The King (Games We Play Book 2)
Page 23
“You’re so hot,” He pulled away and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Are you ill?”
“No.” Delia laughed, flushed and smiling. “No, just really hot… I’m wearing a lot of clothing.”
“Might I ask why?”
“Did you forget some idiot suggested we go camping this weekend?” She stepped back and unzipped her jacket, shrugging it off so that it landed on the floor behind her. Next came the shirts beneath, one at a time, until she was down to her bra as Claude watched, the familiar notes of desire starting to trickle across his features.
Delia swallowed hard as her hands fell to her pants, but she continued on, stripping away all those layers, right down to her underwear and a single pair of socks. Free from all that fabric, her body felt like it could expand, finally taking up the space it needed without restriction.
Dropping her arms to her sides, she raised her chin to meet Claude’s eye, almost naked. Hot. A little sweaty. Flushed. Desire pooling between her thighs.
“I want you, Claude Grimm,” she told him softly. “It’s taken me a little while to get my priorities in order. I think… I think I’ve been chasing the wrong thing for a long time.”
You. I should have been chasing you. She almost got it out, but Claude swallowed the words as he took her with a kiss that was anything but gentle. His hands pinned her arms to her side, fingertips leaving a smattering of bruises over her flesh as he ravished her mouth, months of pent-up need flooding between them.
With an unseen grin, Delia slipped her leg around his under the pretense of hooking it around his hips, but instead used the distraction to knock his foot out from under him, throwing her full weight on top of him. Claude went down with a grunt, landing on his back while she giggled.
“I think I’ve taught you a little too well,” he managed as she crawled up his body and straddled his hips. Her heat pressed against his hardening length, and without thinking, Delia bucked against him. Pleasure tingled up and out from her core, a shiver running through her body as goosebumps scattered across her skin.
They came together like they’d done this a hundred times before, Claude rising up and Delia easing down, lips meeting in the middle. Even if he was beneath her, sprawled out on the floor, Claude set the pace, taking charge quickly and assertively in a way that only made her panties dampen more. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the slight stubble across his cheeks as they rocked back and forth together, clothes only getting in the way of what they both wanted.
While Claude possessed her mouth like it belonged to him, his hands roamed her body tentatively. For a time they lingered on the small of her back, but eventually one quested upward and the other went down, smoothing over the generous curve of her backside. Delia moaned when he gave it a squeeze. His approval rumbled deep in his chest as his other hand grasped the base of her neck, working its way under her mass of brown waves.
Delia pulled back with a gasp when he spanked her. Not hard, but sound enough to earn him a look.
“I couldn’t help myself,” he murmured with a devilish grin, rocking his hips. A fresh jolt of pleasure shot through her as his cock, hard and straining against his trousers, rubbed against her swollen bud. Delia responded by threading her fingers through his hair and tugging. He licked from the dip in her neck to the tip of her chin with a hushed growl. The look shared between them rivaled the storm raging outside, all blustery winds and pelting hail. It hammered the windows now, the once-fluffy flakes turned hard and dangerous.
In one swift move, Claude rolled them both onto their sides, then used his arm to push upright. With Delia wrapped around his neck, arms and legs clinging to him like she feared she’d lose him, the vampire king strolled over to his cluttered desk, kissing her lazily, and set her on the edge. Her fingertips slipped beneath the hem of his sweater as he settled between her thighs, and she yanked the garment up and over his head. It found a home on the floor with her things, followed shortly by her bra—Claude all but ripped it off.
Miraculously, it was still intact when he tossed it aside, but before Delia could chide him—didn’t he know how stupidly expensive bras were these days?—he dropped his head to her breast and took her hard nipple in his mouth. A slight brush of teeth made her whole body clench, and she let loose a breathless moan as he suckled her skin, his hand dipping between her thighs to rub her.
