Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5

by Mary Hughes

  His mouth quirked. “I have a better idea. Come with me.”

  “What?” I was startled enough to look him in his twinkling sapphire eyes. “Come with you to your room? Are you nuts?” Come, nuts…oh fuck get your mind out of his pants, Junior.

  “A bit insane, perhaps. But I think I know where your instruments are.” He glided off, leaving me to race after him through a cozy den. “Based on the snickering from Nixie and Twyla.”

  “Snickering…oh no. They didn’t.” My two good friends had not just ambushed me with misplaced attempts at matchmaking.

  “I suspect they did.” He snared my hand and started downstairs.

  Down, to his bedroom. Images of him and me, in his room, on his bed, rolling and surging and crashing… I grabbed the railing, dug in my heels. “Wait. I can’t get…can’t do…I can’t.”

  I tried to tell him all the things I couldn’t do. I couldn’t smell him and not want to bury my nose between his pecs. I couldn’t see his powerful muscles without wanting to touch, to pet, to caress. I couldn’t be near his naked skin without wanting to lick, to suck, to sink to my knees and…all that came out was an uhhh and another, “I can’t.” Apparently between the beer and raging lust, I was lucky to be using language at all.

  “Babi.” Glynn took my face between his hands. “I know how you feel about sex. About commitment. I know you have duty and dreams and I understand why you wish to remain unattached. You’re safe with me.”

  “How do you…then what…last night…?” Yup, there went the language.

  “Last night was desperation. I am desperate for you tonight as well, but we’ll only be downstairs for a few minutes. Junior. You’re funny and caring and brave to keep duty first while you attempt your dreams. I respect that. You’re safe with me,” he repeated. “Hold my hand now. The stairs are steep.”

  Of all that, the word that stood out was desperate. Glynn was desperate for me? The thought of a male wanting me badly, any male but especially one so incredibly talented and attractive as Glynn…there were no words for it. Wouldn’t have been even if my brain hadn’t unevolved to one step above amoeba.

  Midway along the dimly lit basement hallway, Glynn opened a door, paused before flicking on the lights. The gesture made me think he didn’t use them, had only turned them on for me. Maybe vampires could see in the dark or had some form of sonar.

  There sure was a lot I didn’t know about v-guys. I’d have to find out if I was going to spend more time with Glynn…which I wasn’t.

  I took a step back, meaning to wait in the hall, but my gaze smacked on His Bed with a capital Hhhhggg. King-size, five pillows across, with a royal purple comforter the exact shade of his eyes heated with arousal.

  Not a bed but a cruise ship for sex.

  I remembered his intense lovemaking on my small twin mattress, thought of how much more active he could get on this battleship of a bed…and nearly snapped my neck looking away.

  A small, candlelit table sat in the opposite corner.

  Even without Nixie’s curiosity to prime me, I’d have known that here was something important. Precious, and not referring to Gollum-like Steve. Glynn’s mysterious little altar banked my lust. What knickknacks would be on this special table? Sex trophies? Or keepsakes of a lost love?

  I floated closer, coming fully into the room. A heavy cloth covered the table, woven brocade. Red, but an old red, like it had been dyed before the colonies were discovered. Not faded from years of sun but whitened with the simple passage of time.

  Three tchotchkes sat on the cloth, arranged in an equal-sided triangle. Each was illuminated by a tealight set in front like an offering. One extra tealight was near the center.

  A small dragon roared left bottom. Red-painted pewter, it stood fighting-ready, front paw raised. I seemed to remember the dragon was a symbol of Wales.

  A white clay pipe was bottom right. Unglazed, long-stemmed, a smell of cavendish indicated it was sometimes used.

  And what was the tchotchke at the top of the triangle, clearly the most important by its placement?

  A simple clay round with a wooden handle.

  I leaned closer, practically put my face down by it, but I finally had to pick it up to tell what it was. Glynn’s sharp intake of breath didn’t stop me from turning it over to see—a cookie stamp.

  What would a warrior-prince vampire be doing with a homey cookie stamp? I cast him an inquiring glance.

