A kiss glazed his cheek. “I am Kamaria, husband.”
Chapter Two
‡
She came to awareness slowly, although she had no real sense of the passage of time. Oddly, she also had no sense of self…who she was or where she existed. She had a past, one with blurred-edged fragments of memory that sharpened whenever she approached, scraping her emotions raw. She learned to keep far, far away from the pain.
Her being floated in unrelenting darkness and a silence so deep her thoughts shouted dully as though muffled in thick cotton.
Was she dead, then? If so, death sucked.
But the longer she drifted, the easier it became to let herself just waft away, growing thinner, less substantial…losing herself gradually to peaceful, deepening night.
Yet something niggled at the edge of her consciousness. One memory that beckoned her closer, daring her to care whether she faded into the abyss.
Quentin.
A name. One that filled her with a powerful longing. If she concentrated she could see a face…beautifully angular…blue eyes filled with tender passion…but for whom? An expression so anguished she could feel his pain.
Pain. It lanced through her, striking her center, reminding her of something she’d tried to avoid…something she wanted to forget. Whatever emotion this Quentin evoked, it wasn’t love. It wasn’t comfort. Just a hurtful yearning.
Better forgotten.
*
Quentin awoke in a cloud of soft cotton bedding, something thin floating overhead. He shook his head, wondering what the hell had happened, but then he remembered.
Kamaria.
Netting enveloped the bed like a spider’s web. As apropos a description as any he could think of at the moment. His mind felt muzzy, his tongue thick, his mouth dry. Sickening dread filled his belly.
Soft, whispery pads neared the bed, and he turned to find the spider approaching. “I see you are awake, husss-band.” Damn, or was she a goddamn snake?
“Call me anything you like but that,” he said, his words losing their bite due to their slurred delivery. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
“You were exhausted. I helped you sleep.”
Instantly, he knew he was naked beneath the sheet swathing his hips. “Did we…?”
Her full lips pursed in disapproval. “I want all of you, Quen-tin.”
He tried to sit up, but his head swam. “Have to get back. Darcy…”
Suddenly, she was inside the netting, beside him. Her hand pushed him gently back. “My man moved her here today. She rests.”
“Moved?” Quentin tensed. “Did you chain her?”
“The full moon comes. Of course, I protect her from her true nature. She is bathed—as comfortable as she can be.”
“Have you looked at her?” he asked, hating himself for sounding so needy. “Can you help her?”
The back of Kamaria’s hand smoothed over one cheek, beneath his chin, then up the other side. Her head canted, and she stared, giving away nothing of her thoughts in her set expression. “Your Darcy floats in dreams, not tethered to her body. I can find her, but she shies away. She’s afraid and losing hope.”
Quentin felt a lump burn at the back of his throat. “Can you help her?” he asked hoarsely.
Her smile touched only the corners of her full mouth. “For my price, I will go to her and try to woo her back. For you.”
Quentin let out a deep breath. Her price was too goddamn high. But how could he not give her what she wanted? He’d move the moon and stars to have Darcy back. “When do you want…?” His words bled away because he didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
When do you want to make love?—Kamaria would know the lie. When do you want to fuck?—would only piss her off.
Kamaria held her hand in front of his face palm up, turned it over then back up. A small vial sat in the center of her palm.
Not impressed with the little reminder of her power, he snorted. “Resorting to aphrodisiacs?”
“Will you really need one, my stallion?” Her eyebrows rose, and her gaze slipped downward, dragging his along.
Quentin wished like hell he and his cock shared the same heart. The same mind. He hated how his body betrayed him, again, in her presence. Just a whiff of her unique scent wafting in the air was enough to tug his arousal into full bloom. Like Pavlov’s stupid dog, his cock filled, poking at the sheet.
Kamaria’s laugh was soft and husky, a sound that pulled his memory back to the early days of their relationship when he’d lived to make her smile, worked damn hard to earn a throaty moan.
“This is to clear your mind and waken your body. Then you may begin to please me, husss-band.”
