With a sound deep in his throat, he traced the sweet shape of her breasts. They were soft and quivering, the tips wonderfully hard, stabbing into his palms.
Bending, he swirled his tongue around one pebbled crest, then sucked it into his mouth.
"Oh, Jules," she gasped, clasping her hands around the back of his head, holding him to her for a long moment, before stepping back and skimming her slacks and panties down her legs.
She was gloriously naked, so totally vulnerable that she made his heart ache. She was silently proclaiming her trust in him. And he knew he must give her the same trust. So he pulled off his T-shirt, then reached for the snap at the top of his jeans.
He didn't want to stand naked in front of her and have her see that he wasn't aroused in the way a normal man would be. But he took off his jeans and shorts, because living a lie with her was no longer an option.
For better or worse, he must reveal his true self.
"Jules, you have a wonderful body," she murmured.
"I wish it responded like any other man's would."
She moved closer, combing her fingers through the hair on his chest, then lowering her head to circle one taut nipple with her tongue.
When he sucked in a sharp breath, she raised questioning eyes to his. "Does that feel good?"
"Yes."
"I'm glad. Glad of everything we have together."
She took his hand, tugging him down to the soft rug, then snuggling beside him. Reaching for his cock, she stroked her fingers over the head, then circled him with her fist.
He didn't have an erection, but her touch was like sweet fire traveling over his penis.
"That's good," he breathed. "So good. With you."
She kept her gaze on him. "You've never felt this way… with another woman?"
"No. I never let another woman see my naked body or touch me like that."
"I'm glad. Glad I'm the first. And now I want you to love me."
"We can't have intercourse," he said quickly, because he didn't want to give her any false ideas.
"I know," she answered just as quickly. "Love me the way you have before. Well, not exactly like before. I want to enjoy every moment of it."
He was helpless to deny her. To deny himself what he had been craving all these long weeks of separation. Still, his movements were slow and deliberate as he stroked the inner curve of one breast, then the other, gratified when he heard her breath catch and then quicken for him.
He bent to her and sucked one distended nipple into his mouth while he tugged and squeezed the other, wringing a small sob from her.
Every fiber of his concentration was tuned to her, to the tiny sounds she made and the ripples of sensation that flowed across her body as he stroked downward toward her sex. When he reached his goal, his fingers played with her, easing her velvet folds apart for his attention.
She was hot and wet for him, her color deep. Her clit was standing up, begging for his touch, and relief flooded through him as he drank in her response. She was with him every step of the way—so far.
He dipped two fingers into her vagina, then withdrew to the sensitive rim, pleasuring her there before stroking upward toward her clit, giving her the amount of pressure he had learned that she liked.
She lay in his arms with her eyes closed, but she kept her hand on his penis, gently stroking and squeezing him, and he realized that he liked the contact and that he had hardened somewhat in her hand.
He felt her tension gathering. Then her eyes blinked open and focused on his face.
"Don't make me wait any longer. I need to come," she gasped out. "And I need you to take your pleasure."
He had never wanted a woman more urgently, more violently. Yet this was the moment he had dreaded. He could make her come and forget about his own pleasure.
But then she would get up and walk away from him, and he would never see her again. That might happen anyway.
He felt poised on a knife edge of dread. He wanted to plead for understanding. Instead, he lowered his mouth to her shoulder. Tenderly, he kissed her ivory flesh. Then he pierced her skin with his special teeth.
Taylor made a small sound, and he felt as though barbed wire was twisting in his gut. He needed to ask if he had hurt her—was still hurting her. But he couldn't lift his mouth now.
He started to do what he always did. He started to invade her mind and turn her thoughts into a rosy glow. But she gripped his arm.
"Don't," she gasped out. "Don't mess with my head. Not this time."
It was difficult for him to obey her command because hiding his true nature was so ingrained. But he did it, because it meant the difference between keeping her with him or losing her.
And he couldn't deal with the loss. So he drew his mental powers back into his own mind, even as he drank her sweet blood while he stroked her sex. When he felt the first contractions of climax take her, he stoked her pleasure, staying with her, drinking her life fluid and the passion she gave him.
She cried out, her inner muscles clenching and unclenching around his fingers, her hand squeezing his cock. And he felt a shudder go through his whole body as his own pleasure reached its ultimate peak.
She gasped his name, then went still in his arms. He lifted his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he cradled her close, his anxious gaze on her face.
Tension stiffened his whole body. He had done something dark and forbidden to her. She had asked him to do it. But the request had nothing to do with how she was feeling now—about him, about them.
"Taylor?" he managed to ask.
"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you for sharing your secret self with me."
He was too overwhelmed to answer. All he could do was gather her to himself, feeling a wave of relief like a warm wind blowing through the room.
She moved her head comfortingly against his shoulder and reached for his hand, knitting her fingers with his, holding tight to him.