  Arms crossed, he braced against the wall farthest from the table. Even without the sucked breath, I knew he wasn’t happy, not in that defensive stance.

  Still, I needed to know. “What is this?”

  “Nothing.” His tone was flat, not with indifference but from a wealth of suppressed feeling. He pushed away from the wall, strode over and took the stamp from me. With a dark, slashing look, he placed it carefully at the exact top of the undrawn triangle.

  Then he turned his back to stride the two steps to the dresser. The conversation was emphatically over.

  I’d have thought it a nonverbal slap if I hadn’t seen the pain in his eyes.

  He pulled a drawer open and rooted for clothes. Muscles rippled across his broad back, rekindling my lust instantly.

  Enigmatic little knickknacks, cryptic words, spines going up like a porcupine—and I still wanted to pole vault into his body. Dammit.

  I forced my eyes away and caught sight of my sax case, tucked next to the bed. Yup, Nixie and Twyla were indeed channeling Yente the Matchmaker-Matchmaker. Now that I knew where to look, I saw my flute in another corner, my clarinet in a third. Just in case I, you know, needed an excuse to stay a little longer. Matchmaking friends are bad. Clever matchmaking friends are worse. Like STDs, lots of fun but a pain in the end.

  As I started gathering instruments, Glynn stretched a T-shirt over his head. I waved a mental bye-bye to his lovely torso, but it was for the best. Just because I loved the taste of sausage didn’t mean it was good for me. The same applied to sex. And Glynn’s sausage was certainly large and meaty… I bonked the flute case against my forehead.

  “Babi, are you all right?”

  He looked at me over his shoulder. It twisted all sorts of muscles into relief.

  I only nodded. And whimpered.

  He eyed me suspiciously but went back to changing.

  I was going for my sax when I heard heavy cloth drop. Like brocade tablecloth slipping, sending knickknacks crashing. My head snapped around.

  Not tablecloth but damp jeans lay on the floor. Beyond were the tight, dusky globes of naked, muscular buttocks.

  Glynn was changing pants. His bare behind was actually more gorgeous than his naked torso. So gorgeous I needed a lick. And a nibble, a bite… I dropped my instrument cases, a small desperate sound rising from my throat.

  He spun with a growl that turned distinctly husky when he saw my face.

  My attention was riveted on his hips. A huge shaft jutted boldly, so proudly erect. The effect was like a magnet, pulling me to stand before him.

  We stared at each other. Honor warred with desire in his eyes, gridlocked him long enough for me to sink to my knees and take his smooth cock into my mouth.

  I took a deep, deep draw.

  He hissed. His belly jerked as if he were having a hard time breathing. His fingers combed into my bound hair, pulsed like he wanted to push me away.

  He groaned and tugged me closer, slotting me more fully onto him.

  I drew my tongue along his length, tickled the knot under the eye with the tip of my tongue.

  He made a throttled sound and thrust into my mouth. He jerked back, then thrust again, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he found me so arousing he was helpless to stop.

  I gripped the muscles of his thighs and urged him faster, deeper. A rumble started, a dark purr like thunder. It rolled from his chest as he started riding my mouth with quick, sharp thrusts.

  The texture of smooth shaft and hot glans was so delightful I swirled my tongue along him as he thrust
. He groaned louder, his cock swelling almost out of my mouth. His strokes went so deep the head nudged my throat. I opened it and took him for as long as I could before choking.

  At my first ack, he withdrew abruptly, drawing me to my feet with fingers still woven in my bound hair. “Junior, babi, I’m so sorry…”

  I put a finger up to his lips. “Don’t.” I’d loved the feel of him, the taste of him, and it must have shown on my face because he bent and demolished me with a kiss.

  He was a big male, his mouth twice the size of mine, and when he kissed me it felt like he was devouring me. Yet his hands cupped my head, thumbs feathering lightly over my cheeks, a loving, astonishing counterpoint to the rampaging male tongue in my mouth.

  I lifted onto my toes and kissed him back. My head swirled with moonlit meadows. With rolling, sweaty bodies, making love on a hillside dancing with fireflies and stars. Need pounded through my veins for more of him, all of him.

