Dalakis Passion 4 - Eternal Brothers

by N. J. Walters

  Okay, so it wasn't her fault she'd forgotten all about him. He'd played her body as

  if it was a finely tuned instrument and he was a master player. She hadn't been able to

  think about anything. Only been able to feel.

  "Sam." He flinched when she touched his shoulder, but turned his head so he was

  facing her. "Thank you."

  She almost smiled at the look of barely repressed lust on his face. "You're

  welcome." He buried his face back in the pillow. It was then she realized that he didn't

  expect anything out of her. He thought that they were finished.

  If she hadn't already loved him, she would now. For the first time in years, she felt

  feminine confidence surge through her. Apparently, the year in purgatory with Jethro

  Prince hadn't injured her permanently as she'd feared. But she was smart enough to

  know that it might have taken her years to start the process of recovering if she hadn't

  met Sam. And she wasn't fooling herself. This was just the beginning, but it was a darn

  fine way to start.

  "Sam." She waited until he turned his head to look at her. "Can you roll over?" He

  took a deep breath and heaved himself onto his back. She stared at his impressive

  erection. The head of his cock was red and wet and the blue vein that ran the entire

  length pulsed under her gaze. "Do you have any condoms?"

  His pale blue eyes darkened slightly and then one corner of his mouth kicked up in

  a smile. "In the top drawer of the bedside table." She reached over him and opened the

  door, ignoring his groan as her breast grazed him. Then it was her turn to moan when

  he surged up and clamped his mouth around her nipple, sucking hard.

  Laughing, she managed to keep a hold of the box as she all but fell back onto the

  bed. Sam shot her an unrepentant grin as she fumbled with the opening of the box and

  hauled out a foil packet. She'd never laughed in bed before. Everything was different

  with Sam.

  With his blond hair and blue eyes, he looked like a Greek sculpture sprawled out on

  the bed. Every muscle was chiseled to perfection and he had the lightest brushing of

  hair on his chest, which narrowed down to a thicker amount around his cock. And he

  was all hers to enjoy. His erection strained upward as she carefully rolled the latex over

  it. When that was done she threw her leg over his waist, straddling him.

  She caressed his chest, loving the hard feel of his muscles beneath her hands. She

  could feel his heart pounding, hear his breathing getting faster and faster. "Blythe," he

  warned and she knew that now was not the time to tease him. He was too close to the

  edge for that. There would be plenty of other times to touch him and to tease him.

  Raising herself up on her knees, she reached behind, gripping his shaft. An inch at a

  time, she lowered herself, taking him inside her. It was difficult because he was large

  and her inner muscles were still swollen, but finally he filled her.

  "Fuck, you feel amazing." There was no mistaking the admiration in his voice as he

  gripped her hips in his hands and urged her up. She placed her hands on his hard abs,

  using them for support as he lowered her back down again. Catching the rhythm, she

  began to move, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed. Before long, she was lost in

  their lovemaking, reaching for another orgasm.

  Sam released her waist and stroked his fingers over her clit. She felt as if her blood

  was on fire as she slammed herself back down on him. It wasn't enough. She needed

  more. "Sam," she cried, not really sure what she was asking him for.

  He swore, wrapped his arms around her and rolled them so that she was beneath

  him. Shoving his arms under her legs, he planted his hands on the mattress up by her

  shoulders. The new position left her legs wide open and unable to move. She was at the

  mercy of his thrusts. Groaning, she tilted her hips toward him, pressing her head and

  shoulders back into the pillows.

  "Fuck, yes," he groaned as he began to thrust. He got faster and harder, their sweat-

  slick bodies sliding together. She could feel the heat in her pussy as the muscles

  quivered and tightened, signaling her release.

  She cried out his name, but it was lost in his yell as he came. She felt the hot pulsing

  of his cock and wished that she could feel him without a condom. She vowed then that

  she was going to a doctor as soon as possible to get birth control pills. She'd stopped her

  prescription after Prince had died, thinking that she'd never need them again. Then all

  thought was forgotten as her orgasm washed over her. It was even more intense than

  before and she clutched at Sam for support.

  He heaved and shuddered, driving himself into her one more time before

  collapsing on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, never

  wanting to let him go. She protested when he shifted off her.

  "I'm too heavy, darlin', and I've got to get rid of the condom." Reluctantly she

  released him and watched as he rolled to the side of the bed. He removed the condom,

  dumping it in the trash can that was tucked beside the bedside table and then lay back

  down in bed, tugging her into his arms.

  She sighed, settling herself against him, her fingers playing with the hair on his

  chest. "I love you." His words made her still and she raised her head. He was serious

  now, all business, his eyes steady and sure.

  She sat up next to him, dragging a pillow into her lap to cover herself.

  "I want you to move in with me." He broke off and scrubbed his hand over his jaw.