"Taylor, oh God, Taylor," he murmured, touching the place on her shoulder where he had drawn from her, where he had marred her white, almost translucent skin. "Did I hurt you?"
"Just a little."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. That little pain added to my pleasure."
His gaze searched her face. "You wouldn't lie to me?"
"Never."
He nodded, reading the truth in her eyes, and impassioned words tumbled from his lips. "I've never felt for any other woman what I feel for you."
She kissed his collarbone, his neck, his cheek.
"Thank you for trusting me," she murmured. "I know it was hard for you."
"Yes. But I had to. I wanted you too badly to back out—once we started."
"I was counting on that." She stroked her thumb over his lips. "I think I've fallen in love with you. That's the real reason why I came back."
He felt his chest tighten. Sitting up, he propped his back against the bottom of the sofa and looked down at her.
"You can love a man who has to go out at night and drink the blood of innocent victims to live?"
"That's a pretty stark way to put it." She sat up, too, then reached for the shirt she'd discarded on the floor. When she started gathering the rest of her clothing, he reached for his, too.
Dressed again, she sat down on the sofa, and he joined her.
"I want you to understand what you're getting into," he said.
She found his hand again. "When I stopped being upset, I started thinking a lot about my feelings. And reading about… vampires."
She had said the word, and it hung in the air between them.
"A lot of what you read is garbage," he said tightly.
"Well, I'm hoping you'll set me straight. I'm hoping you can let me into your life."
"It's not pretty."
"It's what it must be."
He marveled at the understanding she was willing to give him. He had never dared ask for such understanding. Perhaps no other woman could have given it to him. But he
knew from her work that her ability to share her emotions was extraordinary.
"You are very brave to know what I am and want to be with me."
"I'm not brave. I'm selfish."
"No."
"Let's not waste time arguing." Changing the subject abruptly, she said, "I've seen you eat food. So that's possible for you."
"Just a little."
"Good—because I'm not much of a cook."
He laughed. "I guess there's some advantage to getting hooked up with me."
She nodded, then asked softly, "Will you tell me about John Randolph?"
He had kept his secrets for so long. Now it was a strange experience to let down his guard.
"John Randolph was a lonely man. I think my kind are all lonely. And he felt guilty because he had killed people before he learned how to take only a small amount of blood. I think he went down to the London slums looking for victims. But he was also looking for a way to atone for the deaths he had caused. He took me back to his estate and raised me like a son. And by the time I found out what he was, I loved him. I don't mean sexual love. He was like the father I never had."
"Why did he make you like him?"
"Because I had what you'd call TB today. I was slowly dying, and that was the only way to save me." He raised up on his elbow and looked down at her. "He told me that making a vampire isn't easy or safe. He told me that he'd tried it before and no one had ever lived through the transformation. I didn't have much to lose at that point. Just a few weeks of pain and coughing."
She tightened her grip on him.
"Maybe I trusted him enough for it to work. After the change, he taught me what he knew. He taught me how to feed without killing. Then a new vicar came to the little church in our village, and he started preaching about godless creatures of the night. A mob came after us. John led them away from the house. That's how I escaped."
"He saved you."
"Yes. I was able to take some of the gold and jewels he had hidden in the house. His fortune gave me a good start."
"But you've been alone all this time."
"For close to three hundred years. Except for the times when I linked up with a woman. And that was never for very long." He dragged in a breath and let it out in a rush. "And I don't know what to do about us. When I'm with you, I want to make love with you. But it's clear that I can't keep taking blood from you."
"When we make love, your pleasure comes from drawing my blood?" she asked softly.
"Yes. And from my feeling your climax."
"And when we had intercourse? That night was good for you?"
"God, yes."
"And a little while ago, it felt good when I stroked your penis?"
"Yes," he answered, marveling that they were having this conversation.
"So if we could have intercourse some of the time instead of what we just did—that would work for you?"
He wanted to look away, but he kept his gaze steady. "Yes, but I don't think it's possible very often."
She reached in the pocket of her slacks and brought out a flat packet. Inside were elongated blue pills.
"What are those?" he asked.
"Viagra. You've heard of it?"
"It's something that men take—to make them get an erection."
"Exactly." She cleared her throat. "Would you consider trying them?"
He got up and walked to the window, staring out at the garden, seeing the flowers shimmering in his night vision. Because there was no alternative, he had accepted his life away from the sun—and along with that many other things about himself. But what if long-established habits had blinded him to new alternatives?
He had been desperate to make love with Taylor the way a man made love. And he had done it the only way he thought was possible. Now she was telling him there might be another way. An easier way. Would it work? Or would his hopes be crushed?
He turned back to her and saw the unguarded look of wanting on her face. "For you," he said. "Anything for you."
"You don't want it?" she asked.
"Yes, I do. It's just a little difficult to rearrange three hundred years of thinking."
