“Are you saying you don’t want to be with me now?” He said it low, careful, as if he were balancing a world of emotions on a very thin stick. One wrong comment and the stick would break and the world would fall. Shit.
“I’m saying I don’t have time for lengthy foreplay. I need to feed, right away. I’m trying not to cry; that’s not conducive to sex. Not for me, at least.”
“I’m sorry, Anita.”
“Don’t be sorry, Richard. Fix it. Fix yourself, fix us, or don’t fix us. But whatever you’re going to do, we need to do it now. I won’t risk lives because we’re having another fight.”
He nodded his head as if that were fair. Maybe it was. He started moving toward me through the water.
“What are you doing?” I asked, and sounded suspicious.
“I want you to feed off me, Anita.”
“I’m pissed and hurt, and that doesn’t lead to sex for me.”
“If I leave you’ll still be pissed and hurt. You’ll still have trouble concentrating on the sex, won’t you?”
I couldn’t argue his logic. I almost said, But the others are smaller than you, and this is one situation where bigger isn’t better. But I didn’t say it out loud. I didn’t want to hurt him that badly. I also knew that if Richard and I couldn’t come to some kind of understanding, one day we’d be finished as a couple. He’d always be Jean-Claude’s wolf to call. He’d always be bound to us in a triumvirate of power, but we’d be broken up. It would be like being trapped in a relationship with someone you’d divorced but could never completely get rid of. A little slice of hell, that.
He was kneeling in front of me, the water just above his waist. The edges of his hair were wet, but the top was still dry, and still held some of the slick stuff that had gotten on us when I ripped Travis into his animal form. Truthfully, a little mess wasn’t enough to take away from how handsome he was, but the constant fighting was. The picking at it all, and his deep unhappiness with being a werewolf, that was unattractive. I gazed up at him, all that way to the nearly heart-stopping face, so handsome. Handsome enough that I’d have been embarrassed around him in high school. But handsome and well-endowed wasn’t enough to keep letting him hurt me like this. I stared up at him, and for the first time my heart did not leap up, and neither did my libido. I was tired of the fighting. I was tired of his inability to accept our reality. He didn’t believe I was a succubus. He thought it was something that would go away if we got me away from Jean-Claude. Didn’t he understand that there was no going away from Jean-Claude, not for either of us? His comments said no, he didn’t understand that, and that made me sad.
He stood up. He stood up with water dripping down his body. I was suddenly staring at a certain part of his anatomy with water drops decorating it. We all have our weaknesses, and one of mine was water. Richard had dated me long enough to know that. He was betting that seeing him wet was enough to distract me from being mad at him. I had a moment to decide to hold on to that angry sadness, or do what I wanted to do. Do what the suddenly rapid pulse in my neck wanted to do. I felt Nathaniel sway against a wall. I went to my knees, steadied my hands against the warm, wet sides of Richard’s thighs, and lowered my mouth to his body.
16
I LICKED THE water off him with the tip of my tongue. I drank water from the looseness of his body, licking water from the testicles where they hung so heavy and large. I licked and drank the water until his body lengthened and hardened. I couldn’t reach the tip of him now, not without wrapping my hand around the base of him and lowering all that hardness toward my mouth. He made small noises for me, and when I gazed up his body, the eyes that looked back had changed to wolf amber. Sex was supposed to be about losing control, but all lycanthropes could never completely lose control—because to lose control for them meant to change shape. At least once a year some new lycanthrope lost control and cut up a lover during sex. Sometimes the lover survived, sometimes they didn’t, sometimes they got to be furry, too.
I drove my mouth over him until my lips met my own hand. I used the hand to squeeze and pulse around him, but it also kept me from having to try to take all of him in my mouth. I could deep-throat, but it wasn’t always the most comfortable position, not with someone Richard’s size. I could raise the ardeur and do it, do it all, but…
I rose off his body, enough to talk. “I’d raise the ardeur and finish like this, but you’re too strong. You keep me out except during intercourse.”
