He wore nothing beneath but his skin, a fact she’d appreciated at the opera and reveled in now. She tugged at the fabric, and he cooperated by lifting his hips so she could pull it down. She eased back toward the foot of the bed, stopped just past his feet and quickly stripped them as well. Grabbing hold of his slacks, she tugged them down and off him, casting them aside behind her. She lowered her head, set her tongue against the hollow of his ankle and slowly dragged it upward along the inside of his leg.
She loved the taste of him, warm and salty and solid. He tasted like man and earth and desire, and she paused occasionally on her journey to enjoy the flavor. He let her have her way and lay still beneath her lazy exploration, but she heard his breath catch when she reached his knee and stroked her tongue along the crease behind it. When she reached his thighs, he gave in and buried his hands in her hair, fingers massaging her scalp while her tongue darted out to stroke the smooth skin she found there. Here his taste was stronger, darker, even more enticing. She let her tongue glide up and up until it flicked over the sensitive skin between his legs in a warm hello.
Her eyes drifted shut in pleasure, and she rubbed her cheek against his erection like a cat, enjoying the knowledge she’d caused him to harden, that she had brought him pleasure and made him want. She parted her lips to take him inside, but he had other plans. Grasping her arms, he dragged her up, bare skin sliding over bare skin, until her face came level with his.
His black eyes gleamed in the candlelight—candles that hadn’t been lit a moment ago—and his lips curved in a wicked smile.
“Not this time, dushka,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers, returning a heartbeat later for a deeper kiss. He nibbled her lips apart, stroked her tongue with his, conquered her mouth and claimed her for his own. When he drew back, her breathing had turned into excited panting. “I have seen your desire for me, seen how you dreamed of me. That is what I want from you now. Will you indulge me?”
Leaning down she brushed her lips against his, against his throat, his nipples, and the tip of his erection. She sat up and turned her back to him, kneeling between his spread legs and bracing her hands against his hard thighs. She perched on her heels, her back straight and graceful before him, and turned to send him an enticing look over her shoulder.
Dmitri rumbled out a sound of appreciation. He moved closer and slid his hands over the smooth skin of her back, briefly cupping her ass before he wrapped his arms around her and pressed against her.
“You are so lovely, milka,” he murmured, and his breath tickled her ear even while his hands slid up to cuddle her full breasts in his palms. “Soft and lush and sweet.” His tongue flicked her earlobe, followed by gentle nibbles, and one of his hands slid down the center of her body, over the soft curve of her stomach and down between her thighs. “Warm and wet and giving.”
His fingers slipped easily over her damp flesh, tracing each curve and fold, probing at her entrance as if testing her readiness. God, how could he doubt she was ready for him?
“It pleases me that you take pleasure in my pleasure,” he whispered, sinking two fingers deep inside her. “You were made for me. Can you not tell?”
He trailed kisses from the hollow behind her ear, along her throat to the curve of her shoulder. Reggie’s head fell back, resting on his shoulder while he sent waves and waves of pleasure coursing through her.
“Can you not tell you were born for me, Regina? Born to please me and to be pleasured by me?”
Reggie groaned, her mind blank of everything but Misha and pleasure and need. Her fingers tightened on his thighs, dug into his flesh, her whole body tensed with wanting. “Misha. Please.”
“Can you tell, Regina?”
His black-magic voice only added to the chaos inside her, only layered another level of sensation on her already-overloaded nervous system. Her body arched, pressing into his hands. “God! Misha, I want…”
His hand at her breast abandoned its massage and slid up her shoulder to the nape of her neck. His fingers caressed her briefly before they firmed on her skin and pressed, urging her forward. She followed his silent command, easing forward to brace her weight on her hands and lift her hips, until she knelt on all fours before him and trembled.
He bracketed her hips with both hands and leaned over her, covering her with his heat and his presence. His lips brushed the nape of her neck, making her shudder. She could feel his lips curve into a smile.
“What do you want, dushka?” He teased her, knowing the answer, but forcing her to say it.
Reggie’s head bowed, her long hair falling forward to curtain her from everything else. She didn’t know if she could talk, didn’t know if she still controlled her body, since it seemed so intent on doing Misha’s bidding. She tested her tongue, tried to speak. Nothing emerged but a whimper, and she pressed back against him instead, her ass cushioning his insistent penis.
His hands pressed her forward, separating their flesh. She groaned at the loss of the contact.
“What is it you want?”
Reggie moaned and tried to sit up, to turn toward him, but his hand just cupped the back of her neck again and pressed her back down.
This time he held her there while he repeated the question. “What do you want, Regina?”
Frustration and the pain of wanting him gave her the power to speak, barely. Her words tore from her on a moan. “You! God, Misha, I want you!”
He hummed his approval, and his hand lifted from her neck. It trailed down the length of her spine, slid between them. His erection nudged at her tight opening, demanding entrance. She wanted him to thrust, needed him to take her, needed to feel him inside her. But he wasn’t done torturing her.
