Damian released my arm and then tapped the side of his nose. “We would smell the change in her.”
“How soon?” I asked.
“Within two weeks of conception,” answered Gabriel.
“Well, I guess it just happened,” I said.
“How do you know?” asked Patsy. All the fight had gone out of her. She was rubbing her belly and staring vacantly.
I looked at Damian. His gaze offered me support—and I knew he would honor whatever decision I made about revealing my empathic abilities. I drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. I could hardly worry about what these people would think about my gift. Some were undead, and others could shift into wolves. So my little quirk was hardly a blip on the crazy radar here.
“I can sense the emotions of others. Yours are scrambled and intense. I’ve learned that pregnant women have an echo . . . sorta like your feelings are miniaturized and felt by the baby. At least until he gets big enough to have his own emotional resonance.”
“You know what?” Patsy smacked her hand against the table. “Meeting adjourned.” She pointed at Damian. “Go to Dr. Michaels. We’ll resolve our ‘who has the bigger crown’ issues later. I want to know what those ETAC bastards did to you.”
“Very well,” said Damian.
He might as well have been carved from stone. At some point, he’d managed to fold away every single niggling emotion, including his impressive fury, except for a very vague irritation that he’d lost control—and he didn’t like losing control. Not ever. I could feel his resolve hardening inside him like cement, and I knew that I couldn’t allow him to retreat into the armor of logic and duty.
So I leaned very, very close, got up on my tippy toes, and whispered, “Boobs.”
He sucked in a shocked breath and looked down at me. I smiled beatifically. “I dare you to make confetti outta my panties,” I whispered.
He laughed. It was a deep, bold sound and it echoed into the room and right through me, and, more important, it swept open the door to his emotions. Even though he was still upset and angry and everything else, his humor won out.
I realized then how quiet the room had gotten. Everyone was staring at us, well, mostly at Damian. It’s like they’d never heard the man laugh before. Sheesh.
“What’s their problem?” I asked in a low voice.
He leaned down and tapped my nose. “They have no sense of humor.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It truly is,” he agreed. He nodded to his brothers, who looked at him with stunned expressions, and then turned their gazes to me. I wiggled my fingers at them; then I grabbed Damian’s hand and we walked out. As the doors shut behind us, I heard Jess say, “Holy shit. Did you see that? Damian laughed! Take cover, people, it’s the fucking apocalypse.”
Then we were in the empty hallway.
“Not many people in this place.”
“It’s Sunday. Usually no one is here, unless Patsy calls an emergency meeting.” He was still chuckling, his eyes sparkling, which made me happy. Because no matter how awful life could be (and it could be really, really awful) one tiny light could melt the darkness.
I started opening doors on either side of the hallway. Wow. This place had a lot of conference suites. “Good thing I rescued you.” The third door on the right offered exactly what I wanted. “C’mon.”
“I believe this was my threat,” he said. “You’re being far too amenable.”
“Get in, Skippy. And I’ll show you all kinds of amenable.”
I had the light flipped on and the door shut and locked behind me before he’d even turned around. He glanced at the shelves filled with cleaning equipment. “I’m obligated to fulfill my threat. I never say anything I don’t mean.”
“I figured that out,” I said sweetly. “And really? You were thinking about screwing me in a janitorial closet? You, sir, are a romantic.”
“I was thinking about screwing you anywhere. Wanting you is like breathing, except I can’t breathe when I’m around you.”
His ragged confession did me in.
I reached behind me and unzipped the dress. It fell in a pool of red at my feet. My life had changed immeasurably—in ways I could not control. I might well be dead in thirty days, but I could’ve been dead more than a year ago with Robert’s knife plunged into my heart. Maybe my second chance was already up, and I could hardly hope for a third. I wanted Damian. I want to live every second possible. And I was sick of worrying what other people thought of me. I was tired of not feeling worthy enough to still have a heartbeat.
He took in the red bra and matching panties. “I like those.”
