by Tessa Dawn
Deanna gasped at the frankness of his words, and the sound elicited another chuckle from Nachari. “Ahh…she smiles at last,” he teased.
Deanna grabbed the collar of her robe and clutched it in two tight fists. “I’m dying here,” she said, not sure what had provoked the confession. As tears of anxiety filled her eyes, she wiped them away and shook out her hands, trying to shake off the emotion. “God, I swear; I’m not usually a fruitcake.”
“No worries,” he said, “I’m not usually a panther…or a demon killer, but when in Rome…or when in hell, as it were…” His voice trailed off, and she couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
“You’re kind of crazy, aren’t you?” she said.
“So I’ve been told,” he replied. And then in a serious tone of voice, he added, “I’m scared, too, Deanna. Terrified, actually.”
Deanna looked up at him with surprise. He was way too handsome—way too powerful—to be afraid of anything. “Of what?” And then it dawned on her. “Of dying?”
He scoffed in earnest. “I’ve spent the last three months of my life in hell. Death doesn’t have quite the influence it used to have over me. No, I’m afraid of somehow harming the most important person in the world to me.” He released her wrist and took her hand in his, careful not to grip it too hard. “I’m afraid of dishonoring your bravery with selfishness; of taking something I have no right to claim. But most of all, I’m afraid that these few moments we share together might be the last we ever have—and that one day, the regret will haunt you when I’m no longer around to comfort you.”
Deanna could hardly believe her ears.
Of course his passing would haunt her.
Devastate her.
For the first time, she truly understood that this male was not sitting on the floor trying to seduce her—this wasn’t an effort to convince her to have sex with him—he was just being there the only way he knew how; and he would die before he would force her or use magic to coerce her. She felt her body tremble and wished she could make it stop. Among other things, the entire situation was humiliating. Glancing at the clock, she took a deep breath: nine minutes left…
“Okay,” she whispered, nearly forcing the words from her mouth. “Okay…just do it.”
Nachari pulled back in surprise. “By myself?”
Deanna smiled and shook her head. “Oh God, you’re…impossible.”
He smiled in return, and truly, the entire room lit up. “Listen,” he said softly—his voice was positively magical, “there will come a time, when you are ready, that I will make love to you, and you will know all the way down to your soul that you are cherished beyond imagining. But the gods haven’t given us enough time to make that happen today. However, what I can do, I will, if you will let me: I can use my powers to make this easier—to take you someplace easy…disconnected…less overwhelming. I just need you to—”
“Trust you?” she said.
Nachari shook his head emphatically. “No. I’m not asking that—you don’t know me.” He leaned in closer and squeezed her hand. “To trust yourself, Deanna. The same way you trusted your drawings and your dreams. The same way you trusted your instincts when it came time to undergo the conversion. To listen to that wise, authentic voice inside of you that has always guided you—the part of you that has always faced adversity with courage and has always come out ahead. I don’t have to know you all that well to sense your strength or to feel your courage, to know that whatever is inside of you, whatever that spark is that makes you unique, you aren’t about to give it up now…or lose it to the likes of me. You’re too determined. Too aware. I’m asking you to listen to that voice, Deanna, and to trust it…for me. Because this”—he gestured at the desk and the obvious fact that she was hiding beneath it—“isn’t you.”
Deanna looked up at the oak desk above her and barely avoided knocking her head on the wood. Ducking, she smiled self-consciously. “You’re right.” Slowly…hesitantly…she allowed him to pull her out from underneath the desk. Standing to her full height, she stretched her back and blushed when he regarded her with obvious appreciation.
“You’re tall,” he said, appraising her height approvingly.
“So are you,” she said, glancing away.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Very beautiful.”
She bit her bottom lip like a teenager on a first date. “Yeah, well, from everything I’ve heard, you don’t need to be told that.”
He laughed then, the sound both unrestrained and welcoming. “Come here,” he whispered, placing a light hand on her waist and tugging her forward.
Deanna squealed and jumped away, and then she struggled to regroup: “Oh…shit…sorry.” She shook her hands out to quell her nerves and glanced once again at the clock: eight minutes. “Okay, okay…” She regained her composure as best as she could.
Nachari tried another approach then. He came up behind her and bent toward her ear, and she immediately shuffled her feet like a nervous horse prancing in place.
“Would you be still?” he said.
She responded with a crisp, short nod. “Yep, I can do that. Okay. Okay. I’m still…still as a cucumber.”
Once again, he bent slowly to her neck, and she squirmed like a worm, clutching her arms to her chest instinctively. Again, she mumbled, “I’m sorry…I’m sorry.”
“I haven’t even touched you.”
She wrung her hands together. “I know…I know…okay. Try again.”
He dropped his head forward and laughed. “Try again?”
She nodded, then shifted in place. “Mmm hmm.”
“Do you drink a lot of coffee?” he asked.
“Ha, ha—very funny,” she retorted. “Do you drink a lot of blood?”