Preferring to believe it was an aphrodisiac, he scraped the vial from her palm, twisted off the stopper and poured the contents down his throat. It tasted like peppermint and did the trick.
Drawing a deep refreshed breath, he handed it back and pushed the sheet below his hips. He gave her an indifferent glance. “Ready to go?”
Her short, indrawn breath warned him he’d insulted her.
Good. He hoped she’d gotten his message loud and clear. He’d fuck her. Bring her to orgasm—screaming her lungs out—but he didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be with her. She was just a cunt he’d screw.
Only he knew he was lying.
A part of him, the dark beast he kept leashed deep inside, howled for her. She’d given him his first bite, his first taste of blood. She’d introduced him to endless carnal delights. When he made love to any other woman, even Darcy, he recalled Kamaria’s tutelage to bring the fire to the surface.
If that wasn’t betrayal, he sure as bloody hell didn’t know what was. He was already damned—might as well save the girl before he burned in hell.
Only he knew he didn’t want the fucking to be too reminiscent of the old days. He needed to show Kamaria he wasn’t the same man, and that he’d never be hers—truly hers—again. Darcy owned his heart. “Take off your clothes,” he said, lifting his chin.
He’d never commanded her before, always followed her suggestions, read her body and her expressions to know what she wanted next—and he’d been ready to slavishly provide whatever she desired.
To his surprise, Kamaria’s glance dropped to the floor and her hands went immediately to the small buttons at the front of her loose, flowing dress. She made short work of them and eased the fabric over her head.
Standing inside the mosquito netting, the sheer white fabric contrasting with her dark bronze skin, Quentin’s stomach knotted. He knew he wouldn’t be fucking her for Darcy. Before she placed one knee on the mattress, his hand rose to help her. An ache lodged in his chest, a bittersweet yearning for the promise she’d been…for the choices she’d taken for him.
His first love, the one who’d made it nearly impossible to learn to love again…until a wary, scrappy young woman dared to hunt him and judge him based solely on the fact he was a vampire. Kamaria was the beginning and the reason he’d waited so long for Darcy. He’d been ripe for love. Ready to shower all the sensual excesses he’d learned in this woman’s bed.
When Kamaria had settled onto her knees beside him, he pulled her hand, yanking her down to his body.
Her lips parted, her eyes widened—delight dancing in their dark depths. “Are we eager now? I thought you’d drag your feet like a boy expecting a spanking.”
“I remember, you know. I remember everything.”
“As do I,” she said, her gaze on his lips. “But I have no regrets.”
“I’ve carried mine for decades. I’m learning to let go.”
Her face tightened. “This woman,” she said, her voice husky. “This Darcy. You love her?”
Quentin hated giving the heartless bitch a glimpse of even a fraction of the love he felt for his wife. She’d only use it against him; however, lying would do him no good. “With all my being,” he said softly.
Her head canted again, her gaze searching his face. He k
new she sought a doorway inside his mind. “She may not forgive you.”
Suspicion roused with her lazy, aimless tone. His gaze narrowed. “No tricks, Kamaria. No hidden traps. I do this with you, and you will save my wife.”
“You have so many wives, Quen-tin. How will you please us all?”
His throat burned. “There is only Darcy.”
“In this long life we enjoy, there can be more than one…”
Quentin shook his head. “She won’t share. I wouldn’t ask her to. There’s no room in our marriage for you.”
Kamaria’s lush lips pressed tightly together, and she laid her head on his chest. “Well then, you had best make this special. Enough to last another century.”
“You make it sound as though you’ve had no one else in your bed.”
“Don’t be silly.” Her head came back up, and Quentin’s breath hitched.
With her hair trailing to his chest, her breasts scraping his skin, he was reminded how lovely she’d been to him—how she’d captivated him from the start.
As though reading his mind, she smiled craftily. “Am I not beautiful?” she asked, her hips undulating against his. “I simply can’t resist basking in a man’s thrall.”