“Enough to keep them intact?”
“Enough to replace. I’ll buy an extra set . . . or five.” He stalked toward me, which took all of three seconds, considering he was less than two feet away. He pressed me against the door. “You’re impossible.”
“Flatterer.” I yanked up his shirt and splayed my hands across his muscled abdomen. “Whoa, mama.”
He kissed me, hard and unrelenting. I bit his lower lip, and he growled. And that noise, both fury and possession, singed me to the core. I pushed my hands all the way under his shirt and scored his nipples.
His hands stroked my flesh. And his lips marked me. Everywhere. He was ravenous and feasting, a starving man. A starving wolf. Oh, my God. Me and my red dress. Little Red Riding Hood. It was ridiculous.
I was touching him, too, scraping my nails over his muscles, and then trying to tug open the buttons of his jeans. I couldn’t quite catch my breath, and my heart was racing. My body shook under the assault, and I wanted more. To take all he would offer. To give him whatever he wanted. Needed.
He paused long enough to pull the bra apart. It snapped in the middle; then he peeled it away to reveal my breasts. He cupped them and leaned down to suck on my nipples. Sharp pleasure sliced me, and my lust exploded, shattering what little of my psychic shields were left.
Then his feelings washed over me. Primal and strange and raw. Emotions weren’t exactly easy to disseminate—and like always, his came with colors and with words. A blast of red, which was passion, so much of it, because of me. Beautiful. She’s so beautiful. Pink burst through that fabulous heat, and offered tenderness. For her, all for her. And green, the jade of his eyes, filtered through, and then mine, she’s mine, always mine.
“Damian,” I whispered.
He looked up, his hands clutching my waist, his lips swollen and wet from pleasuring my breasts. His eyes were glazed and he was breathing unsteadily. His adoration flowed over me with the same sensual acuity as his fingertips, his mouth, his cock. All at once. It was . . . intense.
“Oh!” I clutched at his arms as I felt something wonderful twist tighter and tighter. I moaned as the sensations coursed through me, waves of anticipation edged with such aching pleasure, it impaired my ability to think, to breathe.
Damian was doing nothing more than holding me now.
“It’s . . . y-your . . . feelings.” I sucked in a breath as another wave of red, of heat, of passion rolled over me. I was trembling now, my toes actually curling. I was barely holding on here.
One corner of his mouth tugged up, and male satisfaction stirred in his gaze. “You’re going to come, aren’t you?”
“If you would tone it down,” I offered in a raspy voice, “I wouldn’t.”
“Hmm.” He splayed his hands over my stomach. “You have scars. Like I do. Lycans appreciate the marks of a warrior.”
“You like my flaws?” I asked. “Those are ugly.”
“Symbols of your courage.” He traced one of the thin white lines where Robert’s knife had sliced me open. “This is beautiful.” His gaze flicked up to mine. “You are beautiful.”
The truth of his words splashed right in with his lust, which he wasn’t trying to tone down at all. In fact, the more he looked at me, at those reminders etched on my skin, the hotter his passion, and therefore, the hotter my passion.
“D
amian!” My nails were digging into his forearms, but he didn’t seem to care. He was staring at me intently now. I couldn’t look away from his eyes, and he didn’t want me to—he wanted to witness my pleasure. He held me at the waist, but his gaze pinned me more effectively than his body. In fact, he wasn’t really touching me anywhere else.
I don’t know what he was thinking. I did, however, know what he was feeling.
The need for me burned through him like wildfire. He sent it all to me, all that aching, endless wanting . . . it rained over me like a waterfall, soaking into my skin, burrowing into my nerves, striking like lightning into my very core.
Pleasure shattered me.
I squeezed my thighs together, my hips jerking as the orgasm claimed me fully. I was clutching Damian’s arms, trying to stay upright. And the whole time, my bliss was winding around me like sparkling ribbons, and then his, too, because he enjoyed what had happened, and he wanted me, and he wanted more.