“I can feel what you want, Regina,” he crooned, his hands reaching to cup her breasts where they hung beneath her. He pressed against her back, her breasts, her thighs. She felt surrounded by him, overwhelmed and helpless. And, Lord, but it felt good. His breath caressed her cheek, and he nuzzled her hair out of his way so he could touch his skin to hers.
“But what are you willing to give me in return?”
Moaning and shaking and needing him more than her next breath, Reggie turned her head enough to touch her mouth to his. Parting her lips against his, she breathed her answer into his mouth, as if she could gift her soul to him.
“Anything,” she whispered urgently, willing him to know how much she meant it. “I would give you anything.”
“Yes.”
He took her mouth, claimed it, marked it as his. His tongue swept over hers like a conquering warrior, even though her surrender came swift and willing. When he finally drew back, she could see his intensity and his lust in the harsh cast of his features. His savage look caused her no fear, but made her tremble with the thrill of anticipation.
“You will give me everything, dushka,” he growled, hands grabbing her hips to hold her still. “And I will take all you have. For you are mine.”
As he spoke, he thrust, claiming her physically even as he claimed her verbally. Reggie gasped at the intrusion, her body shocked at the feel of him after a week-long absence. Her muscles clenched to ward him off, but it was much too late. He was already buried to the hilt, his thickness stretching her, pleasure and discomfort blending into an indistinguishable maelstrom of sensation.
He released her hips long enough to grab her wrists and guide her hands to the rail at the foot of the bed. She had to stretch to reach it, moving forward on her knees until she leaned past them, shifting her center of gravity to her torso and throwing herself off balance. Misha followed her motion, embedded in her clutching pussy, and wrapped her hands around the cool wood, squeezing a warning that she leave them there. The position was awkward. Her weight had shifted forward and now was supported mainly by her grip on the railing and Dmitri’s grip on her hips. If she moved, she would collapse. All she could do was kneel there, still and submissive, and let him take her.
He did.
He leaned forward to place
a tender kiss on her spine just at the small of her back. He reared back, withdrawing until only his tip remained inside her; then he braced her hips before him, and plunged.
Reggie screamed. She barely heard herself, too caught up in the feel of him pounding inside of her. Her head jerked back even as the force of his thrust pushed her forward. She braced her arms, locking herself in place, not wanting to lose even a fraction of the force. She tried to spread her legs further to give herself a better sense of balance, but his calves were braced on the outside of hers to keep her exactly as he had positioned her. All she could do was whimper and accept him.
He drew back slowly, making her pant. She could feel each inch of him while he pulled out of her, feel her passage collapsing back on itself, relieved of the merciless invader. It felt like a massage on her most sensitive tissues. She thought wildly that nothing could feel better, but he surged forward again, filled her again, and she knew how wrong she had been.
Misha settled into a rhythm, fast and hard and desperately deep. Each thrust brought him inside her to the hilt. She’d never felt him this deep, this hard. She loved it, wanted more, and even while she thought it, he gave it to her.
“Misha!”
She screamed his name. Her body shook with his thrusts. The tension was unbearable. She needed him to stop. She needed him to never stop. She needed to get away. She needed to get closer. Her hands clenched so hard on the bedrail that her knuckles ached. Her elbows had locked, stretched out before her, and she used her braced position to thrust herself back onto him, desperate to take everything he had.
He obliged her with a grunt, and somehow he grew impossibly larger inside her, stretching her abused pussy even further. She shuddered, and her head fell. Her hands remained braced on the railing, but her upper body sank down until she rested her cheek and her shoulder on the mattress, her hips still angled up to take Misha’s fierce, pounding sex.
She gulped in oxygen, desperate and out of breath. If he didn’t stop, he would kill her. If he ever stopped, she’d die.
Misha leaned forward, curling his body around hers, his hips still hammering hard and rhythmically into her. She felt the slight roughness of his cheek against the sensitive skin of her neck, heard the irregular sound of his breathing, felt the heat of him like a firebrand against her. She heard his voice, deep and harsh and frighteningly intense.
“What would you give me, dushka?” he growled low and bestial.
Reggie tried to moan, but she didn’t even have the breath for that. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could barely hold herself up for his possession.
Anything, she thought desperately. I would give you anything!
Anything?
Everything.
She heard a rumbling growl of pleasure, felt him shift, fill her more deeply, surround her more completely. She felt a sharp pain at her throat, and she shattered.
The pleasure inside her exploded and she came, spasming around him, milking him of his seed, sharing her ecstasy, as she had shared her body. The orgasm lasted forever, her inner muscles clenching in time to the rhythmic draw on her pulse. She felt him tense, heard another muffled growl when he spurted inside her, still feeding on her pleasure as he fed on her blood.
Chapter 25
I think I passed out. I think he fucked me until I passed out.
I fucked you until we both passed out.
He nuzzled her breast and planted a soft kiss on her tender nipple, the one he’d fed from. He lay sprawled half on top of her, his weight pinning her in place. He seemed absolutely disinclined to move. Frankly, Reggie couldn’t blame him. Staying right where they were sounded pretty damned good to her too.
A smug, and probably goofy, grin curved her mouth. “Yeah. And it was fantastic.”
Dmitri chuckled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, dushka, because I don’t think I will be capable again for at least half a century.”