He looked down at me, and it was almost a look of pain. “I want you to do whatever you want to do.”
“Will you lower your shields and let me feed?”
“I’ll try.”
I shook my head and squeezed him tight at the same time. It threw his head back, made his hands reach to empty air for something to hold on to. He liked to hold on to things when we did this. But his hands found only air, and he looked down at me with a shudder that ran up the length of his body. Just feeling him shudder in my hand brought a cry from me. “God, Richard, God!”
He reached down and grabbed my arms, pulled me up out of the water. I had to let go of him as he came out of the water with me in his arms. He threw me onto the marble around the tub edge. It was cold and hard, and I started to protest. Richard’s fingers found my opening. He shoved his finger inside me, and just doing oral sex on him made me wet, but the water had kept me tight. Even one finger seemed big. He moved it in and out and around, and I cried out for him.
He put two fingers inside me, and he actually closed his eyes, concentrating, searching, until he found that spot, no bigger than a fifty-cent piece, that spot just inside and to the front of the opening. He found it, and flicked his fingers back and forth across it. There hadn’t been enough foreplay for a full-blown G-spot orgasm, but it still felt good, so good. It made me spread my legs wider for him, made me angle my hips for him. He took that for the invitation it was, and drove his fingers inside me harder and faster, until I cried out for him again.
“You’re wet,” he said, in a voice that was a little strangled with need.
I nodded, breathless.
He started to angle himself to enter me, but I put a hand on his chest. “Condom.”
“Shit,” he said, but he went to his knees and riffled through the pile of towels behind us. Condoms lived in the bathrooms and bedrooms of any place I was alone with the men. The pregnancy scare in November had made me unwilling to count on just the birth-control pill. He was cursing under his breath by the time he got the condom on, but he turned back to me, his body hard, eager. Just the sight of him like that, knowing what we were about to do, made things low in my body tighten. Small orgasms before he even entered me.
Even wet and eager, he had to work himself inside me. I writhed around him, just from the feel of him working his way inside. I gazed up at him, let my eyes see his face, the wolf eyes in his face as he fought himself, his arms supporting him above me, so that most of his body was above me, so that I could see him as he pushed his way into me.
“Feed, Anita, feed, please.”
A please like that usually meant that a man was close. I called the ardeur to life. I called it, like coaxing a spark to life, to flame, to burn. The power spilled over me, through me, and into him. The ardeur poured over us in a warm wash of power. It opened my body to him so that he could push in and out of me. I could watch him in the mirrored walls around us, his body above mine, pushing in and out, in and out. He knew with the ardeur on us he didn’t have to be careful, and he wasn’t. He pushed all that length into me as hard and fast as he could. He grabbed my hips, lifted my lower body off the marble, held me in his big hands as he pounded himself into me, so hard and fast that our bodies made a wet, thudding noise. The end of him found the end of me, so that each stroke hit as far into my body as it could, and still he came in and in, so hard, so fast, he was almost a blur in the mirrors. He wasn’t human, and he had speed and strength that wasn’t human. Once he’d worried that he’d hurt me, but we’d found that
I wasn’t human-fragile anymore. We’d found that Richard could be as rough as he wanted, and he wouldn’t break me. He was that rough now, then he found a new speed, a new hardness. It was as if he’d always been holding back, and I just hadn’t known it. Faster, harder, until he was a blur in the mirrors, pounding himself inside me, until I cried out, orgasming around him, body spasming. I felt his body spasm inside me, felt his body buck against mine. All movement ceased, his head flung backward, eyes closing. His fingers dug into my ass, holding us both in that moment, as his body spasmed and went inside mine, with him buried as deeply inside my body as was possible to be. In that frozen moment, as our bodies rode each other, the ardeur fed. I fed. I fed on Richard’s energy, fed on the part of him that was wolf, and human. I fed on all of him, took in every last delicious inch of his power, as I took in every last delicious inch of his body. When he let himself go like this, he gave so much energy.
