by Jackie Ivie
More. She needed more. And she needed it now!
They rose somehow. Flew. Settled onto a structure that rocked at the force of their landing. All, without any sense of motion and little passing of time. Deandra didn’t care. Her fingernails raked his back, her body lunged up against his, trying for a closeness that couldn’t exist. Her shirt disappeared. She barely felt the material tear. Her leggings slid down, shoved there by a combination of one of her hands and one of his. The spandex material snagged on an ankle before she kicked them free. The buttons of his fly went next, sliding from their holes with the eagerness of her fingers, and then she had him. Hot and huge and heavy. In her hand.
His pants got shoved to his knees. Her panties were the next bit of collateral damage, yanked until the elastic gave up the effort and ripped. Hard hands grabbed for and held her hips. Centered for him. Splayed. Opened. His rod touched, the contact ratcheting the drumbeats in her ears into hard pulsations of sound. And they were faster as well. Louder. And then he lunged deep into her core, filling her. Completing her. Matching to her with a groan that echoed through the caverns of their joined mouths.
All prior experience shattered. Disappeared. Got overwritten with pure beauty. Deandra’s torso bowed as his curved, grasping and embracing for each thrust, somehow matching the beat that filled her mind, her ears, her heart. Grimm moved his kiss, sliding his lips to her chin. Along her jaw. He moved lower... to her neck. Using his tongue to lap at the pulse beat hammering against her skin. She felt a burn. A slicing sensation. A cut. And then there was nothing but spasms of bliss, and they radiated from where he lavished attention to her throat. Deandra saw red. Smelled musk. Felt heat. Sensed moistness. And with each bit of suction he applied, her body craved more.
More.
Grimm seemed to know, leaving off the laving of her throat as he pushed up, positioning himself perfectly. Like a sculpted god dropped to earth for her delectation and pleasure. Deandra wrapped her legs about him and lunged upward, meeting each thrust. Pulled away. Shoved against him again. Creating a symphony of rhythm and tone. Over and over. Again and again. His rod filling. Her body welcoming. Pressuring. Plowing. Pleasuring. Pulling out. Thrusting back in. Trilling along her cavern sides with heat and rigidity and tension. Each move was accompanied by little grunts. Harder. Faster. More intense. The combination sent her right over a waterfall of such wonder, she yanked her mouth free of his in order to give the euphoric sensation sound. She had wings and they’d been freed. Deandra arced her head backwards, her mouth open and wide as the cry tore her throat, keening the ecstatic throes of pleasure into the room.
And before she could catch breath, it started again. Each movement adding to the last. Her heart beat ramped into a drum roll, her breathing became pants. And everywhere was Grimm. Solid. Thick. Thrusting and grunting and questing. The canopy above them spun. Swiveled. Rocked crazily.
Grimm became a wild thing. Everything about him taut and defined. Thrilling to watch. Incredible to experience. Her legs tightened about him, staying connected through a series of thrusts that made the mattress rock beneath them. The bed frame creaked and shuddered. Rocked. And then she felt it again. Closer. Nearer...
Deandra sucked a breath and held it. Her heart was like a caged thing, beating unmercifully and powerfully against her ribs. Her eyes slammed shut. Tighter. Fireworks rocketed through the blackness. And then there was light. And weightlessness. Paradise opened for her. Welcomed her. Embraced her. The plethora of sensation taking her to a place she’d only dreamt existed. Amazing her.
Grimm slammed into her. Pulled out. Again. Ceaselessly. Increasingly. Then even that altered. His efforts stronger. His movements fiercer. Harder. Heavier. His body thrust into hers with a force that dented the mattress beneath them. Deanna slit her eyes open, watching. Grimm moved a hand, grabbing and holding her fitted exactly to him for a final shove upward, everything on him hard and taut. Rigid. The deepest, bone-wrenching groan emanated from him, coming in throes that matched every twitch his body made. Deandra held him to her, enjoying how his body pulsed against her with the cadence of his release. One with him. Inseparable. They were suspended in midair. Adrift atop time. Encapsulated in wonder. Just the two of them.