“Not lately,” he drawled. Then bending to kiss her neck, he added, “But I could be persuaded—”
She leapt at least six inches in the air, inadvertently slamming the back of her head into his jaw and causing him to smash his teeth together.
He took an involuntary step back.
“Oh, God,” she said, truly mortified this time, “I can’t believe I just did that—did I hurt you?”
“Only my feelings,” he said, testing his bite playfully.
Too anxious to go along, she glanced at the clock again and practically came unglued: seven minutes.
He shook off the collision, reached around her waist, and anchored her arms at her sides, all the while trying not to laugh as she hopped from one foot to the next in place. “Deanna!” He put some authority in his voice this time. “Stop. Be still—or I will have to bite you.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, her voice rising in pitch.
He tightened his grip on her arms and pulled her back against him, waiting while she slowly relaxed into him; and then he nuzzled his strong, angular jaw between the space beneath her ear and her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, realizing that for all intents and purposes she had inexplicably regressed to the maturity level of a two-year-old, and she was making a complete and utter fool of herself.
“I am preparing to bite you,” he murmured in her ear.
She stiffened. “No you’re not. I—”
“Shh,” he whispered. “Hush.”
“Don’t tell me to hush,” she retorted. “You—”
And just like that, he bit her.
Actually bit her.
Deanna froze, completely astonished, as her mind tried to process the dual sensations of pain and pleasure radiating in her neck. She immediately recognized the familiar imprint of Nachari’s venom flowing through her veins and—
Nachari was pumping his venom into her veins?
Why?
Before she could protest more enthusiastically, the floor gave way; she felt a vortex open beneath her; and they were suddenly somewhere else, flying high above the earth’s surface. An unbelievable feeling of freedom and well-being engulfed her, enrapturing her senses, and then they were all at once des
cending, gently, like mere feathers in the wind, drifting slowly together, their bodies entwined in a graceful dance, toward a beach filled with crystal white sand.
It was beyond surreal, yet it was heavenly.
His hands were warm and strong against her waist, feeling for the ties on her robe, yet it didn’t seem frightening. It didn’t seem strange. It was like…he belonged.
Like they belonged.
Her robe fell open, and something deep inside her told her she should protest—stop him somehow, for some reason—but she couldn’t imagine what it was. The sensation of soft sand beneath her back, warm sunshine against her face, and clear water brushing over her heels was just too heavenly. Too inviting. How had he known that this was her ultimate fantasy? The one place she would most desire to make love?
The thought of making love to Nachari Silivasi seemed outrageous, but it was somehow too far removed from her consciousness to grapple with. She was free…weightless…beautiful.
Desired.
His hands swept beneath her hips, and she felt her body strain in his direction, becoming more and more pliant beneath his somehow distant ministrations.
Was he touching her?
Looking at her?
Seeing her body…naked?
A cool breeze swept beneath her robe, and she knew in an instant that he was—that the welcoming sensation of a gentle breeze against her skin was somehow Nachari’s mouth—his lips, his tongue, exploring her body languidly.
Languidly?
Her mind fought for a purchase on reality.
They had seven minutes—maybe less than that—how could he be exploring her body languidly; and how could she feel such sweet sensations yet remain so disconnected from the immediacy of what was happening? It was like a strange, erotic dream.
Heat, like that of a burgeoning flame, began to engulf her core, and she almost gasped at the intensity of it. The fire burned, but not like a hot iron…not like a scorching sensation—there was no pain or fear. It was more like a building conflagration within her soul, a mounting need, a desperate yearning for…something.
“Oh…God…” What was he doing now?
She felt the muscles in her stomach contract even as her panties seemed to magically disappear, and for the faintest of moments, she understood that this was foreplay—he was preparing her body to accept his—and she wished that she could actually feel what he was doing.
Her wish was his command.
Hot breath wafted over her cool, erect nipples; the dual sensation both teasing and alarming her with its erotic force. Her womb clenched in reaction, and she moaned.
The sound was distant to her ears.
Nachari seemed to appreciate this because his tongue traced a circle around the straining peaks, first one and then the other, before he gently drew her into his mouth and suckled.
Deanna fisted the sand, shocked by the overwhelming pleasure the male was giving her. He teased her with his fangs, his lips, his tongue—tasting, suckling, tugging ever so gently, before biting and then appeasing the sting with his breath. Her eyes drifted shut, and she arched her back instinctively.
His kneading hands tightened beneath her, massaging every thought from her brain, embracing her in a gentle strength and peaceful security that had her longing for…forever. She writhed beneath him, and he responded in kind, his firm, narrow hips pressing into hers, revealing for the first time a powerful, straining erection, as stiff and hard as iron.
He was thick and long and impressive, and the idea of his size sent waves of heat into her core; yet still, he remained elusive. Like he was there, but not entirely. She felt him, and yet she felt separate—at ease—alone on the beach.
Perfectly at peace.