"But you're very adaptable. They didn't have cell phones three hundred years ago, did they? Or the Internet."
"Right." He took the packet from her and looked down at the directions.
"I think you take one. With some water."
"Then what?"
"You have to wait for a half hour—or an hour."
"Would you wait for me in the garden?" he asked.
"Yes."
Taylor didn't know if she'd done the right thing. What if the Viagra had no effect on his system? Well, they'd be no worse off than before. Jules DeMario was the most extraordinary man she had ever met. She wanted to be with him, and it was clear he wanted to be with her. When she'd given him an ultimatum, he'd broken rules he'd laid down hundreds of years ago.
He wanted this to work—and so did she. That might be the crucial factor.
Still, her nerves were strung taut as she stood in the garden staring at a bank of vivid yellow flowers. When she heard footsteps crossing the patio, she stiffened. It had to be Jules. Yet he said nothing. And she was sure the experiment had been a failure.
He came up close behind her, the way he had at the nightclub. And later in the shower. Only this time was different. This time she felt an unmistakable hard shaft pressed to her bottom.
"Jules," she breathed.
His hands came around her as he bent to nibble his lips against her neck, her ear.
When he had done this before, he had kept her facing away from him, and she understood the reason why. This time, he turned her in his arms, and she saw the look of wonder and gratitude on his face.
"It appears that magic blue pill was a good idea," she murmured.
"Very good."
He gazed down at her for a long moment, looking so powerful and yet so vulnerable that she wanted to weep.
When he lowered his head toward hers, she raised up on tiptoes, meeting him halfway. The mouth-to-mouth contact was like a bolt of white-hot fire, sizzling along her nerve endings.
But that was only the beginning. He used his lips, his tongue, his teeth, and she did the same, while they touched each other, hands stroking over backs and shoulders, gliding over ribs, drifting down to hips.
A groan welled in his throat when he angled his mouth, first one way and then the other, as though this were their first kiss, and he was just beginning to explore the magic between them.
When he lifted his head, he took her by the shoulders, creating a small space between them so that he could meet her gaze, his eyes burning into her.
"I didn't know how lucky I was when you called me on the phone," he said in a husky voice.
"Both of us were lucky." She gripped his muscular forearms. "Jules, whatever happens now, however this comes out, I want you any way I can have you."
"When I put you in a trance, I didn't give you a choice," he said in a thick voice, and she knew he still couldn't believe that she would come to him of her own free will.
She stroked her finger over his lips, then inserted it into his mouth, touching the teeth that he had used to pierce her flesh.
"I had a choice when we made love a little while ago. I have a choice now," she said in a strong, clear voice. "And I choose to be with you."
"Oh Lord, Taylor."
He swept her into his powerful arms, lifting her up. As though she had no more weight than flower petals, he carried her down the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom. No ordinary man could have done it so easily. He showed no signs of exertion as he set her on the floor beside his bed.
She looked around in wonder. The only illumination came from the glow of candles flickering around the room, and she saw how he had used the time since he'd taken the pill. The room was like a warm, secret cave, complete with a sensuous velvet spread on the bed.
"This is beautiful."
"Like you."
Between k
isses, he began removing her clothing and his.
And she helped him, trying not to tremble. When they were both naked, standing side by side on the rich carpet, she reached to touch him.
Except for that one time, he had made love to her only with his hands and lips. But he was hard now, his penis standing out proud and firm from his body. And she caressed him gently, gratified that her idea had worked.
"This is so new for me," he said in a husky voice.
"For me, too. Now that we're communicating in a way we never did before."
"Yes."
"So can I ask you—how often have you done this?"
"Had intercourse?"
She nodded.
"The only time since I changed was with you. I never felt the need for it with any other woman. Only you."
She kissed his shoulder, his jaw. "And how many times before that?"
"Only with two women. One was a servant in John Randolph's house. The other was the nurse who took care of me when I was sick. I think she felt sorry for the dying young man."
She thought about what those encounters might have been like, and about his later experiences. Certainly in this sexually explicit culture, he'd seen lots of things that weren't even whispered about when he'd been young. Maybe he'd even watched porn movies. But there was a big difference between watching and participating.
Perhaps he was following her train of thought because he said in a gruff voice, "And you have more experience."
"Does that upset you?"
"It makes me worry about pleasing you."
"Put that worry out of your mind. What would please me now is to have my wicked way with you."
"What did you have in mind?"
"That's for me to know, and you to find out," she answered, striving to sound bold when her insides were quivering.
She wanted to please him. She wanted to show him there was more to a sexual encounter than he could imagine. And she hoped she had the skill to do it.
"Lie down," she murmured.
When he had stretched out on the velvet coverlet, she knelt on the bed beside him.
As she expected, he reached for her, but she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it before putting it back on the bed.
"Let me enjoy myself with you," she said. "Let me have control of our lovemaking this time."
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