Deandra’s heart swelled with emotion, daring her to deny... something. The wonder. The awe. She couldn’t possibly feel anything. She wouldn’t. She didn’t. Her eyes blurred with unshed tears. It was insane. But it was still there. She vibrated with... something. Something mad. And impossibly beautiful. For a man she’d just met.
And bedded.
CHAPTER SIX
The riot of pleasure ebbed in spurts that matched the twitches of his body. He’d never felt anything like this. Not even when he’d lived. His limbs felt leaden. His muscles like mush. Shaky. Weak. Completely satiated. Grimm moved his head down, took in her dew-touched gaze, and smiled, making certain his lips stayed atop any uncommon feature.
He couldn’t tell her just yet. Despite how much he wanted to. He’d never been with a woman like her. Brazen, yet touched with innocence. Alive. Free. Open with her needs and desires and wants. So different, yet... so perfect. Perfection personified.
“Oh, Grimm. Man. That was. It was—I mean. I’ve never. Wow. I mean seriously... wow. I can’t describe it. It was...”
Breath touched his skin with every wonderful word. He had to blink rapidly at an emotion long gone and buried. He licked his lips and answered.
“Yeah. Me too.”
She giggled and Grimm flinched at how that felt. And then he reddened. As impossible as it sounded. He could feel the flush moving along his chest. Down to his... uh... where it was still buried in her sweetness. Flesh to flesh. Naked. He couldn’t even feel his pants. He had to glance away to get his voice to work.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You.”
He looked back. His brows rose. “Me?”
“Yes. You. Trying to get a word out of you is like—well. For lack of a better phrase, it’s like pulling teeth.”
“Oh.”
She giggled again. His belly tensed to absorb the feeling again. And then he dropped to her side, separating them and making the mattress sway. He finished with a roll onto his back to look up at the canopy that used to drape his mother’s bed. The one done in the Bradley family color scheme. Same as their livery. Their automobiles. All sorts of shades of red. And gold. He puffed out his lips. He’d snuck in and stolen it while they’d buried her. And nobody ever knew.
“You see?”
“What?” he asked.
“Your loquaciousness. Actually, I’m referring to your lack thereof.”
“What?”
“It’s a fancy word for being talkative.”
“I know. I’ve just never heard anyone use it.”
She giggled again. “Well, I’ve not used it before, either. But it seemed to fit. And you seem to be avoiding the question.”
“What was it again?”
“Your reticence. Like words cost too much, and you’re afraid to upset your bank balance or something.”
She had a great grasp of colorful language. It was entertaining, and slightly challenging to keep up with her. He worked at answering noncommittally, so he wouldn’t sound defensive.
“There’s... not many about to talk to.”
She lifted her head as if to check out the room, and then settled onto a raised elbow in order to look down at him. Grimm didn’t fight locking gazes with her. She was his mate. And he was one lucky fellow. She was beautiful. Candlelight imbued everything with warm soft light, shadowing some places. Enhancing others. Gazing into her eyes was mesmeric. He was willing prey. Baited. Snagged. Caught.
Forever.
She hadn’t used artificial means to darken or thicken or lengthen her lashes. No need. They were a darker shade than her hair. Her eyes were a light gray shade. Maybe tinted slightly with green. They complemented a peaches-and-cream complexion that contained the slightest dusting of freckles across
the bridge of her nose. She might be of Irish descent. He couldn’t tell and didn’t care. Gold streaks ran her brown hair as if she was about in the sun often. It was middle-back length. Locks of it trailed about her shoulders and arms like fringe from a silken cloak. He didn’t recollect pulling her pony-tail binding out. Or how. Or when.
“Why not?”
“Why not what?” he asked.
“Why don’t you have anybody to talk to? Don’t you have any friends?”
“No.”
“No childhood friends, either?”