It didn’t take much for Delia to dissolve into a trembling, whimpering, panting mess, her muscles tightening ever so slowly as Claude worked her into a frenzy. He hadn’t even slipped his fingers into her—all he needed was to stroke her aching nub over her panties and she was gone, pleasure pulsing through her. His mouth roamed her skin with wild abandon, brushing over her collarbone and kissing up the nape of her neck, nibbling at her earlobe before dropping back to toy with a nipple. She’d forgotten how good he was at ruthlessly tormenting her. No wonder she’d fallen for him all those months ago, even with his terrible choice in masks.
“Oh…” Her eyes clenched shut. So close. So deliciously close. “Claude… I…”
His lips claimed hers roughly, smothering her whimpers and cries as he finally pushed the damp fabric aside and thrust two fingers into her slick, wet sex. It was almost too much when he curved them inside her to rub her inner wall, finding the sweet spot that sent her spiraling. At first she tried to pull away, to squirm out of reach, as she climbed ever higher toward a climax, too overwhelmed with the sensations to stay still, but Claude held her in place, his pace steady and constant.
Her head tipped back when she came, giving a soft cry as the levies broke and pleasure flooded her system. She shuddered, her skin kissed with a pleasant chill, as Claude pulled his fingers gently from her, slowly, milking every last bit of ecstasy from her before he was through. Blinking the hazy post-orgasm fog away, she noticed he’d gone for the zipper of his pants. Yes. Yes. Just what she wanted.
Claude had a knack for making her insatiable.
Her hands soon joined his in an effort to remove his pants, followed quickly by his form-flattering black briefs. His cock fell toward her like a lead weight, heavy and hard and desperate for her attention—it would be rude not to oblige. As much as she wanted it pushing into her, filling her, claiming her, Delia took the time to stroke him. Much to her delight, Claude’s eyes seemed to flutter as she dragged her hands up and down, smearing the wetness at his tip down to the base.
“I guess I didn’t need to make you wear a condom last time,” she muttered, then laughed at his grunt of a response. As far as she was aware, there were no diseases transferable between vamps and humans beyond the main one, nor had there been any record of a vamp impregnating a human, or vice versa.
“No,” he agreed as she continued to stroke him, giving extra attention to the smooth, rounded head of his cock. “I suppose not.”
“But you did anyway.”
“That I did.”
“To humor me.”
“Of course.”
“Because you always humor me,” she noted. Even outside of the bedroom, Claude was fairly pliant to most of her requests. The edges of his mouth quirked upward as he gave a handsome smile.
“Probably because I rarely find your desires unreasonable,” he told her, the lust noticeable in his voice—it had all but melted into a seductive growl by now.
“Good,” she whispered, throwing an arm around his neck and dragging him down for a kiss. Their lips parted as he drew Delia’s hips to the edge of the desk so that she was forced to wrap her legs around him—or lose her balance and topple over. But her lack of balance in that moment didn’t matter, not when he eased into her, slowly filling her until their hips touched. Delia wasn’t the only one to moan this time, with Claude burying his face in her neck, the sound muffled.
He stayed still as she adjusted to him, shifting her legs to a more comfortable position and encircling her arms around his neck to keep herself up. One of his hands pressed to her lower back to help.
“I’v
e missed you,” he rumbled in her ear, and she hugged him tighter. As the slight edge of pain faded, replaced swiftly by a renewed lust, Delia rolled her hips as best she could to encourage him to move. She needed it, the movement, the force of his body against hers, the glorious sting mingled with pleasure as he took her.
“Claude…” She breathed his name like he was her personal deity, a hand clutching at his thick black hair. “Please…”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, fingertips digging into her thighs. She groaned and tried to move again, earning a sharp exhale from him.
“Yes, fuck me already,” she begged as she pulled at his hair. Claude straightened and withdrew his hand from her back, taking with it most of the support that kept her from falling back on his messy desk. Cheeks flushed and breath uneven, Delia looked up at him with a slight frown. “Do you mean…?”