He lowered me back to the edge of the marble tub. He slid out of me, and even that made me writhe. He collapsed onto his side, because there wasn’t enough room for his shoulders otherwise. He lay gasping with his head near my waist. I managed to move my hand enough to touch his hair, but that was all I could manage. My pulse was still thundering in my ears.
He found his voice first. “Did I hurt you?”
I started to say no, but the endorphins were fading around the edges. There was already an ache beginning between my legs. To Micah I would have said, A little, but to Richard I said, “No.” He had more issues than Micah did.
I felt his hand slide clumsily over my thigh, as if he couldn’t quite make his hand work just yet. He brushed between my legs. I said in a voice that was half-laughing, “Not again, not yet.”
He raised his hand so I could see that he had blood on his fingertips. “Did I hurt you?” His voice sounded surer of itself and less post-coital.
“Yes, and no,” I said.
He managed to raise himself up on one elbow. “You’re bleeding, Anita. I hurt you.”
I looked at his fingertips. “A little, but it’s a good hurt. I’ll remember what we did with every ache.”
His face closed down, and he stared at the blood on his fingertips as if it were an accusation.
“Richard, it was wonderful, amazing. I didn’t know you’d been holding so much of yourself back.”
“I should have kept holding back.”
I touched his shoulder. “Richard, don’t do this. Don’t make it bad when it was good.”
“You’re bleeding, Anita. I fucked you so hard you’re bleeding.”
I thought of one thing to say, but wasn’t sure if it would make things better or worse.
He moved away from me to sit on the edge of the tub with his legs dangling over the side. He washed the blood away.
“I’ll be all right, Richard, honest.”
“You can’t know that,” he said.
I rose, and I ached, deep inside my body. Maybe more than normal. I rose enough to see the blood on the marble, but there wasn’t much of it. “If this is all the blood, then I’ll be fine.”
“Anita, you’ve never bled after sex before.”
Truth time; I prayed that it was the right choice. “Yeah, I have.”
He looked at me, frowning. “No, you haven’t.”
“Yeah, I have, just not with you.”
He started to say, “Who…Micah?” He said the word like he wasn’t happy to say it.
“Yes.”
“This much blood?” he asked.
I nodded and sat up; now that the endorphins were leaving at a rapid rate, the marble felt cold. I held my hand out to him. “Help me back into the tub.”
He took my hand almost automatically, as if he did it because it was there more than because he wanted to. He helped me slide back into the tub. I made a small pain noise. I was hurt, no doubt about that, but I wasn’t broken. I’d had this hurt before with Micah. I didn’t want it this rough every night, but I could do it, and when it was the right time, it was amazing.
“Has he hurt you this badly before?”
“It isn’t hurt the way you say it, Richard. I’m not hurt, I hurt; it’s not the same thing.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
I lay back in the water, easing into it, letting the abused parts of my anatomy relax a little at a time. Strangely, the ache inside me was the only ache. The muscle soreness was gone, washed away on a wave of sex and the ardeur. Good for that.
“I wanted to fuck you, Anita. I wanted to fuck you as hard and fast as I could, and I did.”
“Didn’t it feel wonderful?” I asked.
He nodded. “It did, but if I hurt you, then think what I could do to someone who doesn’t have vampire marks to make them harder to hurt. Think what I could do to a human woman.”
I settled back into the water enough to wet all my hair, then sat up so I could look at him. He looked so sad, lost. “I’ve heard the stories, Richard. Broken pelvises, crushed organs, women and men who needed surgery to put themselves back together.”
“When we’re with humans we always have to be careful of them.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I didn’t know if you could take this, Anita. I didn’t know if I would break you. The thought that I might fuck you until I pushed my way into parts of your body that should never be touched, excited me. I didn’t want to do it, but the possibility of it excited the hell out of me. How sick is that?”