That was so amusing, he chuckled slightly. Childhood friends? He’d had the protection of his mother until he turned thirteen. She wasn’t even in her grave before he’d been shunted out to the bunkhouse with the ranch hands. That gained him the bullying of just about everyone. He’d already been big for his age. That’s when he got strong. Tough. Resilient. Powerful. The bullying hadn’t lasted long.
“Well?”
“Not many about the ranch.”
“The ranch?”
“I worked the ranch. Cattle mostly. Horses.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a cattle baron.”
His lips twitched in amusement. He kept it to himself. He didn’t dare smile yet. Not until he retracted his fangs. That required concentration and effort and his body was too supremely sated to work at either. “I’m the poor relation. Black sheep. Remember?”
She looked about again. “This doesn’t look very poor to me.”
The smile broadened. He had to consciously keep his lips from showing his secret. Not yet. Not until they knew each other better. A lot better.
“I don’t like poverty.”
“Who does? That doesn’t change life much.”
“I did something about it.”
“How?”
“I’ve... had a lot of time.”
“Time? I have time now. I quit college after getting my BA in history, of all things. There are no jobs in the field. So, I had a choice. Change my major and return to college and rack up more bills I’d have a harder time repaying, or find a job that paid so I could stay afloat. It’s a vicious cycle. If you go to college, you can’t afford to eat. And if you get a job, you can’t afford to be in college. And if you leave college, you have to start paying the bills for your education, but if you stay in college, you still can’t eat while the bills just keep piling up that you’ll have to eventually pay. And bonus. You can’t find a job in your chosen field anyway. Like I said. Vicious cycle. I mean, look at me. I’m a Confidential Medical Records Technician for a walk-in clinic in Omaha. That’s a fancy word for a filing clerk who keeps her mouth shut.”
“I had a different kind of time, Love.”
She stiffened, then relaxed. When she spoke her voice contained a slight tremor. He cursed the slip of tongue. Too soon, Grimm.
“Okay. I’m listening. Explain your concept of time.”
That was a loaded question. He’d had more than a century of time. And he got paid well for his assignments from the Vampire Assassin League. Very well. Grimm stuck his tongue into a cheek, slicing it against a fang as he considered what to tell her.
“I like to carve.”
“Carve?”
“I’m good with my hands.”
“I’ll say. Oh. You mean, carve. With wood.”
The sauciest grin put two dimples into her cheeks as she flicked her eyes away. A rosy blush topped her cheeks. Damn! That created a reaction as his canines grew even more. Sharper. Longer. Thicker. He felt the same response in his groin. Unbelievably. He should probably warn her.
“The rich folk like their luxuries. And can afford them. Like this bed.”
“You carved this bed?”
The awe staining her voice felt good. Everything about his mate had the same effect. Grimm couldn’t believe his luck. He nodded.
“Wow.”
“There’s more. If you ever visit the Bradley Ranch, you’ll see.”
“They bought your work?”
“Yeah.”
“I hope you charged them a hefty price. Really hefty.”
“Yeah.” It had felt astronomical at the time. But not nearly enough. Who’d have known the prices antiques would fetch nowadays?
“Good. I’d hate to think they got away with everything. Those Bradleys. They probably don’t even allow you into the big house.”
“Didn’t have much choice at first. My mother was a headstrong woman. Not many took her on and won.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not? Are they still holding your parentage against you?”
“She’s uh... passed on.”
“I’m sorry. Geez. I should just stay quiet. I have a really bad grasp of after-sex conversation, don’t I?”
“This wasn’t sex,” he replied.
He heard and felt her gasp. And then the longest span of time before she released the breath, sending sweet air all over him.
“What... did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“So... what does that mean? Exactly? And use more than four words. Okay?”