I couldn’t draw a proper breath. Damian’s gaze held mine hostage. He ripped off my panties. Then he was pushing me against the door . . . and dragging down his jeans . . . and he grasped my buttocks and lifted . . . and I clasped my legs around his waist, and then he was . . . he was . . .
“Damian.”
“You’re going to come again.”
His cock teased my entrance.
“Yes,” I said. I licked my lips. “Right now, if you like.”
He slid inside me, going slow, watching me carefully, until he was fully sheathed. He waited, panting, trembling, barely hanging on to his control, wanting me to get used to his penetration.
I squeezed my inner muscles around his cock, and he growled. My heart skipped a beat, and my womb clenched. I clutched at his shoulders, riding the waves of his lust, grabbing on to his pleasure and weaving it with my own.
“Kelsey.”
“Keep your threat,” I said. “Keep your promise.”
He started to move.
I was consumed all over again.
Burning. Red. Burning. Pink. Burning. Green.
Control. Control. Damn it. Con—
He slammed into me, over and over, and his lust was feral and raw and glittering. I couldn’t help myself . . . I wanted him to feel me, too . . . and so I sent my own passion, my own tenderness to him.
He gasped, his back arching, and he pierced me deeply.
I tipped over the edge, falling, falling, and he followed me, saying my name like a mantra, like a prayer, as he emptied his seed inside me.
“I think we should do it again,” I said.
We were in Damian’s very nice black BMW, on our way, presumably, to see Dr. Michaels. However, I was far more interested in exploring the sexual options available in the BMW. Damian hadn’t really said much since he helped me put back on my dress. My murdered lingerie he stuck into his pockets. Then he hustled me out of the building and into his car before we attacked each other again. Or someone caught us. Or both.
“Kelsey.”
I glanced at Damian and noted his stony expression. I had my shields up because the intensity of our sexual encounter had wrung me dry. But I didn’t need my gift to know that Damian was in a snit of some kind. “What?”
“I do not wish to discuss our sex life.”
“Oh,” I said. “Then I guess I’ll just shut up. Because your life should be as uncomplicated as possible, right? I mean, why should I discuss one of the most exciting, awesome events of my entire twenty-eight years when it makes you, the reason I had such an exciting, awesome—”
Damian pulled the car onto the shoulder and put the Beemer into park. We were on a narrow two-lane road in a heavily wooded area. There weren’t any streetlights, and the moon was hidden behind thick clouds. Snow dotted the trees like whipped cream. The only illumination was provided by the dashboard.
“First of all,” he said in a no-nonsense tone, “I don’t think—” He paused. Then he looked at me. “The most exciting, awesome event of your entire twenty-eight years?”
“Yes. And I would know. Because I was there for the whole time.” I leaned over the console, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him close. Of course, he allowed me to do this because no one could make Damian do anything. I kissed him. “I want to do it again.”
“We should go see Dr. Michaels.”
“Don’t you think if ETAC did anything to you, and your bite did anything to me, okay anything else to me, we’d know by now?”
“That assumption does not negate the need for Dr. Michaels’s examinations.”
“Will I have to wear a paper gown?”
He narrowed his gaze.
“I don’t really like the paper gowns. I’m not wearing a bra or panties, and my dress doesn’t fit. Anyone can see my cleavage. Of course, I’m not shy, I could just be naked. I was naked a lot in the hospital last year, thanks to the varied locations of the knife wounds. Doctors examined me a lot.”
“You will not be unclothed.”
“Are you sure?”
“You are trying to rouse my jealousy so I will not take you Dr. Michaels,” Damian said in an even tone. “It’s childish.”
“True. And not one of my better manipulations,” I admitted. “But really, do you want him to see my boobs?”
His lips thinned. “No one but me will ever see you naked.”
“You know that’s not true,” I said. “I’ll see myself naked. And if this werewolf thing works out, and you don’t mate with me, I’ll have to—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are mine.”