I blinked at him, not sure what to say. “I’m not sure it’s sick at all. You didn’t do it. You just thought about it. The thought excited you, but you didn’t rip me apart to make it come true. I think maybe it’s like a lot of violent fantasies: if the reality happened, it wouldn’t be sexy at all, but the thought of it, a violent thought in the middle of sex, can drive the sex to the next level.”
“Weren’t you afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I trusted you not to hurt me,” I said.
He took off the condom and said, “There’s blood on the condom.”
“I’m not hurt, Richard, or at least no more than I wanted to be.” Truthfully, maybe I was more hurt than I wanted to be. A pleasant ache between the legs was fine, but I was starting to hurt somewhere close to my belly button. That usually meant you’d overdone it. But I couldn’t say that to Richard.
He looked at me. “You flinched just now.”
I closed my eyes and floated back in the water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
I felt the water move, knew he’d gotten in the tub. I sat up, but he was already standing over me. There was something menacing about the way he loomed over me. Most of the time I could ignore how physically large he was, in every way, but sometimes, like now, he made me see it. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, or I didn’t think he was. Not on purpose, anyway.
That otherworldly energy began to flow off him as if the water were getting reheated. I moved so I was sitting against the side of the tub. Standing up wouldn’t help; he’d still loom over me. Besides, my stomach, or rather lower things, were beginning to cramp. I wasn’t entirely certain I could stand up without bending over. That wouldn’t help the situation. Was I hurt? Was I really hurt? Not a question I wanted to have to ask.
“You’re hurt, really hurt, aren’t you?”
His question was a little too close to what I’d just thought. We could accidentally share thoughts and feelings. I fought to put the shields back in place. Sex can bring them crashing down.
He knelt in the water, putting an arm on either side of me. He leaned in, the heat of his power beating against my body. It made things low in my body tense, and that hurt. I fought not to make little pain sounds. I managed not to, but Richard put his face against the side of mine and whispered, “Are you hurt?”
“Please, Richard.” I whispered it.
“Are…you…hurt?” His power pulsed through me, and this time I made a small sound, but no
t a good one.
“You’re going to raise my wolf if you don’t control your power better.” I said it through gritted teeth. One, I was hurting; two, I was getting angry.
He leaned in against my face and drew a deep breath. He was smelling my skin. His power was like a warm, wet heat pushing against me. I was shielding as hard as I could against him, his power, all of it. I thought of rock, stone walls to hide behind and put them in his metaphysical way.
He spoke against my cheek, his breath hot on my skin. “Pain has a smell to it, did you know that?”
“No. Yes.” I’d smelled it myself once, twice, when the beast was first prowling around inside me.
“Are…you…hurt?” He said each word, slowly, carefully, his lips brushing against my cheek as he spoke.
Another cramp hit me, and I fought not to bend over my stomach. I fought to sit in the water, with him pressed against me, and not react. He’d implied he could smell I was hurt. Most lycanthropes can smell a lie. I said the only thing I could say: “Yes.”
He kissed my cheek and said, “Thank you.” Then he stood up and climbed out of the tub. He reached for one of the towels in the pile that always seemed to be in the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” I asked, though frankly I was ready for him to go.
“Away from you,” he said.
I let myself fold over the next cramp. I didn’t fight that it hurt. He wanted to be a bastard, fine. When I looked up again, he had the towel wrapped around his waist. He’d swallowed all that otherworldly energy, as if when he covered his nakedness, he’d covered more than just his body.
“I’ll send for a doctor.”
“No, not yet.”
“Why not yet?”
“Because it may pass.”
He frowned at me. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“I’ve had cramping before—not this bad, truthfully—but it faded.”
“Micah.” He said the name like it was a curse.
“Yes.” I was tired of protecting Richard’s ego. Frankly, in that moment, I was tired of Richard.
[Anita Blake 15] - The Harlequin Page 17
