He did know he liked her, admired her, respected her tenacity.
And he wanted to have sex with her.
But now they were just sort of standing in his living room staring at each other. Her arms were crossed, the universal symbol for “leave me the fuck alone.”
It was a delicate thing, whether or not he should make a move. If he did, and she wasn’t ready, then he ran the risk of being categorized with her ex-husband, who had clearly dominated and brutalized her. If he didn’t, and she wanted him to, he ran the risk of hurting her feelings and ruining any chance of ever being given another opportunity to take it physical.
He needed some kind of sign from her before he was going to do anything, because this was delicate shit.
So Alistair moved closer to her. “Ever thought about being a bartender for real? You’re a natural.”
She shrugged. “I never thought about being anything, do you know what I mean? But I did enjoy the work tonight. And I like your friends.”
Do you like me? he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t that far gone. Yet.
He also wanted to ask her to stay beyond a few days, to stay with him or in her own place, work at the bar, settle into New Orleans, and his life, and see where they could take it, but knew that would sound wrong, too demanding, too much too soon. It would make her run.
“They like you, too.”
“Do you think so?” she asked.
Her voice sounded so wistful, so uncertain, that Alistair reached out and cupped her cheek, sliding his fingers over her smooth porcelain skin. “Hey. Yes, I do. They know you’re smart and witty.”
“Women don’t usually like me,” she said, her eyes meeting his only briefly before dropping back down to stare at his chest. Sasha still had her arms crossed, but she bit her thumb-nail.
“They were probably jealous and intimidated.” Hell, she intimidated him sometimes.
“I haven’t had many friends. Gregor kept me isolated.”
“Then this is a good thing, for you to be able to just hang out, be part of the group.”
“Yeah. It is.” She gave a brief smile up at him. “But it is hard as well. I do not know how to act. I am socially unskilled.”
“If you’ve had friends, then you know how to act. Just be yourself, talk, have fun. It’s all good.”
“My best friend growing up, Ivan, became a blood slave. He is the one who turned me over to Cassandra.”
Wow. That was shitty. Alistair couldn’t imagine being betrayed by someone you loved and trusted. She spoke defiantly, but Alistair could hear the hurt in her voice, see the pain in her eyes.
“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. But you know when someone is addicted to how a vampire can make them feel, it’s no different than being a drug addict. They’re not themselves.”
“I know.”
“But it still sucks.” Damn, he wished he could take away all that she had suffered. It tore at him, the way she had never really known love or friendship.
“Yes, it does.”
Alistair gently uncrossed her arms, and pulled her into his. “But now you’re free. You can do whatever you want with the rest of your life.”
She held back slightly, keeping a few inches between their bodies, but she seemed relaxed. “That is true, and I have thought of almost nothing but that. It’s tantalizing. Once back in Russia I had a friendship, and what I thought was love, with a young man in America that I met online. I daydreamed about leaving Gregor, marrying Kyle, living a middle-class life in California. He was killed before I could ever implement any plan to leave. But it would have never happened anyway. I was naïve. I am not destined for the role of suburban housewife.”
“What are you destined for?” Alistair studied her expression. She looked more prosaic than sad, but he still couldn’t entirely wrap his mind around all that she had experienced.
“I am not entirely certain, but for now, I want to be Jenny, the vampire bartender who wears these funny black sneakers and a skull necklace.” She smiled at him, and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Now tell me about you, Alistair Kirk. Why do you sound American if you are British, and who did you lose to slayers?”
He hadn’t anticipated her directness. But she had shared personal pain with him, he could give her the same back. But first he’d take the easy question. “I sound American because I have been here since 1769. I’ve lost the majority of my accent over the years. And my wife was killed by slayers before I left England.” It didn’t hurt as much to talk about it anymore, but he still always felt a pang of guilt and regret. “I met her thirty years earlier when she fell into the Thames and drowned. I pulled her out, but this was before we understood modern resuscitation techniques, and she died. So I turned her. We loved each other. Slayers killed her.”
End of story, such as it was. Alistair struggled not to look away from Sasha. “It was not a pretty ending for her, and I was in London when they attacked her. I didn’t find out for three days.”
“I am sorry, Alistair.” She rubbed her fingers over his shoulders. “It was not very long to be together, was it?”
It wasn’t the response he expected and he was caught off guard. “No. No, it wasn’t. But it was a long time ago.”
And he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so he kissed her. Their lips were close and all he had to do was lean forward, take. He intended it to be a light caress, but almost immediately she opened her mouth. Not accidentally, but intentionally, as an invitation, and he didn’t need to be asked twice. Alistair slid his tongue inside her and buried his hands in her hair.
She was such a beautiful woman, so strong, yet fragile at the same time. He was very aware of that responsibility, of the fact that she had not known a normal relationship with a man in her life. He couldn’t just take what he wanted and walk away, and he didn’t want that anyway. But it was going to be up to her to decide the direction they were going to take, and he was going to have to be paying close attention to her signals.
It was daunting, but damn, she was worth it.