  He released me to peel off my jacket. As it dropped to the floor, he slid his hands under the hem of my tee and rolled it up my ribs, over my bra. His fingers speared under the bra to tweak my already stiff nipples.

  I gasped into his mouth, arching for more. He cupped and kneaded, tweaked and pinched until I was whimpering. Until I was burning.

  Until, as I writhed under his skillful fingers, my duty and dreams seemed pitiful things, burned to ashes by lust.

  Writhing in Glynn’s arms, I knew I’d underestimated lust. It wasn’t a simple temptation pulling in one direction, and I just had to resist. It pushed and pulled.

  Lust pushed me up the slope of quickening tension, of growing need. Urged me to crown the sweet crest, to finish, heart pounding, sweaty, collapsing in sated bliss.

  Lust also pulled with the need to connect. To be part of something bigger, to be loved.

  My duties and dreams urged me to leave now. But maybe a better word for lust was passion, because the push-pull to stay was equally as powerful.

  And there I was, caught in a moment of crystalline indecision.

  Glynn raised his head. He stared down at me, eyes clouded with passion, fang tips glinting between his lips, erection pulsing against my abdomen like the dark throb of a coming thunderstorm.

  But he sensed…something. Searched my eyes.

  Slowly, he released me.

  I couldn’t have moved for the world. He did it. He let me go, or I would have been on that bed with my legs open, the push-pull still warring at my soul as I met him thrust for thrust.

  It was my only opportunity and I took it. I yanked down shirt and bra, not even having the capacity to apologize. I snagged instruments, ran out the door and thundered up the basement stairs.

  Gratefully, I escaped. Gratefully, keening over my loss.

  Chapter Ten

  Stumbling up the stairs, I tried to catch my breath. But I wasn’t going to get any calmer, not with the implications of that internal war flooding me, burning me. I ran to the front hallway and threw open the door to see…nothing.

  No people, no beer. Horseshoes lay abandoned on the glistening grass. The party had moved inside the other townhouse because it was pouring rain.

  That thunder hadn’t simply been my heart or Glynn’s purr. It had been real.

  Lucking fovely. Walking home in the rain, the overflowing flush to an already-toileted day. I took a deep breath, pushed it out to control my heart rate. Sooner started sooner finished. Thank goodness I had my waterproof—

  That’s when I remembered my pink jacket.

  I spat a ripe curse. The jacket that Glynn had peeled off and dropped to the floor just before his fingers tweaked my already stiff nipples. I swore again. Stupid, leaving my jacket in Glynn’s room.

  But stupider, what I’d almost let happen. What I still wanted to happen. Fuck me, I was a size two dress and a size eight ass hat. The blistering need hammered at my preconceptions, chipped at the edges of my very self.

  This wasn’t just sex.

  I so did not want to process. Dealing with my physical response to a man—vampire—I barely knew, facing the fact that I’d nearly succumbed to passion despite my mother’s history, admitting that I’d almost killed my dreams by tying myself down emotionally and physically…no. It was too big.

  Thank goodness for Business Truth #2, “Focus” etc. I’d have to deal with this eventually just to keep sane, but that time was not now. Now I had to get my jacket and escape.

  Probably brighter to just escape. But with the pouring rain, I needed a shield or I’d catch a bug, bad because playing a wind instrument with only half a lung sucks green weenies.

  So I left my cases and bulled back downstairs.

  Several yards away, I saw Glynn’s door was open. No noise came from the room. Maybe he was gone. Maybe he’d gone off somewhere to sulk, or had joined the party in the other townhouse. Maybe I was safe.

  I peeked in—and froze.

  He stood in the middle of the room, braced, muscles pumped huge, fangs fully extended. But that wasn’t what shocked me. He was totally naked, but it wasn’t that either. He fisted his erection, talons woven like a wreath of thorns around his immense cock, but it wasn’t even that.

  No, what shocked me was that his nose was buried in my pink jacket and sheer joy shone on his face.

