Dark 18 - Dark Possession

by Christine Feehan

  MaryAnn drew back, her breath coming in a ragged gasp. "You didn't do those things, did you?" The masculine scent of him was in her lungs, surrounding her with every breath she drew. Maybe it was the sound barrier he'd erected, but she couldn't stop the thrill of drawing his essence into her body, or the way her muscles clenched and her blood sang just being near him.

  She wanted to react with the objectivity of a counselor. It was second nature to her, but something else, something wild, was building so that she watched the rise and fall of his chest, the tiny shift in his expression the crinkle of the lines around his eyes, the shape of his molded mouth and wanted—no, needed—to offer comfort without words.

  "No, of course we didn't. We knew what we were doing was wrong. When the grief subsided and we could see reason, we knew it wasn't Vlad's fault any more than it was ours that she was dead. We stopped talking about it and threw ourselves into the hunt for the undead. We became fiends, so much so that all of us lost our emotions much faster than we should have. We made a pact to protect each other, to share what we could of our memories of affection and honor, and we have done so. When our prince put out the call to go to other lands, we answered. The Malinovs did the same. We were sent here, to South America, and they were sent to Asia."

  She leaned in close to inhale more of him, all the while lending him soothing warmth and trying to suppress the rising tide of need. What was so different about him? His confession of wrongdoing? Had that made her more sympathetic to him? Or the fact that he still mourned that lost little "sister"?

  She had been angry with him for thrusting her into his life without her consent, for removing her choices, and for not understanding the enormity of what he had done, but she couldn't help the strength of her emotion for him in trying to understand. For trusting her with his greatest shame. And she knew that was what he had gifted her with.

  When he reached out to push a strand of hair from her face, his fingers brushing across her sensitive skin, she shivered.

  "The Malinov brothers came to us before we left and wanted to talk." His voice roughened, and the sound scraped over raw nerve endings, a seduction she hadn't thought possible. He bent his head, pushing her hair from her shoulder, and his tongue touched her pulse. "They wanted us to renounce the prince."

  Tiny flames danced along her neck and throat, edging down toward her breasts. Her nipples peaked beneath the thin top, and her body felt soft and pliable and so achy she burrowed closer to him. "But you didn't." She was positive. She knew he respected Vlad Dubrinsky in spite of the terrible tragedy.

  "No, we did not. We could not." His voice held absolute conviction. "And at that time, neither did the Malinovs. They swore allegiance to him."

  And she loved him for that. For knowing right from wrong. For having such strong loyalties even when he loved the Malinov brothers so much. They had been his family, yet he had known, all of his brothers had known, that to turn on the prince was to turn on their people.

  "No, of course you wouldn't." She ran her hand up and down his arm, feeling the definition of his muscles beneath her palm. So hard. She closed her eyes, briefly wanting to feel him skin-to-skin. She wanted to seduce him, to take him into her body and fill the emptiness she felt inside of him.

  His eyes came alive with such stormy turbulence that her heart jumped. The dark black irises glowed amber—almost gold, taking her breath away. That wildness in her, that place she never wanted to acknowledge, leapt forward in recognition, and she leaned close before she could think, before she could stop herself, brushing his mouth with hers, breathing for him, taking the adrenaline into her own body. Taking his need. Taking his desires. Taking him.

  He kissed her back, his tongue sliding into the silken heat of her mouth. Every nerve ending leapt to life. Whatever anger he still held toward his prince, toward himself or even toward the Malinovs slid away, leaving his blood pounding for her.

  His arms went around her, and he pulled her even closer, body to body, his mouth on hers, his pulse thundering in her ears. They were merged, mind to mind, and she felt the sudden shift in him, the way every cell recognized her, wanted her, needed her. His teeth tugged at her lip, nipped and teased and demanded. Heat flared, driving away the cold of his skin, pushing out the shadows and sorrow of old memories until there was only this—the ultimate feeling. Sheer bliss.

