by Tes Hilaire
And all of a sudden the shower was too hot, even though the water had yet to make it past lukewarm.
Better to not look there. Not if she wanted to keep her nerve.
She desperately wanted to explore that tantalizing piece of flesh though, so she reached out, her fingers tentative as they closed around his throbbing length. Silken velvet over iron. Not grossly long. Well proportioned for his height. But wide, oh so wide.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his cock jerking in her hand.
“Karissa.” It sounded like a plea for mercy.
“Trust me, okay?”
“Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?” Despite what she could tell was an attempt at flippancy, his voice was tight, harsh even.
Their gazes met, his fears laid out for her to see. She didn’t even need to read him to know what was going on in that head of his. He was scared to death. Torn between his desire to be with her and his fear of hurting her. Strange how she got more than intent from him. It was as if she could actually read his emotions.
It’s because you’re mates.
Yes. The truth of that pealed like a bell in her mind. Her mate. She knew it, he knew it. Now she had to convince him that he could trust in that bond.
Holding his gaze, her hand boldly stroking up and down his length, she leaned up on her tiptoes so her lips were close to grazing his chin. “I already trust you. I know you. Body, heart, soul. You won’t bite me.”
His eyes flared. Across that strange whisper of a bond, she felt a lash of something: anger. Despite her resolve, she still flinched. He took that moment to push off the wall, using the muscular breadth of his body to intimidate as he leaned forward, the features of his face chiseled into hard lines of indifference as he blatantly leered down at her breasts. “See, that just goes to show how little you know. I have no soul, remember?”
Chapter 17
Karissa blinked, staring into the banked embers of Roland’s eyes. He honestly believed he had no soul. It was etched in the tight lines of his jaw, the rigid tension in his body, the hollow pain echoing over their bond. His pain was like a sharp knife twisting beneath her breast, ripping another layer away from an already tattered grip on sanity.
It wasn’t true.
If he had no soul, then that meant he couldn’t be her soul mate, or bond mate, or whatever the heck those Paladin called it. And she knew, in her heart, that that couldn’t be true. He was of her. And she was of him. So it took her a while to figure that out, but her body—and that annoying alter ego in her head—had known it the moment she met him.
She shook her head. “No. You’re wrong. It’s your soul that calls to mine.”
He bared his teeth, exposing the impressive set of fangs, probably trying to scare her off. Well, it wasn’t happening. It was a good attempt at deception, but he forgot something: She could read him now. Enough to know his intent was to drive her away. Enough to know he did it to protect her. And enough to know that it was killing him to do so.
And then there was another thing that couldn’t lie.
She slid down onto her knees, her gaze honing in on the engorged head of his cock and the beading moisture upon it. Her hand looked slim and fragile around the hard length of pure male. Unnerving, yet thrilling.
“You’re a damn foolish woman,” he hissed, but he didn’t move so much of a muscle to escape or push her away.
Probably. She knew sex, no matter how powerful, wasn’t going to convince him that he had a soul, but proving he could trust himself with her might.
Leaning forward, she flashed her tongue out to taste the wet tip of his cock. Tangy sweetness. Not just shower water.
His body shook. There was a loud thud as flesh met tile. She peeked up to see his head tossed back, arms planted on the sides of the shower. One of the tiles had cracked beneath the impact.
Because she’d tasted him. Because she was touching him, pleasuring him. For her he had to fight for control.
She knew she was taking a risk. Despite all her pretty words she knew that if he was worried over his control, then she should be too. But she found she didn’t care. Even if he did lose control and bit her, she trusted him. He would never use the vampire dominance over her. He was still too much a Paladin protector for that.
Braver now, she circled the head of his cock with her lips. She had to stretch her mouth awkwardly. How did women do this? She was hopelessly inexperienced in the sex department. She’d seen movies, read romances—including the erotic ones—and even found an old Joy of Sex book in Papa’s attic that had practically burned her skin off from blushing, but she’d never really thought about the exact technicalities. All she could do was run her tongue around the plump head of his cock and stroke the base with her hand.
Then Roland’s hand was there, wrapped in the hair at the back of her scalp and urging her to tip her head just so and taking him in didn’t seem like such a strain. With further urging she began to fall into a rhythm that, in less than a minute, had him panting like an overheated animal and his balls curling up at the base of his cock. She knew because her knuckles kept on brushing into them. Interesting.
Somewhere a phone rang, but Karissa didn’t care and Roland didn’t seem to notice. He was alternating between cursing her out and choking on spine-tingling sex words that always ended with a reverent endearment that included her name.
Her name, whispered across his lips like a prayer, sent a gush of warmth down the inside of her thighs. She wanted to have him inside her, but to get that, she would have to take her mouth off him, and she didn’t want that. She needn’t have worried. The next second had Roland’s hand tightening even further on her hair, his hips rocking forward in a sharp thrust, and a guttural scream emerging from his lips and echoing with a roar off the acoustic tiles. Seed poured into the back of her mouth.
God, yes. This was right. This was perfect. And now that she’d proved he could let go without losing control, he’d take her up and bring her back to the bedroom where he would relieve her of her dratted innocence and mark her as his.