“I-I-I’ve never felt like this. “
Damn it. He stuttered again. He had to look away and gulp on the embarrassment. He gulped? Incredible. He was dead. Inanimate. He existed only to feed. Fed only to exist. And yet ever since she’d entered his sphere, the world was passing out wonders. It was almost like he lived again. Got reanimated. Somehow. Through a power only true love could wield. He’d been told it was possible. If one was patient. And supremely lucky. He hadn’t believed it. He still might not. It was too fresh. Too new. Too perfect. Grimm blinked rapidly on what couldn’t possibly be emotion.
“And?” she prompted.
“What?”
“Men! They can’t pay attention to the slightest thing. Ask them about feelings and emotions and they turn into turnips.”
Grimm growled and grabbed for her, lacing an arm beneath her to pull her atop him. Gloried in her quickened heartbeat as it seemed to drag his dead heart into rhythm with it. Gathered a handful of ass and just held her atop him. Vibrating. Regenerating.
“Oh love. If you think that was just sex, I’m going to have to do something to change your mind.”
He felt her arms lock about his shoulders. Heard her slight moan. He couldn’t wait any longer. He opened his mouth and stabbed into her throat.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rosa’s Bed & Breakfast was an old building. Fashioned mainly from adobe bricks and framed with wood. Everything about it looked archaic and open; from the mazelike floor plan to the easy access of the front rooms. Those rooms had proven how easily a man with a gun could breach them. And he hadn’t even tried the overly large windows beneath a wide porch, shuttered when needed.
All of it was perfect camouflage for the survivalist retreat accessed through the kitchens somewhere. Nothing about the hacienda betrayed the building’s real function, nor was it obvious from the bedrooms at the back. Those were built for defense, manufactured of reinforced concrete covered with adobe façade. There were false shutters mounted along the walls portraying windows, while the real window openings were slits along the top frame. Narrow horizontal slits, two inches by fifteen, they let in air, very little light, and zero perpetrators. They were also perfect for picking off bad guys with a rifle.
The place was excellent ground zero should a survivalist situation actually occur. It could be precipitated by an EMP – Electronic Magnetic Pulse – from somewhere in the cosmos. Or should a massive sell-off happen in the world markets. Or a nuclear disaster - and that scenario had a side entanglement if it included a military strike. Survivalist skills would be necessary in any number of other scenarios that usually involved disrupted power supplies. Because without electricity, everyone would be thrust into third-world conditions – or worse - and society would start to disintegrate.
How rapidly that happened was up to those who survived.
; The entire complex hidden within Rosa’s Bed & Breakfast had been designed for exactly what occurred the moment Deandra opened her eyes, after a long stretch that draped her arms over both sides of her single-sized bed.
Crap.
She was back. Grimm had told her she couldn’t stay. Despite how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, cocooned in security and love, exhausted and replete with their second bout of lovemaking. He’d been totally accurate. It hadn’t remotely been sex. In fact, everything they said and did was very near love. He’d still brought her back here. And why?
Because she wasn’t staying with him.
Not until he had his ring on her finger.
It was old-fashioned and that just made it more wonderful. She’d glowed when he’d said it sometime before dawn. She probably still did.
Deandra’s skin grazed sheets of finely woven cotton, but nothing near the 800 or so thread count sheets Grimm used on his bed. And then the sound of gunfire came through her window opening, coming in rapid-fire spurts and from more than one gun.
Her eyes flew wide, and instantly slammed shut as the slice of light through her window opening pained her. No. Not just pained. It wounded like a blade was stabbed into each eye socket. Of all the bad timing. Why did the downsides of Lasik Surgery have to manifest now?
Deandra rolled, skinning her knees on the floor as she hunkered beneath the bed. Getting her bearings. Evaluating. She slit her eyes open, and even that amount of light hurt. A quick tug brought her backpack from the foot of her bed into the space beneath it. A moment of shuffling through the contents got her a pressed powder compact, a tube of lip gloss, and her dark glasses. Deandra shoved the gloss and compact into the chest pocket of the extra-large Western shirt she wore. Belted with what looked like one of his bolo ties. Atop what felt like leggings worn without underwear. Grimm had dressed her... and she hadn’t even felt it?