  "I want to feel your skin against mine," he whispered. His hand was already sliding up her leg, along her calf, up her thigh, inside where she ached and craved and needed him. Where she offered him a refuge and haven. His knuckles moved in small circles against her damp core while his mouth ravaged hers.

  Around him, the world dropped away. Both worlds. Shadows receded until there was only the bed of flowers and the fragrance and scent of man and woman calling to each other. He brought both hands up to hold her in his arms, hold her against him, one hand cupping the back of her head as he lowered her to the cradling vines. He wasn't wild this time, didn't want to be. He took great care, slow and easy, wanting to taste every inch of her, wanting to take them both on a silken journey of pure sensation.

  She reached up to push back his fall of silky hair, so long and luxurious, thick, thicker even than she remembered. His hair had been beautiful, but now, maybe because every sensation seemed so much more to her, his hair seemed longer, a thick pelt she wanted to stroke and caress and bury her face in. More than anything, she wanted to comfort him, make him feel whole and alive and so much better.

  Her hand shaped the nape of his neck and she lifted her mouth to his. His kiss matched the lazy, slow movement of his hands as they slid beneath her top to cup her breasts. His thumbs teased and flicked, with that same languorous pace, creating pinpoints of flame that radiated from her breasts to her belly to melt into a pool of molten liquid between her legs. Her body was instantly slick and hot and already eager for his.

  She loved his mouth. The feel and shape of it. The way it was so hot and commanding. No matter how gentle he began, within moments his mouth took over hers, drugging her with kisses, sending flames spinning into a vortex of need. His hands slid over her skin, leaving her writhing for more, so gentle, so patient, that it shocked her when he suddenly tore her blouse open, sending buttons scattering everywhere, lowered his head and covered her breast with his hot, greedy mouth.

  She arched into him, cradling his head, stroking his hair, whispering encouragement, asking for more.

  Manolito lifted his head to look down at her. She was so beautiful, offering herself up to him to make the past all better. If anyone could do it, she could. He was aroused beyond anything he'd ever thought possible. Whether she knew it or not, she was in his mind, heightening his needs, showing him her eagerness to please him in anyway he wanted—or needed. She was his own personal playground, but this time, his lust was wrapped in love. He knew it absolutely. There was no way not to love her when she gave him everything without reservation, when she had the courage to hand her body over to a man as dominant as he.

  He dragged the skirt from her body, rid himself of his too-heavy clothes and knelt over her, staring down at her full, ripe breasts. Her nipples were hard and eager. Her legs were slightly spread, so he could see the slick, wet invitation of her body calling to his. With a small growl rumbling in the back of his throat, he lowered his head once again to hers. She opened her mouth to him, accepting the hard spearing of his tongue. His teeth tugged at her lower lip, bit at the soft bow as his tongue teased and thrust. Beneath him, her skin heated to a smooth, sensitized silk, so that every time he rubbed his body over hers, she shivered and trembled with eagerness.

  Her hands dropped to his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh, trying to hold on, as he deepened the kisses, rough now, demanding, making each one hotter and more addicting than the last. She was drowning, with no way to surface, his hands hard and hot on her body, his tongue capturing hers over and over, drawing it into his own mouth, his lips taking control in the way his hands did.

  His palms
slid possessively over her breasts, fingers tugging at her nipples. Arrows of flames streaked down her belly and darted between her thighs. She moaned softly, the sound vibrating down his spine and around to his groin, to hum through his erection. He wedged his knee between her thighs, opening her further to him.

  He blazed a trail of fire from her lips to her neck, to the pulse beating frantically there. His teeth nipped and his tongue swirled as he listened to the surge of blood pounding in her veins for him. It was music—sheer music, setting his own blood surging in answer. It was only MaryAnn who could do this for him—quiet every demon, set his soul soaring, bring poetry to his life in the midst of too much reality.

  She began to ride his thigh with a helpless little cry, struggling to assuage the need growing in her. He could feel the gathering of inviting moisture against his bare skin where she rubbed restlessly, and it felt so sensuous he could barely hang on to his control.