“Yes.”
He meant overall. Was he what she wanted. Was she sure.
Again, she didn’t have to think about it. Claude was the only part of her life that made sense. Her latest League accomplishment confused her and her social life was hit-and-miss outside of work. But staring up at Claude… Things just fell into place.
“Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “I’m sure.”
“As long as you’re…” He closed his eyes and seemed to be gritting his teeth when she clenched around his cock as hard as she could. “Damn it, Delia.”
“Fuck me,” she breathed, lowering herself toward the desk. “Please, Claude, please…”
In one swift motion he removed the clutter beneath her, papers and notebooks and pens scattering to the floor behind his desk, and as soon as her back touched the cool wood, Claude finally followed through. He took her hard and fast at first, drawing breathy gasps and heady cries from her, any and all words totally incoherent. As she felt the pleasurable tightening of her muscles again, he slowed to a more excruciating pace, each thrust hitting right where she needed, his hips working her inside and out.
“Faster,” she whimpered, already close again. Claude seemed happy to comply, trailing his lips down her neck with groan. This time, his teeth brushed her marks. Delia couldn’t help it—she panicked. “Don’t—”
“Hush, love,” he murmured, carrying on downward with gentle, soothing pecks to her flushed skin, so sensitive to the touch that each whispered kiss was torture. “I won’t. Not unless you ask me. I promise.”
She nodded and let her head fall back against the desk, eyes closed as she tried to banish the fear, hands gripping his muscular shoulders. Before long she was crying his name again, her whole body quivering as he continued to fuck her like he wanted to possess her. He didn’t need to try that hard. Claude Grimm already possessed her, mind, body, and soul—and she let him willingly.
Her second climax was short and sweet compared to the first, and by the time she recovered, Claude was thrusting hard and fast again, until he stopped with one final groan, eyes clenched shut as he spilled himself into her.
He fell forward, his warmth radiating between their bodies, hands resting atop the desk on either side of her head. When their eyes met, his smile matched hers in a heartbeat, and rather than let him go, Delia tightened her legs around him and pulled his head down to hers. Even if fucking on a desk made her hips and back and shoulders ache, she’d put up with it, all of it, just to kiss him again.
And again, and again, and again.
CHAPTER 18: The Talk
Delia awoke to a pleasant soreness between her thighs and a slight chill across her skin. She sighed heavily and buried her face between two pillows—two pillows that smelled like Claude. Smiling, she breathed him in for a few moments, slowly bringing herself out of sleep rather than jolting upright. That morning she knew precisely where she was—it was exactly where she wanted to be.
Eventually she pushed herself into a seated position, rubbing any lingering sleep out of her eyes. The king-sized bed was empty, but she’d almost expected that when she fell asleep beside Claude in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted. She’d never had a sex marathon before, but a few hours of on and off fucking had to qualify. No wonder she was sore. Delia grinned at the memory.
She was still naked. After Claude slipped away, she must have kicked his duvet covers down; the thick material pooled at her feet, leaving her exposed.
While his bed was enormous, Claude’s modest bedroom wasn’t much bigger than hers, despite his home being ten times the size of her apartment and then some. Beyond the king-sized bed sat a closet with no doors, in which he hung his suits. A waist-high wooden dresser housed the rest of his clothes, though the laundry hamper beside it had a pile of dirties poking out the top. Slate tile covered the floor and there was a large, thick black carpet—upon which he’d taken her on all fours—by Claude’s side of the bed. Two sets of wall-mounted shelves sat on either side of the huge bay window, upon which were framed pictures and a few stacked books.
Not exactly the bedroom of a king, but then again, Delia had nothing to compare it to. Crawling to the end of the bed, she leaned over to dig her phone out of her purse. A few missed calls from Ali greeted her, followed by a text that told her most of the hunters had left the campground once the storm picked up. If Delia needed to be picked up from anywhere, Devin offered to swing by. Delia rolled onto her back to reply, thumbs flying across the touchscreen as she told Ali not to worry but thanks for the offer anyway, then tacked on an invite to lunch tomorrow if she was free.