  He threw back his head and climaxed with a roar, red light flaring from his slit eyes, fully vampire and nothing less than fully scary.

  I wasn’t scared—I was stunned. He was jacking off, and apparently having a whopping great time of it, to my scent.

  He turned his head, saw me and gave an involuntary groan. Actually started coming again.

  The sight of Glynn, powerful, gorgeous vampire, so clearly turned on by me, knifed through my gut and groin and heart. Glynn was aroused by me. My whole body sang at the thought.

  Maybe, just maybe, my mother had made the right decision. Maybe world-shaking, once-in-a-lifetime pleasure was enough to offset a whole lifetime of payment.

  Glynn and I stared at each other, each trapped by our own impossible situations, our own unthinkable thoughts. I only realized I hadn’t a clue to his when we spoke together.

  I croaked, “Do you have a condom?” Just as he stuttered, “Junior. I can explain about the teeth.”

  Talk about cross-purposes.

  “Condom?” He inhaled as if to say something else but he only added, “About my teeth—”

  “I know you’re a vampire, Glynn.”

  His response was a stare. “You can’t know that.”

  “Julian and Nikos are vampires too.”

  “Then you don’t understand. You’d be more frightened.”

  “Would be, but Nixie and Twyla are deliriously happy. Ergo vampires aren’t the evil creatures that legend says they are.”

  “We bite.” He shook his dark head. “I’ll bite you. Doesn’t that scare you?”

  “It didn’t kill me before. Would it kill me now?”

  “Now, I won’t just bite your neck.” He tossed the pink jacket. “If I don’t have to hide what I’m doing, I’ll bite you everywhere.” The implications flared in his eyes. His fangs lengthened, straining for me, wickedly sharp-looking. His cock filled and strained for me too, desire unbridled.

  “Um…everywhere, everywhere?” Sensitive breast flesh? Soft inner arms…or inner thighs…or places even more orgasmic than last night’s bite?

  Sweet Carnegie on a pogo stick, the sex would be even better. I nearly went to my knees with the thought.

  Now I had a choice.

  The best sex of my life. A union so potent it would blow my mind.

  And with it, the threat of life-changing complications, like the shackles of love.

  Glynn made no move, no indication beyond his long, elegant fangs and straining erection. Oh, heavens, just looking at them made me hurt.

  I had a choice, but what a Murphy’s fuckup of a choice. Duty versus need in perfect balance, like Buridan’s ass.

  Dammit, I wasn’t an ass; I was hum
an. And more importantly, a businesswoman. The decision was important—but just as important was making it. And what I did after…but that could wait.

  I threw away my reservations and ran to him.

  He caught me, swept me up and spun with me. My stomach swooped and I laughed.

  He leaped onto the bed and laid me on the mattress, his eyes violet fire.

  My laughter died, replaced with breathless anticipation.

  He straddled me and raised my shirt to expose my bra. His eyes shaded toward red as he scooped my breasts out like ice cream.

  He stared, not saying a word.

  I squirmed, heat rising on my cheeks. Didn’t he like what he saw?

  “Ah, babi. Such beauty.” Approval rumbled deep in his throat, underscoring his words. With a sharp tug, he tore my shirt and bra completely off, tossed them. He fell to his hands over me, his gaze riveted on my breasts.

  My nipples tightened to puckered cherries. I licked my lips in anticipation as he opened his mouth wide. His bared fangs were sharp, long and elegant. He leaned down ever so slowly—and sank the tips into my breast.

  Pure, sweet fire sang through me. I arched with a silent scream. Lightning streaked from breast to toe, hitting my clit in between, drenching my vulva in liquid heat.

  He licked the hot beads of blood. A deep purr rumbled again my ribs.

  My fingers found his hair and I blindly petted, urging him to do the same, again, more.

  His dark rumble paused as he swallowed. Kissing and licking up the curve, circling round and round to the peak, his purr roughened to almost a growl. He sucked my nipple into his mouth, drawing hard on it.

  I squirmed against the intense suction. My writhing pressed his fangs into my skin, nicking the soft flesh. A shudder rippled through me, and I writhed harder.