Reggie tickled his ear with her finger and hooked one leg over his hip. Her grin turned wicked. “Wanna try for half an hour?”
This time, he laughed straight out, and the rumbling noise shook the bed. “You are an optimist. It is impossible.”
Her hand slid down his back and between his thighs to tickle his scrotum.
He amended his opinion. “Highly unlikely.”
She squeezed gently.
“Almost inevitable.”
Reggie laughed and leaned down to nibble at the flat disc of his nipple. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“Enough, wench,” Misha growled, levering off her and sitting up to once again lean against the headboard. When he pulled her into his lap, Reggie winced.
“Not this way again,” she protested. “My hips are still too sore from last time.”
“As flattering as your confidence in me is,” he laughed, “your reprieve will last a while longer. We have other matters to tend to than our bodies’ cravings for each other.”
Reggie blinked. “We do?”
“We do. You have agreed to marry me, Regina. Do not tell me you’ve forgotten already.”
She grinned at his expression of mock disapproval. “Well, I admit I was distracted, but no, I remember.” She kissed his firm lips. “I may even be looking forward to it.”
“And you asked me to turn you into a vampire.” His dark eyes searched her expression.
Reggie made it easy for him and grimaced. “Not so looking forward to that part.”
Dmitri hugged her close and stroked her back with soothing motions. “You do not have to do this, dushka. It is not necessary. We can manage quite well if you wish to remain human.”
Realizing what a silly git she’d be to turn down a man who was that hot in bed and gave a damn or two about her feelings, Reggie shook her head and raised a determinedly cheerful face to him.
“And let you go off chasing after sweet young things as soon as I start wrinkling?” she teased. “Not a chance. Like I said, I want a five-hundredth anniversary. What is that? Raw platinum? What comes after silver, gold, and diamond?”
He grinned as if her answer pleased him. “I am entirely unsure. However, it would be my pleasure to discover this with you.”
He kissed her soundly and left her perched in bemusement on his lap while he reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a sheathed dagger.
“Because you do not yet have fangs,” he explained. He pulled off the protective leather, and her eyes widened.
That looks awfully sharp…
He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her gaze to shift from the knife to his face. “You do not have to do this,” he repeated with firm authority. “It is forever, milka, and I would rather lose you than have you come to hate me.”
Somehow, the freedom of that choice made her decision to bind herself to him all that much more definite. She kissed him tenderly, lingering over it, showing him without words how much she loved him and how much she wanted to be with him always.
When she pulled back, her expression held warmth and love and humor. “Forever may not be long enough for me,” she warned him, half teasing. “I might follow you into the afterlife. Maybe you should think twice about this.”
“You would not have to follow me. I would not go without you, dushka.”
Reggie smiled, her nerves giving way to a sense of peace and excitement. “Then let’s get this done, bucko, before you decide to back out. What do I need to do?”
He searched her face one last time before nodding, apparently content with what he’d read there. “As I said, you will have to drink from me. I will make a small cut in my flesh. You will have to drink the blood from it.”
“Do I need to drink a lot?” She was willing to do this, wanted to do this, even, but the idea still seemed a little creepy.
“Not a vast quantity this first time, but enough to set the transformation in motion. You will know when it has begun.”
“Will it hurt?”
“It is a…peculiar sensation, but you should not find
it too painful.”
Reggie absorbed that, paused a moment, and nodded decisively. “Okay. I’m ready.”
He smiled at her, and before she could blink, he raised the dagger and sliced a narrow cut in his chest above his heart. She couldn’t see it at first, but he leaned over to put the dagger back in the drawer and when he faced her again, blood had begun to seep from the wound, dark and thick against his skin.
Reggie bit her lip and looked uncertain.
“Your choice, dushka. Either way, I will love you always.”
She took a deep breath, inhaling the masculine scent of him along with the scent of sex, and knew he meant it. “Good,” she whispered, “because you’re never getting away from me now.”
She lowered her head, feeling time stretch around her into slow motion. The first drop of blood worked its way free of the welling fluid and trickled down his chest. Reggie got to it just as it reached his nipple. She captured it with her tongue, caressing him while she did so. He tasted familiar and foreign, dark and rich and coppery, like himself, sweeter than his come, saltier than his mouth. She found the flavor intriguing.
She traced the crimson path back up his chest to the wound and dragged her tongue along the length of the cut, cleaning it of the accumulated blood. More welled up in its place, and, when the first drops slid easily down her throat, she realized she wanted more. The flavor of him changed even while she sucked the first mouthful from his wound. It became sweeter and smoother, like some rare liquor. The coppery taste of blood faded, and she found she could savor him like wine. She purred deep in her throat and snuggled closer while she began to drink from him in truth.
He went to her head and made her drunk with the taste of him. She couldn’t get close enough to him. Even when he wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, she wanted more. She wanted to merge with him, to crawl inside him and rest beneath his skin beside his heart. She hooked her leg over his hip and pressed her hips against him, sucking hungrily from his chest. She felt so thirsty, and he was the only thing that could quench her need.
One Bite with a Stranger Page 21