Already so aroused he was fighting to keep his mind clicking, Quentin clamped a hand on her waist to hold her still. “You are lovely, but then you know that. You use it like a weapon.”
She touched a finger to his chest, tracing a line down the center, following it with her gaze—an evasive action unlike the woman he had known. “There is one more thing I would ask of you.”
Quentin grabbed her wrist and held her hand away. “No more stipulations. Our bargain is made.”
“I will have a request for you to consider when all of this is done. Promise you will hear me out.”
Quentin didn’t like the sound of her voice. The tension she fought to keep hidden. “I promise to listen, but I give no guarantees of my answer.”
She took a deep breath and widened her legs over his hips, her knees sliding to the sides of his hips. “Then we can begin? You are rested, no?” She bent and flicked one flat nipple with the tip of her tongue. “You are aroused. How that must madden you.”
Quentin gritted his teeth, trying to keep his cock from jerking against her heat. “I wish I were a stronger man,” he admitted.
“To resist me? You think your attraction disproves your love? Silly Quen-tin. Your body remembers me. Lusts for me. Has nothin’ to do with your mind.” Her hand flattened on his chest then glided down his belly, heading straight for his engorged cock.
Quentin sucked in a deep breath as her long, slender fingers wrapped around his shaft. Which way could he do this and not lose himself? Close his eyes and pretend it was Darcy?
Kamaria would know. She’d consider it a deal breaker. He had to be here. Had to be with her—open to her brand of seduction.
So, with his eyes wide open, Quentin reached down and pushed her hands away. He brought her directly over his cock and clasped her lush, rounded bottom and squeezed, rolling her hips against his, letting her folds slide cream along his length.
Kamaria’s hands gripped his shoulders, and her back arched, lifting her nipples off his chest, and suddenly Quentin had to have them in his mouth. Had to reacquaint himself with their flavor and texture.
He rolled her to her back, ignoring her gasp. He tugged the pillow from beneath her head, kicked down the covers twisting around his calves and straddled her hips.
When her hands reached between his legs again, he pushed them up beside her head. Then he bent over her breasts.
She’d wanted to come screaming. Time to get down to business.
He flicked out his tongue, capturing one spiked stem, then latched his lips around it, sucking it like a short straw.
Her belly vibrated, her eyes narrowed to dreamy slits.
He came off the nipple and brushed his whiskered chin against the soft pad of her oval areola, watching her white teeth bite her lower lip. He cupped her breast, lifting it, shaping it, then opened his mouth wide and sucked the globe into his mouth, drawing hard. He worked his mouth, pulling, tugging, burrowing to take more of her small round breast inside. Her skin tasted of mint.
When he lifted his head, his balls were so tight, snuggled against her lower body, he hoped he could make it last long enough to fulfill the first test she’d lain down.
Fighting his own arousal, he bent to the other breast and teethed the stem gently, pushing the flat of his tongue against the tip and swirling on it.
Her hands cupped his head, and he growled a warning, but she thrust her fingers into his hair, sliding around his ears, not guiding, just caressing him as he nibbled.
When the urgency in his groin became too insistent to ignore, he drew off again and slid downward, tonguing the tender underside of her breasts, following each indention dividing her ribs, edging along the lower bones to her soft belly, nipping the flesh in soft, rousing bites that had her stomach trembling before he rimmed her navel.
Come screaming, she’d demanded. He’d give it to her. Use her passionate nature against her. Drive her to the edge and beyond until she was helpless to hold back her cries and deny him success.
His tongue lapped inside, following the curve of the soft button, then trailed lower, over her smooth, honeysuckle-scented mons, following the quivering outer lips. He glanced over the burgeoning nubbin at the top of her sex and slid lower, stroking between her thin folds, pressing the tip of his tongue inside. With her legs held closed by his knees, his frustration had to be only a fraction of hers. Her belly pulsed, pumping her hips in shallow, tense little rolls that did nothing for either of them except build the tension he needed to sweep her away.