  He flicked her nipple with a quick, hard stroke, and she jumped beneath him, already so sensitized that when he covered her breast, drawing the creamy flesh into the fiery heat of his mouth, she arched her body more fully into him, her cries driving him further into a frenzy of desire.

  Her heart was loud, pounding out a rhythm to match his. He made his way down her body, gliding over the silky surface until he could clamp his arms around her thighs and lift her to his greedy mouth. He had woken craving the taste of her, almost more than the hunger for blood. He covered her intriguing little slit with his mouth, tongue flicking and stroking her clit. Her first release was hard and fast, her muscles tightening until the sensitive nerve endings were on fire, but he didn't stop.

  MaryAnn tried to push away from him, but his strength was too much. All she could do was thrash wildly beneath him in an effort to escape his wicked mouth, which only incited him more.

  That's it, sivamet burn for me. Go up in flames. Scream. Become mine completely.

  His voice was a rough whisper in her mind. His mouth suckled as his tongue assaulted her. It was too much, too fast, her body too sensitive.

  I can't. You're going to kill me. Maybe not kill, but certainly destroy everything she had been, remaking her into someone else, someone highly sexual, someone who would need his hands and mouth and body for eternity. It was frightening to be so out of control, to have her body taken over, to have endless sensations build and build relentlessly. The second climax rushed over her, and she screamed his name, a plea, either to stop or for more, she honestly didn't know.

  No, ainaak enyem, I am loving you the only way I know how. I am giving you everything I am and taking everything that you are.

  He heard the growls of pleasure rumbling in his throat, knew the sound vibrated through her sheath, just as it vibrated through him. Her womb spasmed. He tightened his hold and took more, demanded more. This time he thrust his tongue hard and fast, pressing against her ultrasensitive spot while he drew the sweet honey from her body, lust and love gripping him so strongly he shuddered with it. His marauding mouth flung her into a third orgasm. She let out a keening wail.

  Manolito, please. Please, please do something. Anything.

  He rose above her, his features harsh with lust, his eyes filled with love. The combination was almost her undoing. Her heart seemed to stop for a moment, then began to pound so hard her chest ached. He lifted her hips again, dragging her over the thick bed of flowers so he could rest her legs on his broad shoulders, the pulsing head of his cock lodged in her entrance.

  She held her breath, everything inside her focused completely on that one burning spot. The knot of nerves throbbed in anticipation. He surged forward, the thick length of him driving through the tight, silken muscles already so inflamed and swollen that the friction threw her into an even harder climax that didn't seem to stop. He buried himself completely, feeling the velvet walls contract and squeeze, the rippling sensations so strong he groaned with the need for control.

  There was none. There could be none. The scent and feel of her tight sheath surrounding him, milking him, drove him past all sanity, and he plunged into her over and over, pistoning long strokes into her, letting the fiery sensations take him completely.

  Manolito. There was fear in her voice. In her mind. She clutched at his shoulders, nails biting deep, head thrashing back and forth as she lifted her hips to meet his sensual assault.

  You are safe, sivamet. I've got you safe. Relax for me. Let me take you riding the clouds with me.

  He clenched his teeth, trying to hold on when every part of him wanted to let go, to explode into another dimension altogether. There was no longer shame or pain or other worlds around him or in him. There was only MaryAnn, his other half, and the sanctuary of pleasure she provided.

  Let go, päläfertiil. Fly with me.

  MaryAnn felt him then, in her head, sharing his body's pleasure, sharing her pleasure, so that their minds heightened the experience even more. Every deep stroke sent shock waves coursing through her, through him. Every thrust sent the lightning streaks racing through them. Sweat glistened on their skin as they reached together, each one wanting the other's ultimate pleasure.

  He drove his cock deep, hard, into her pulsing, silken sheath. She was strangling him, her muscles tight and swollen from the multiple orgasms, sending fire streaking through his body. Impossibly, he felt his erection grow, locking down inside of her as his balls drew up and hot seed jetted into her depths. Pulse after pulse while his body shuddered with the power of the eruption, pleasure consuming him, shaking him.