As she drifted to the ensuite bathroom to freshen up, Delia noted that there wasn’t an ounce of trepidation in her that morning. Sure, she was a little nervous to find her tent and belongings scattered amongst the trees when she went back for them, but that was pint-sized compared to the usual dose of uneasiness she woke up with each morning. All things considered, she should have been lying in Claude’s bed, covers pulled up to her neck, ruminating about what they’d done and how they’d complicated things and that she was making a huge mistake…
But Delia didn’t feel the need to do any of that. Falling asleep beside him and waking up in his bed felt right. No relationship was perfect, and there would be a lot to work out, but this was the start of something good—she knew it.
A niggling thought at the back of her mind whispered that the High Council could punish her severely for disobeying a direct order, but that was only if they found out. Wandering back to bed, Delia wondered if she could have both in her life: Claude and the League. Claude made her happy. The League gave her purpose. Was it possible to live with one without sacrificing the other? Did she even want the other anymore now that she’d finally let her heart take the lead?
Moments later, the bedroom door creaked open.
“Well aren’t you the sweetest vampire king ever,” she teased as Claude made his way in, fully dressed and carrying what looked like breakfast.
“And aren’t you the most naked hunter my bedroom has ever seen,” he said with a chuckle, clambering onto the foot of the bed as Delia tugged the blankets over her. “Now, now, don’t cover up on my account.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s freezing in here.” She accepted the carry-out drink tray, a piping hot cup of coffee with her name scribbled hastily on the side looking better than ever.
“The snow stayed,” Claude remarked. He kicked off his shoes before climbing back to settle against the massive engraved wood headboard. “About an inch, I think.”
She scooted beside him, placing her breakfast on the bedside table so she could arrange a pillow to lean on. “Great.”
The thought of storming the Donovan estate in a week’s time with snow on the ground made her cringe. Delia was already worried she’d trip over her own feet—she didn’t need snow and ice to help her out.
“I figured you’d be hungry,” he said when she dug into the takeout bag, “and I couldn’t recall what bagel you liked, so I got a few. Each has a different cream cheese.”
She hummed, pleased, as she leaned over and k
issed his cheek. “You’re my favourite.”
“And you, my dear, have very pungent morning breath.”
Hand over her mouth, Delia laughed and pulled back, then grabbed her coffee and took a tentative swig. It burned the whole way down her throat and needed a serious helping of milk and sugar, but she figured coffee breath was infinitely better than morning breath.
“Thank you for breakfast,” she said as she dug out one of her bagels, legs stretched out, the takeaway bag on her lap.
“Some of my clansmen forget that their human counterparts need to eat when they stay the night,” he told her while she chowed down on what seemed like an everything bagel with chive-flavoured cream cheese. “I vowed not to make the same mistake. I don’t think I’d hear the end of it if you had to trudge down to the dining hall by the guest suites.”
Delia shook her head, smiling. “No, you wouldn’t.”
They sat together for some time in an easy silence, both enjoying their breakfast. Delia hadn’t noticed until she started on her second bagel—a pumpernickel bread with spinach and artichoke cream cheese—that Claude was nursing a white Styrofoam coffee cup of his own, but his lid had traces of red on the rim instead of brown. She watched him take a sip, then returned to her bagel, yanking off a good-sized piece and shoving it in her mouth.
When they were together, Delia usually forgot Claude was a vampire, never mind the king of all the Harriswood vamps. Warm to the touch, he acted as her own personal furnace in bed last night. He could walk around during the day, seeming alert at all hours while Delia juggled a wonky hunter schedule. He made it easy to forget she’d been told vamps were the enemy, that they were to be monitored closely, that the fragile truce between the various Leagues and vamp clans could shatter at any moment.