The spasms along the length of his cock finally stopped. She tried to shift off him but was stopped by the hand lodged in her hair. She winced at the sting, only now realizing how tightly he’d been holding her. As if just coming to the realization that he’d been holding her fast, his fingers loosened, his hand jerking away.
She tipped her head up, licking her lips that positively tingled from her efforts. No two ways about it. Losing her virginity to him, no matter how careful he was, no matter how ready she was, was going to hurt.
She didn’t care.
The phone started ringing again. She gave an absent glance over her shoulder before deciding it should be ignored. Roland wasn’t paying it any mind either. Nor was he giving her any attention.
“Roland?” she prompted when he continued to stare at the tiled ceiling.
“Go. Go to the bedroom and get dressed while I answer the phone.”
She frowned. The bedroom part sounded fine, she’d even give him a reprieve to answer the phone, but the clothes bit? Uh, no. She had other ideas. Like, oh, finishing what they started. And if the way he was already hardening again was any indication, he wouldn’t be averse.
She cupped his balls, then ran the fingers of her other hand along the underside of the rising shaft to the bead of moisture on the tip. “We could ignore it.”
His hand lashed out, grabbing her wrist. She gasped, her head snapping back. His eyes were twin pits of glowing embers, his face a mask of rage. Something chilled deep inside her chest.
“I said go.” And with that he tossed her hand away, pointedly turning his back on her.
Gathering up her shredded dignity, she left.
***
The phone had finally stopped ringing. It had started and stopped twice more while he’d been trying to collect himself. Gawd. He couldn’t erase the erotic images. His sweet Karissa shyly taking him in her hand. Gaining confidence quickly. Boldly stroking h
im. That hot seductive tongue teasing. The Cupid’s bow of a mouth opening wide, wrapping around him. Her swanlike neck stretched out, taking him in. He couldn’t help it. He’d lost himself. He’d come. Pouring his seed down her throat. And all he could think of now was that he needed to bite it. Taste the heady concoction of her blood that would be spiked with the faintest mark of his seed. Her blood. His seed. His woman.
A series of loud bangs echoed down the hall through the apartment. He practically jumped out of his skin until he realized it was someone pounding on the outer door.
“Shit.” He jerked a towel off the rack, wishing it were sandpaper rather than downy soft cotton as he viciously dried himself—and the hard-on that had yet to go the fuck away—off. Only one person would have called repeatedly. Only one person knew where he lived and would dare pound on the door. Calhoun. Bastard better have a damn good reason for coming. Other than to try and collect the lost Paladin female. Because no one—not Calhoun, not the elders, not Ganelon and all his armies—would ever take Karissa away from him. He might not be able to give her all that she deserved, but as long as she chose to stay, he would do all he could to make her happy. And he’d stop at nothing to protect her. Even from himself.
Which meant no more incidents like the shower.
After jerking on his pants, he stalked down the hall where the door, after a simple command from him, opened. Calhoun burst in, his hair frazzled from running his hands through it. “Damn it, Roland. You need to stop fucking screening your calls.”
“My, my. I didn’t know you were my mother.” Roland folded his arms over his chest. “Should I start checking in at regular intervals too?”
Calhoun flashed him a look that spoke volumes. Passing by Roland, he glanced first into the bedroom, then the bath, and continued down toward the great room. “You have to get out of here. Now.”
Roland followed him into the open living area, glancing at the clock over the stove. High noon. “Definitely not now.”
Calhoun’s eyes hardened to burnished steel. “I’m trying to save your life. Valin managed to follow you to this section of town. Right now Bennett is pulling records on every apartment in the area. It’s only a matter of time before they find the one that recently underwent some pretty impressive and unusual cosmetic changes.”
Roland’s stomach dropped forty-nine floors into the basement of the building. Valin had followed him. He’d been so concerned about getting Karissa to safety he hadn’t even looked for the telltale shadow of the Black Knight.
Calhoun moved past him into the study, immediately spun around, and pinned him with a hard stare. “Where is Karissa?”
“Here.”
Both men turned to find her standing at the end of the hall. She’d pulled on her dirty jeans, but her brown locks were still wet, curled tight and dripping fat droplets on the thin undershirt she’d confiscated from Roland’s wardrobe.
Calhoun looked from the wet curls to Roland’s naked chest and his own damp black mop. Calhoun’s mouth thinned, his knuckles fisting dangerously.
“We were a bit messy after a scuffle with some of Ganelon’s runts,” Roland offered in an effort to save face. Not his, but Karissa’s. All that talk of “I’m yours” aside, Roland doubted she wanted to announce what had happened between them during the last few hours. Not to mention that if—no, when—Karissa came to her senses and left him for a man who could give her what she needed, Logan would be a good candidate. As long as Roland could keep himself from killing his supposed best friend for the very thought of him touching her.
Roland’s half-assed explanation did nothing to ease the tension in the room. Logan had gone back to drinking in the sight of Karissa like some forbidden drink, and Karissa, finally realizing what her wet strands were doing to that undershirt, which she wasn’t wearing a bra under, had folded her arms across her chest and was pointedly looking anywhere but at the two men in the room.