When he nudged a knee between hers, her legs swept outward, bending to tilt her pussy toward his mouth, begging with her body for him to sip the cream smearing her inner thighs and glistening on her labia.
Quentin knelt between her splayed thighs, curving low to blow a stream of warm air against her. Her folds parted with a wet sigh. He gripped her inner lips between his thumbs and forefingers, spreading them, massaging them, then leaned down and licked at the whitish cream.
He couldn’t stop the growling moan that broke from his throat. He remembered the way she tasted. Remembered the way he’d felt the first time he’d eaten her out—like a god because she’d writhed like a wild thing, her cries husky and stretching into groans.
This time, she fought him, her body trembling against the effort of keeping her arousal muted.
Quentin wouldn’t let her rob him of control. He stroked his tongue inside her, stroking into her channel, then lapping upward, gliding over her cloaked clitoris.
With his teeth and lips, he nibbled downward again then thrust his tongue inward, fluttering it inside her.
Her thighs quivered against him as he dove, lower still, stroking over her small rear entrance, tunneling shallowly, then lapping upward, swirling his head as he circled on her clit.
Her fingernails dug into his scalp. Her thighs strained as she pumped her hips against his mouth, trying to deepen his mouth’s caresses.
But Quentin came off again, pulling away from her grasping hands. He glanced up, letting Kamaria see the cream coating his lips, the redness of his cheeks—letting her see the proof of his arousal, hoping she’d forget her game just long enough…
Kamaria’s lips parted, her breaths were shallow, hitching at the beginning of each shaky inhalation.
Quentin rubbed his thumb over her tiny, puckered asshole, exciting her further. Her fingers curled into the white sheets beneath her.
He pressed his thumb inside her, toggling it back and forth as he worked it past the tight ring of muscle. His cock jerked at the thought of her ass chewing his length as he thrust deep—but not now. Not when he was so close to success.
He worked two fingers inside her pussy, stroking quickly in and out to build friction and draw down more of her sweet cream.
Wh
en a fresh wash of hot, sticky liquid surrounded the digits, he thrust in a third, liking the way her channel clamped around him.
Her hips circled and jumped, seeking deeper penetration.
And he was only too ready to give it. Continuing to work her asshole with his other hand, he curved his thumb into his palm, cupped his fingers to curve them, then slowly, keeping his grip loose, he pushed his fist into her cunt.
Kamaria’s eyes widened. Her hips stilled. Her breaths halted. “Quen-tin, it hurts. Stop.”
He knew she lied when a shudder shook her belly and worked its way down to her thighs. She clamped them around his arm, trying to hold him back.
He twisted his fist, scraping his knuckles inside her channel. He tugged backward then shoved gently forward.
Her thighs tensed and her bottom lifted slowly off the bed, widening to give him access. Her tightening expression reflected anger and anguish…and finally, surrender.
As he began to work his fist deeper, dragging against her inner walls, he removed his thumb from her ass and slid two fingers inside, stroking them hard.
Kamaria bit her lip, but a groan tore from her throat. Her channel rippled along his wrist, and he knew she was coming.
“No, you don’t, witch,” he whispered furiously then bent to suckle the top of her stretched labia until he felt the rigid little kernel. He bit it as he slammed his fist deeper.
Kamaria’s body went rigid and a high-pitched mewl escaped her lips. Her mouth opened around a husky cry that tightened and grew louder as her orgasm clutched the fist embedded in her body, milking him, until at last a ragged scream pierced the air.
Quentin stopped all motion, leaving her hanging. His chest billowed, his body shuddered as he fought the lust rising up, loosening the beast within him.
Not yet. Save it. Don’t give her the goddamn satisfaction. The silent mantra repeated until he found the strength to pull away. First his fist, drawing it slowly from her dripping, sucking cunt. Then his fingers from her ass.
He opened his jaws, releasing her clit and rose, settling back on his haunches, wary now that she’d lost the mask of her arousal.
Truly, Madly...Werely (Night Fall Book 9) Page 2