  "Hell, I want you to marry me, but I'll take whatever you'll give me."

  Her stomach tightened and her breath caught. Had she heard him right? "You want

  to marry me?"

  "Yes, darlin', I do. I'm thirty-five years old and I never knew what love was until I

  met you."

  "Oh, Sam."

  "I know you might not be ready, but live with me first."

  "Okay."

  "I know that you're still freaked out about the whole vampire thing, but if you try

  living here for a while and don't like it, I can quit and get another job."

  Blythe couldn't believe her ears. He loved the Dalakis family. If nothing else, her

  time here had shown her that. The fact that he'd be willing to leave them for her

  assured her that she was making the right decision. "I said okay, Sam."

  He eyed her uncertainly as if unsure what she was agreeing to. "Okay, what?"

  "Okay, I'll marry you after we live together for a while."

  A slow, sexy smile crossed his lips. "Really?"

  "Really." She smiled back at him. She'd never felt happier in her life.

  "Come here." He opened his arms and she went back into them easily, as if she'd

  been doing it her entire life. It felt like home. He was home to her.

  "I still have a lot of issues to work through."

  "We'll get through them together, darlin'."

  He tucked her under his arm and managed to drag one of the blankets over them.

  The sun was sinking in the distance, wrapping the room and them in shadows. Blythe

  yawned and snuggled closer to Sam. Together. She liked the sound of that. Contented,

  she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  One month. It had been an entire month since Sophia had seen Zane, since that

  fateful night that she'd told him
he had to leave her. Her life had spiraled out of control

  and was only now beginning to feel like it was returning to normal. Except nothing

  would ever be normal again. Everything had changed. She was changed.

  She flopped down in her favorite chair, pulled her feet up and wrapped her arms

  around her knees. She felt tired. Worn out. Certainly, she looked it. The pale face that

  stared back at her from the mirror each morning was only a ghost of her former self.

  She plucked at the ears of her puppy-dog slippers, but even they couldn't make her

  smile. Tipping her head back against the cushion, she closed her eyes and sighed. Her

  life had been a roller coaster for the past few weeks.

  First, there had been the interviews by the police after she'd been released from the

  hospital. It had taken her a while to convince them that she'd been able to get out of her

  shackles and had killed Spencer in self-defense. But since all the evidence had pointed

  to that, they'd had no other choice except to believe her.

  Zane and the other members of the family had done a perfect job at manipulating

  the evidence. Spencer's body and almost all the forensic data had disappeared. A

  security guard at the morgue had been knocked unconscious but not seriously hurt

  when the body was taken. The police were convinced that the cult he belonged to was

  responsible and were checking into various leads. They hadn't turned up any solid

  physical evidence on the break-in and theft, and Sophia knew they wouldn't. Zane was

  too thorough to miss any detail that might implicate himself or the Dalakis family.

  Then, she'd visited the families of the two other deceased women, wanting to talk

  to them personally.

  Finally, she'd written about her ordeal and about the cult that Spencer had headed.

  With the information that the police had uncovered in the crypt, the police had

  managed to discover Spencer's apartment in the city. With what they'd found there,

  they'd been able to pick up a few people spread across the country. It would take them

  months, if not years, to sift through all the information and try to ascertain just how

  many people these crazies were responsible for killing.

  The worst of it was over now. Her testimony was a small part of it since the

  evidence they had uncovered had condemned Spencer. She was alive and had survived

  thanks to Zane and the Dalakis family. She was much luckier than Janice Barton and

  Ariel Woodland. All she had to show for her ordeal were a few scars that would

  hopefully fade over time.

  A tear slipped from beneath her lid and rolled down her face. Angrily, she swiped

  it away. She'd done more than enough crying this past month and it hadn't changed

  anything. She was still alone and she had no idea where Zane was or how to reach him.

  It had startled her to realize that she didn't even know where he lived. They'd always

  spent their time together in her apartment.

  "And that should tell you something," she muttered as she opened her eyes and

  leaned forward, propping her chin on her knees. Fine. Their time together had been

  great. Wonderful. Spectacular even. But it was over. She was an adult and she'd had a

  flaming sexual affair with an incredible man. So be it.

  But her body didn't believe her. She dragged through the days feeling as if a part of

  herself was missing. She had to force herself to do much of anything, including work

  and that frightened her. Work had always been her solace. Always. If she didn't have

  that, what did she have?

  And the nights were worse. She shuddered.

  At night the dreams would come. Long, hot, erotic dreams filled with images of

  Zane touching her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her pussy. Squirming in her chair, she

  sighed and dropped her feet to the floor. No doubt about it, in the short time they'd

  spent together she'd gotten addicted to his lovemaking. Okay, sex. Better to call it what

  it was. At least on his part. She on the other hand had come to the unwanted conclusion

  that she loved the big lug and wasn't that just dandy?