He would just take it nice and slow.
Sasha grabbed his jeans and undid the button and zipper.
Alistair froze when her hand landed on his unit with amazingly accurate aim. “Umm . . .”
So much for slow.
“What is wrong?” she asked, as she worked him over from head to shaft with her lithe fingers.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” It seemed out of character for her, and he wondered if she was nervous. He grabbed her wrist to pause her delicious movements for a second, because he couldn’t think when she was doing that.
“Don’t you want to?” She looked disappointed, which made him happy.
He almost laughed at the absurdity of that question. “Of course I do. But we don’t need to rush if you’re not ready for that. I can enjoy the hike up just as much as the view from the top.” The last thing he wanted was to rush through and have her regret it later.
“I am not sure what you mean.” Sasha used her free hand to grip the back of his head and kiss him again.
It was a nice kiss, skilled and full of soft sweeps of her moist tongue over his, all while her fingers stroked him. Alistair’s body was enjoying the hell out of it, even as his head hesitated. Something seemed wrong, and he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
Stepping back slightly, she pulled her T-shirt over her head, and then, standing in just jeans, she licked her fingers so that when she returned to touching him, her hand slid slickly up and down his erection. Alistair closed his eyes at the immediate wave of pleasure that rocked him. Damn it, she was good at that.
But he wanted to touch her, too, so he brushed his thumb over her bare nipple. Her bra had been destroyed in the staking, and he was glad there was no barrier between his fingers and her breasts. Yet Sasha shifted away, like his touch irritated her. Trying to be respectful and attuned to her body, Alistair let her move out of his reach and focused again on kissing her.
There was nothi
ng outwardly wrong. They were kissing, she was touching him below the belt, but Alistair couldn’t relax. There was tension, there was something off . . . He wasn’t able to read her and it was frustrating the hell out of him. Moving his hands over her bare waist, reveling in the feel of her soft, smooth skin, Alistair tried to undo the snap on her jeans, but again, she moved away.
Sasha unzipped her jeans herself, her tongue sliding across her bottom lip, and pushed her pants to the floor. Stepping out of the jeans, she was in nothing but a tiny pair of black panties, her body long and lean, those eight-mile-long legs amazing to behold. He wanted to touch her, to lick her, to pull those panties aside and slide his tongue into her moisture.
But when he reached for her, she gracefully dropped to her knees in front of him and took him into her mouth, the movement fluid, easy.
Even as he gritted his teeth to hold back a moan, he was putting his hands on her head to stop her. Holy shit, he suddenly knew what was going on, and it wasn’t a good thing.
“Sasha.”
She didn’t respond, nor did she stop.
Alistair tried to step away but she held him in place. So he tipped her head back so she would have to look up at him. The sight of her eyes wide and questioning, her mouth still wrapped around his cock, almost undid him, but he took a deep breath and used his superior strength to step back.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said. It was obvious to him that she was trying to rush through it, get it over with.
“Why do you say that?” she asked, her lips shiny, long hair tumbling over her bare breasts. Still on her knees, she was mere inches from his erection. “Are you not enjoying it?”
“Yes, I am. But it’s not doing anything for you, is it?” he asked carefully. “This isn’t giving you pleasure.”
Her face suddenly crumpled. “I want it to,” she whispered. “I think I can, with you. I like the way you kiss me.”
Alistair wished Gregor Chechikov wasn’t dead so he could kill him himself. Man, he had messed with Sasha’s head, and now Alistair felt helpless to know how to fix it. “Then why won’t you let me touch you? I can help you like it if you’ll let me . . . do things to you.”
But Sasha just frowned. “What things?”
And suddenly Alistair understood the complete and whole truth. Sasha’s sex life had been that of her administering pleasure to her husband. That was why she was so good at it, yet she had never been given the same pleasure in return.
It made him so angry he wanted to throw big things and watch them break.
But what he really needed to do was to make this right for her.
“Come on,” he said, reaching down and taking her hand in his, so she could stand. “Let’s go to my bedroom. I’ll show you what things I mean.”
SEVEN
SASHA DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT SHE WAS DOING wrong, but Alistair seemed frustrated with her. Maybe she should take his clothes off of him, because now that she was virtually naked, and they had started this, she wanted to finish it. She wanted to get her first time with someone other than Gregor over with, so she could relax the second time.
She realized that was probably not the best approach to take, but she was in this far and just needed to brazen through it. It was going to take time to be completely sexually normal, and she liked Alistair. She enjoyed the way he kissed her, and she appreciated the fact that when he looked at her with desire, she felt pride rather than disgust or vulnerability. It was progress.
Which was why they just needed to get this over with, so the second time around she could make even more progress.
But Alistair was pulling her down the hall, his hand in hers as he bent over to scoop up her discarded clothes. He wanted to go to the bedroom. She could do that. What she was unsure about were these “things” he was talking about. What exactly did he want to do to her?