  Beneath him, she screamed, her release tearing through her, her eyes glazing over, her face stretched taut with shock, the orgasm almost too intense to bear. The leaves above her head glittered like silver stars, and the edges of her vision narrowed until she could only see him. His shoulders and chest blocked out the world around them as he began to lean forward with infinite slowness over the top of her.

  Manolito allowed his incisors to lengthen. His body was still hard, still locked in her body. The movement of his body pressed the thick hard length of him against her most sensitive spot. She shook. He let her see it coming, wanted her to know what he was doing. "Be still," he whispered when he felt her tremble, when he saw her eyes widen in what might have been fear. "I would never harm you, MaryAnn."

  His teeth sank deep right in the same place he had marked the swell of her breast. She cried out as the pain gave way to another erotic shift. Her body pulsed and wept around his, tightening with exquisite rhythm. She wrapped her arms around him as he took her blood, holding his head to her, giving him everything she was.

  When he finally lapped his tongue across the spot, closing the wound, he kissed her gently. Strangely, he had the desire to bite her again, to sink his teeth in the hollow of her shoulder and lap at the sweet-tasting liquid of life. Resisting, he slowly withdrew from her, savoring the feel of her sheath reluctantly giving him up. He rolled over, pulling her on top of him so that she was lying stretched across him like a blanket.

  He lay beneath her, feeling the imprint of her body over his, the soft mounds of her breasts, her nipples pressing into his chest. She was soft, wet flesh, silky smooth with her lush curves. He could feel her heart beating, feel the heat between her legs, hear the sound of her blood rushing hotly in her veins. Her fingers settled in his hair. She was perfect. The moment was perfect.

  "I dreamt of you last night," she murmured, lifting her face to nuzzle his throat. Her tongue teased his pulse point, her teeth nipping at his skin. "I dreamt of your body in mine and screaming your name. It was such a beautiful dream for a while." She licked at his skin again, her tongue lingering on that small spot. "But then the wolves came…" She trailed off and kissed his throat, pressing her lips to that spot, wanting more, much more, hungry for the taste of him. Her jaw ached with the need, her teeth feeling longer and sharper as her tongue slid over the edges. She nuzzled his shoulder, nipped again.

  Beneath her, Manolito went still. His hands settled around her arms like vis
es, and he jerked her up. His black eyes held such danger, such menace, she turned, searching the canopies of the trees for a reason. His stillness brought her attention back to him.

  "What?"

  Very slowly he put her from him and sat up, shoving his hands through the wealth of black hair. His gaze went back to her, cold and hard and utterly menacing. His mind was gone from hers, leaving her shivering, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

  "Manolito, what is it?"

  "I dreamt of you last night," he said softly in a tone that raised goose bumps up and down her flesh. "I dreamt of my body buried deep in yours, of things I did to you and you crying out with pleasure. And then the wolves came…" Just as she had done, he trailed off.

  She sat up as he had done, drew up her knees, wishing she could don clothes as easily as he was doing now. "Sharing a dream bothers you? Why? Don't you think it can happen, especially as we're so connected?"

  "Carpathians do not dream." He pulled his hair back and secured it with a leather tie. "We sleep the sleep of the dead. Our hearts and lungs shut down to rejuvenate. Our brains do the same. We cannot dream."

  She wasn't certain what he was telling her, but her mouth went dry and her heart picked up a harder, faster rhythm. "You probably dreamt it as you awakened, or went to sleep."

  "How do you explain my tolerance to the sun? I have been unable to walk in the early morning light for centuries. Even with clouds and severe storms, the sun hurt my eyes, and my body grew leaden. Yet I stayed with you until almost noon. Explain that to me." His voice was low and harsh, whipping at her with some unspoken accusation. "I rose with the sun out, yet my skin did not burn or blister."