  "Suck it up." She rubbed her hands over her arms. No matter what she did these

  days, she couldn't get warm. The doctor she'd seen at the hospital had warned her that

  it would take her longer to get past the emotional trauma than the physical and she'd

  been right. Her bruises and cuts had long healed, but emotionally, she was a mess.

  Thankfully, for the first couple of weeks, she'd gone on pure adrenaline and anger

  and had written furiously about the experience. In many ways it had been therapeutic,

  both for her and the families of the dead women. Sophia had been approached by the

  top magazines in the country about her story. The work she'd done in those two weeks

  would keep her fed and sheltered for the next two years if it had to. And it looked as if

  it well might. Since she'd crashed during the third week, she hadn't wanted to do much

  of anything at all.

  The few television interviews that she'd granted had padded her bank account even

  further. If she was frugal, she was solvent for at least five years, maybe longer. It still

  felt wrong to make money from her ordeal, but Janice Barton's mother had scolded her

  when she'd mentioned that. The older woman's words still rang in her ears. You'll be a

  long time getting over this, Sophia. If they want to give you money so you don't have to worry

  about rent and expenses, then you should do it if you want to. Mrs. Barton was a very

  practical woman and Sophia had come to like and respect her greatly in the past few

  weeks.

  So now she was yesterday's news. The media had slowly filtered away, their

  attention caught by other things, the least of them being the blood cult that seemed to

  spread from coast to coast.

  It was good to be alone.

  Or at least it always had been. Now she just felt lonely. But she didn't want just any

  company. She wanted Zane's. She hadn't even had the courage to contact the Dalakis

  family in person. She knew they were respecting her wishes by staying away. Zane had

  obviously conveyed her request to them and she knew she'd have to make the first

  move if she wanted to see them again.

  She'd called them a few times during the day when she knew they would be

  sleeping. A couple of times Cassidy had answered and she'd hung up. Other times, she

  left a message on their machine, updating them. Oh, she knew that Cassidy probably

  knew as much or more about the investigation than she did, but still. She felt she owed

  the family something after Laurel Rose and Stefan had risked their lives for her.

  As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep her thoughts away from Zane. She loved the

  way his large, hard body felt tucked next to hers after they'd had sex. She missed his

  urgency as he stripped her clothing from her, the way he looked at her with lust

  gleaming in his sharp, green eyes. No other man had ever looked at her like that before.

  Her breasts ached and she cupped them with her hands, trying to ease them. But it

  was no use. Her nipples were hard nubs that rubbed against the thin fabric of her cotton

  top. She'd stopped wearing a bra again, unable to bear the confining fabric. Even her

  skin felt overly sensitized so that even the slightest touch was almost too much for her

  to handle. Her sex was swolle
n and damp, her core throbbing with emptiness, begging

  to be filled.

  "Stop it!" She surged out of her chair. Raking her hands though her short, spiky

  hair, she began to pace.

  Someone pounded on her front door. "Oh, great. That's just what I need." She

  thought about ignoring it, but it came again. This time louder and more insistent--a

  cop's knock. Her memory took her back to a few weeks ago when she'd opened the

  door to a man who'd changed her life. She moaned as her shirt brushed over her

  nipples. Swearing, she plucked the fabric away from her skin, but it didn't do much

  good. It settled back over her nipples, outlining them perfectly.

  When she got to the door, she took a deep breath and looked out the peephole.

  Nothing. The next knock made her jump. Her heart fluttered and began to beat faster.

  She was quickly losing patience with whoever was on the other side of the door.

  "Who's there?"

  "Zane York. I'm a cop."

  She almost smiled at the way he mimicked their very first meeting. Almost. Instead,

  she leaned her forehead against the heavy wood panel, certain he must be able to hear

  her heart pounding through the door that separated them. What should she do? Could

  she face him only to have him leave again? She wanted him to stay, but she wanted him

  to want to stay. And how convoluted was that?

  Sighing, she prayed for strength as she flipped the locks on the door and opened it.

  God, it should be illegal how good this man looked. Tall, dark and handsome wasn't a

  cliché when it came to Zane York. Faded blue jeans, soft from many washings, molded

  his heavily muscled thighs and displayed his manhood to perfection. She could feel her

  cheeks heating as she continued her perusal. The seams of his dark green T-shirt were

  stretched to the limits by his shoulders and biceps.

  His face was still as rugged as ever. Not handsome, but compelling. Zane was no

  pretty boy. He was all man and she still wanted him. Her body, already hot and achy,

  zoomed into overdrive at his nearness. His musky scent, tinged with sandalwood and

  male heat seemed to surround her, permeating her skin.

  Cream seeped from her core and began to slip down her inner thighs. Great time to

  remember that she wasn't wearing any underwear. Unable to bear any more weight