“You gonna put a brand on me?” I asked. Then I realized it was the wrong thing to say. I just wanted to rile him, to keep him from disappearing behind his cold facade, but instead, I’d reminded him about my goddessgiven tattoo.
He pushed down the shoulder of my dress and touched the weird mark. “Where did you get this?”
“Prison,” I lied blithely. “Big Betty gave it to me so everyone would know I was her bitch.”
His lips curled upward, even though I could tell he didn’t want to smile. “This is my mark,” he said. “So, in effect, you already wear my brand.”
“Neat.” I trailed my fingers along his jaw. “You know how I got it.”
“She gave it to you. It’s a sign that she approves of my recklessness. It is, unfortunately, a quality she admires.”
“I think she loves you.”
He closed up immediately. I hadn’t even realized his emotions were floating around, like friendly ghosts, until he yanked them all away. I felt chilled by the suddenness of his withdrawal, and rubbed my arms. “Soooo . . . not something you want to discuss.”
“No.” He tugged up the dress, and sighed. “You’re very frustrating.”
“I know.” I patted his knee. “It’s a testament to your fortitude that you’ve been able to put up with me for this long.”
“It is not my fortitude you should be worried about,” he said. “It is my patience.”
“Oh, I’ll piss you off eventually. It’s a talent of mine.” I glanced at the backseat. “Since we’re stopped and everything, we should do it in the car.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Then his eyes snapped open. He frowned as he reached over to feel my forehead. “You are warm.”
“I am?” I didn’t feel warmer than usual. I did, however, feel like having sex. “You’re making that up so I won’t attack you.”
He glared at me.
Okay, he wasn’t lying, and frankly, he was the kind of guy who didn’t fib. Yep. He definitely fell in the category of: The truth is better no matter how much it hurts.
“Aren’t you ever impulsive?” I asked.
“No.”
He was struggling with his loss of control again, with how I could circumvent his sense of duty. And he was worried about me. He was trying to file everything away. He hated the mess of feelings, how they tangled together and made him want things. Want me.
I was, of cou
rse, interpreting the riot of his emotions. I had plenty of time to practice over the years, especially as a psychotherapist. He was trying to go cold on me again, to push me away, to push everyone away. Something had happened to break his confidence, his faith in himself, and he’d coped by separating himself from pesky emotions. That was no way to live. In fact, it wasn’t living at all. And he needed to know the value of joy, of laughter, of singing, of spontaneity.
“Don’t,” I said. I took his face in my hands. “I told you, Damian. If you have to put on that mask for everyone else, then okay. But not with me.”
He stilled, his expression going carefully blank, his eyes displaying distant curiosity.
“If I only have a month to live,” I said, “then I want every day to be filled with wonderful things. With you. With sex. And cupcakes.”
He cracked a smile, and then seemed surprised that he’d done so. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my palm. “I will give you everything within my power,” he said. “Including all the cupcakes you can eat.”
“And you won’t turn into Statue Man?”
“Not with you,” he promised.
“And you’ll have sex with me whenever I want?”
“I shall try to live with the inconvenience of servicing you.”
“Sweet. Then let’s go see Dr. Michaels.”
Chapter 9
The visit to Dr. Stan Michaels was anticlimatic. We met him and his wife, Linda, at their house, which was sorta out by itself in the middle of nowhere. They did, however, have a killer pool—with a rock waterfall and everything. And get this—it smelled like lavender.
Anyway.
We ended up going to the basement laboratory, which was filled with shiny tables and fancy equipment and a number of machines I couldn’t begin to identify.
He took blood, scraped off some skin, and even plucked some hair. He did the same to Damian, told us it would be a couple of days before he got back any results, and then we were on our way home.
Well, almost.
“She’s too warm,” said Damian. “And she’s—”
Dr. Michaels stared at Damian, waiting for him to continue. And I stared at Damian, too, and smirked. My poor lycan pressed his lips together, unable to verbalize that I was too horny for his own comfort.
Must Love Lycans Page 16