Maybe he liked kinky sex or role-playing, which she didn’t think she would like at all. She did not want to hear buzzing while she was trying to be aroused, nor did she want to dress like a French maid. She had played a part her whole marriage, she did not want to do that now, when she was trying to actually discover herself.
“Relax,” he said, stopping in front of his bed and turning to her. “We’re not going to do anything weird. I just want to take it slow, take some time to savor it, okay? And tell me if you don’t like something and I’ll stop.” Then he gave a smile, a devilish, seductive smile that kicked her heart rate up a notch. “And tell me if you do like something, so I make sure I don’t stop.”
“Okay.” Sasha took a deep breath and tried to will herself to relax. She was not a person used to relaxation, so it came difficult to her.
Alistair laced his fingers through hers and kissed her shoulder, her cheek, nuzzling against her. She was stiff and resisting, she knew it, could feel it, and she tried to let go of the tension, but it was too ingrained, too familiar.
“You’re already naked,” he murmured. “That’s the hard part. Now comes the fun part.”
That remained to be seen, but she was trying.
But as Alistair did nothing but kiss her, over and over, she did relax. She liked the way he held her shoulders, enough pressure to know he was there, that he wanted her, but not grabbing or gripping or shoving. He really was a nice man, and she was very, very attracted to him.
When he urged her back to the bed, she went, her nerves spiking a little again, but Alistair was there immediately, stroking her hair, brushing his lips across her mouth, her neck.
“You are very beautiful,” he murmured as he kissed her collarbone.
Sasha had heard those words so many times, they meant so very little. In fact, they were negative reminders of how Gregor had reduced her value to that of a pretty face. Yet she knew Alistair meant it as a compliment, so she said, “Thank you.”
“Sure. But that’s not what I like about you,” he said, his hand sliding over her abdomen, her ribs, her hip bones, while his lips brushed her shoulder.
“It’s not?” she asked, glancing at him. All she could see was his dark hair bent over her.
“No. What I like about you is that you’re smart and fierce and caring and loyal. The beauty is just a bonus.”
“Oh.” Sasha had no better answer than that. She was pleased and baffled by his words and she needed to let that sink in.
Except she lost the ability to think when Alistair bit her shoulder and warm, tingling pleasure reverberated throughout her body. She hadn’t been bit since her turning, and she was stunned at how good it felt, at the hot rush between her thighs, and the need to grab on to Alistair’s shoulders and arch herself toward him.
A moan of disappointment ripped out of her when he pulled back, but before she had time to protest the loss, he covered her breast with his mouth and sucked. She had thought that she wasn’t aroused by nipple stimulation, given that it had never brought her pleasure before, but it was different with him. His teeth, his tongue, his biting and licking and sucking had her gripping the bed sheet and moving her legs restlessly.
It felt good. Really good. Eye-rolling good, and she was in awe, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she wrapped her arms around his back and felt the movement of his muscles as he tasted her.
Then without warning, his fingers were inside her panties and stroking a teasing, taunting, delicious rhythm around her clitoris that had her moaning out loud. He was hitting a certain spot just so, and she ached with desire as he gently bit her nipple and squeezed her clitoris at the same time.
He was going to put his finger inside her, she knew that, and Sasha felt a momentary panic. She had always used a lubricant so her ex-husband wouldn’t comment on her lack of moisture, and she was mortified that Alistair would find her dry, and think it had anything to do with him. It was her problem, her baggage that she couldn’t get . . .
Alistair’s finger slipped easily inside of her, her body slick and welcoming. She was so startled she let out a cry. “Oh!” She was wet, well and truly w
et, ready to accept his finger, wanting his finger, wanting all of him. Instinctively, in response to the pleasure, to that realization, she dropped her knees apart, and now it was Alistair’s turn to groan.
“You feel so good,” he said.
He felt pretty good himself, and she would have told him that, except he moved lower down her body, raising goose bumps all over her skin, his finger slipping out of her. She didn’t want him to stop, but wasn’t sure she could make herself request that he continue when it became a moot point. Alistair replaced his finger with his mouth and Sasha almost levitated off the bed. She was shocked and appalled and overcome with the most delicious, pulsing ecstasy that her mind went completely blank, and she grabbed on to his head for support.
He was doing things with his tongue that she couldn’t decipher or visualize, but each and every touch set off throbbing waves of pleasure that she never wanted to stop. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was vaguely aware that she was moaning, loudly, a rhythmic sort of guttural cry that was nothing like any sound she had ever made before. But then again, no man had ever actually given her oral sex, and certainly no man had ever made her feel what Alistair was making her feel.
The orgasm came out of nowhere, steamrolling her and sending her hips bucking off the bed. Alistair held her legs, gripping tightly so that his mouth wouldn’t leave her as she rode out the shudders. She dropped her legs back down onto the mattress and tried to catch her breath.
Alistair’s clothes came off in a blink and he was over her, his erection nudging against her. He looked down at her, eyes dark with arousal, but arms steady, body and mind in control. “Is this okay? Should I keep going?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He should be entitled to pleasure, too, after what he had just done to her, for her.
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