“Karissa,” Logan tried.
Karissa ignored him, moving into the kitchen and flipping through the mostly empty cabinets searching for only-God-knew what. Which reminded him—if he was going to leave his studio for the Paladin to paw through, there were some things he needed to remove first.
“Stay here. I’m going to grab a few things. Then we can go.”
“Go?” Karissa spun around, her gaze honing in on him. Brown eyes filled with a mix of hurt and shock. She might as well have stuck a knife in him. Did she think he was sending her back to Haven? Did she really think he was the type of man to get his kicks then kick her out?
An image of her crumpled features as she’d fled the bathroom rose in his mind. Ah, hell. Yeah, she did think that. She didn’t understand that for him the tie between sex and feeding was as intricately connected as a two-headed dragon. Just because she’d helped him sate the first need didn’t mean that the second would—poof—disappear. He was going to have to clear up their misunderstanding ASAP. But not in front of Logan.
He took a step toward her. She flinched. So he stopped, keeping his tone level as he explained. “Valin followed us. We need to find another safe house.”
“Oh. Okay.” She shivered, rubbed her arms, and then looked down at what she was wearing. “I don’t have any other clothes that aren’t ruined.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll figure something out.” Like, say, keeping her naked as much as possible. He couldn’t risk letting himself go like he had in the shower again, but coming in a close second would be to have Karissa naked and sated in his bed for however long she would stay. Though maybe he shouldn’t. If her doubt of a moment ago was any indication, the shower incident had actually cooled off her determination to be with him. If he had any honor at all he’d let it stand at that. Momentary pleasure aside, it would certainly be easier, and healthier, for her in the long run.
Later. They’d work it out later.
Still feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest, Roland stomped down the hall and went into the closet off his bedroom. Popping open a drawer full of controls, he typed in a series of codes that opened a sliding panel. There, perched on a series of shallow shelves and hooks, was his collection of weapons, including his old knife. He hadn’t used the blade since he’d been turned. Wouldn’t use the blade. It belonged to the Paladin he’d once been, not the monster he’d become. But nor could he let his former brothers have it. He knew, just knew, that if they were to take it and lift it against him, he would lose it. Nothing Calhoun could say, no self-imposed morals he might have left, would be able to stop him from killing.
He was reaching for the ancient steel when the sound of Karissa’s name spilling off a man’s tongue stopped him. Calhoun, trying to engage her in conversation again and not having much luck judging by the heated reply that came next.
“Don’t. Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t even look at me.”
Yeah, like that request was going to be honored. Roland had to empathize with his friend on this account. It was hard not to look at her, not when she was dressed like something out of every man’s wet dream. Tight jeans, wet white undershirt.
My undershirt.
Hand shaking, Roland momentarily bypassed the knife and started loading himself up with weapons, all the while keeping his ears tuned to pick up the conversation in the other room.
“You have every right to be mad,” Calhoun was saying. “I should have warned you. I should have told you what your presence would mean to the other Paladin.”
That was met with silence. Roland reached for the hilt.
“Karissa, I swear I never meant to hurt you, and I wouldn’t have used the mark to harm you either.”
Roland’s hands fumbled on the ancient blade he’d been strapping onto his thigh. Mark her? Logan had tried to mark her too?
“Only to control me,” Karissa snapped back.
“What? Where did you…never mind. It’s not important.”
Like hell it wasn’t important. Why Logan would have tried to mark h
er was the only important thing right now. Because if it had been for any other reason than her safety…
Apparently Karissa agreed with Roland on the importance issue because she scoffed.
“Karissa, please, I know I failed you when you needed my protection most. I know because of that I’ve lost your trust, but please listen to what I have to say.”
“I’m not going back with you. I’m not going to let you or your father or any man make decisions for me. And I’m certainly not going to give you another chance to try to mark me.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Funny. I don’t exactly believe you anymore.”
Grabbing up his cloak, Roland closed the panel, not hiding the sound of his approach as he moved back down the hall. “Ready.”
Karissa and Logan both swung their heads around. Karissa looked relieved by his timely return. Logan, well, it was hard to read Logan right then. Barring the seemingly heartfelt apology Roland overheard, Logan seemed completely in control. Remote even.
Hard-ass was back.
Good. It will be a fair fight when I take him to task for trying to mark Karissa.
Roland tamped down the thought, at the same time reining in the call for blood. His friend had only tried to do what Roland himself had once suggested. Mark her before the others did. Roland also knew Logan well enough to know his friend, unlike Valin, would not have taken advantage of the mark. Anything more would have been of Karissa’s choosing, on Karissa’s time frame. Honorable bastard that he was.
And the reason you keep toying with the idea of Karissa being with him someday.
Yeah. Someday. But not as in today. Not for a long number of todays.
Shaking off his conflicting wants and desires, he moved into the hall. Karissa immediately moved closer to his side. He reached up, rubbing a hand down her cheek. “It’s going to be okay. You have my vow that I will keep you safe.”
