Like you said, I’m punishing vampires who weren’t even involved in his torture. When will it be enough? Can it ever be enough?”
“It’s enough when you decide that it is.”
“Right. And maybe enough is now. No, I know enough is now. It has to be.”
Curling to her side, she patted the bed and he snuggled up beside her, knees to knees, wrists to wrists, face-to-face. The man was beautiful in his darkness. He touched the bite wound, and the stroke of his finger sent tiny tingles of orgasmic bliss shivering through her system.
“Maybe,” she said on a gasp, “we were supposed to get entangled in this wrong to teach me a lesson.”
“If that’s the way you want to look at it.”
“How do you look at it?”
He touched the ends of her hair, twisting them between his fingers. “I see a gorgeous woman who tried to kill me but decided sex was more fun, and despite my manic moods—and having just bitten her—she still wishes to remain in my life. I don’t know why you’ve chosen to do so, but I’m glad you have.”