She released the sand beneath her fingers and reached up to touch him. She had to connect more fully, to know the male beneath the power—the heart beneath the talented hands and mouth. “Nachari,” she whispered, her voice heavy with desperation. “I need you to be here.”
He rose above her then, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him fully. His face was etched with indescribable pleasure; his eyes filled with something she could only describe as love—but how was that possible? She stared at his sculpted lips, noticing for the first time how perfectly balanced—how smooth, firm, and shapely—they really were. “Kiss me,” she pleaded, needing something she could hardly name.
Nachari bent to her mouth slowly, and the visage of his eyes, his hair, his skin, the knowledge that someone so incredibly beautiful was giving himself to her, filled her with wonder. And then their lips met, and the earth stood still.
There were no beaches or oceans or skies.
There was no past or future.
No Blood Curse or required sacrifice.
There was only the pure sensuality of the male above her and the exquisite pressure of his lips. Deanna tasted as much of him as she could, reveling in the flavor, the texture, the utter perfection that was him. His tongue danced with hers, sweeping, teasing, exchanging passion on a level she had never known before.
She wanted.
With every fiber of her being.
She needed.
To feel, to capture, and to know…all of him.
As his lips left hers and began a slow, torturous descent along her neck, her collarbone, stopping to lave exquisite attention on her breasts, she ran her hands along his sculpted, bare back and marveled at the arch in his spine, the dip near his hips, the two muscular globes that made up a magnificent ass. And still, she wanted more.
That primal, integral part of him that made him male.
The very essence of his soul.
No wonder a demon had fallen in love with him; he was beyond resisting. What had she ever been thinking?
His mouth made contact with her core, and she nearly jackknifed off the beach. As her thighs fell further apart, he nestled between her legs, settling in as if he had all of eternity to spend in her service; and then he placed one hand firmly on her stomach to hold her in place, the other at the top of her mound.
She groaned with anticipation as he began to rub slow, tight circles against her cleft, all the while making love to her with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth—as if he knew every single sensation that she felt. And truth be told, maybe he did.
As a pair of expert fingers slid down from her mound and entered her core, she whimpered. There was no way to contain the pleasure, the mounting sensations; and tears of ecstasy spilled out of her eyes.
She reached down and grasped a thick handful of hair, hoping she wasn’t hurting him but helpless to stop herself. Tugging upward, she pleaded, “Now. I need you now—inside of me.” He rose above her like an angel of mercy; perfect in form, body, and spirit; and she allowed her legs to fully part, practically writhing beneath him.
As he found his place between her thighs, she lost her ability to wait and reached down to guide his erection. Her hand didn’t fit around the width of him—not even close. As she grappled with the realization that her open fist surrounded less than half of his enormous shaft, a small twinge of fear enveloped her.
It was quickly washed away as his mouth descended upon her breasts once again, taking each one in turn, until she forgot her own name.
She raised her hips to meet him, and he didn’t disappoint: He entered her in one powerful thrust and immediately sealed their mouths together in an effort to kiss away the shocking, stretching sensation. As her body molded around his, she quivered in pleasure.
His rhythm was impeccable.
Long, slow, even strokes in an easy circular grind.
Alternating short then deep thrusts, teasing her with mere inches before once again giving her the full length of his shaft in mind-numbing sequences—all as he arched his magnificent back.
“Look at me, Deanna,” he whispered, punctuating his words with a soft kiss on her mouth.
Unable to resist anything he might desire, she opened her eyes and stared for the first time into the true face of her destiny
. Not a stranger. Not a wizard. Not just a vampire—but her forever partner.
The other half of her soul.
He smiled that magnificent grin, and any remaining resistance melted away. How could she have ever considered letting him die? Or walking away?
He stroked her cheek with the palm of his hand and stared into her eyes, even as he continued to thrust in and out of her; and the intensity was almost unbearable. “You are fully with me, Deanna—without any Magick.” His breath caught on the last word as a storm of sensation rocked his graceful body.
Deanna frowned in confusion, and then suddenly looked around her. They were no longer on the beach, and there was no ocean. There was no sky above her, no sand beneath her. And it wasn’t a dream. Rather, they were lying in a guest room, just adjacent to the one she had occupied in Kagen’s clinic for what seemed like forever, and they were definitely making love. Together. Apparently, they had neither had the time nor the inclination to get to Kristina’s apartment.
Her eyes sought out a clock: eight thirty!
They had been making love for an hour and a half?
She immediately glanced out the window and noticed the complete darkness outside. “Oh my god!” she exclaimed, panic finding a real place in her heart. “The time…Nachari…no!”
He pressed his fingers to her lips and shook his head. “Shh…it’s okay.” He smiled sheepishly then. “I did…what was necessary…in the first two minutes, and you’ve been pregnant ever sense.” He slowed his pace to a slow grind and pressed his pubic bone against her clitoris. “This…is for you.”
Deanna gasped at the pleasure and sighed with relief. “You’ve been making love to me”—her voice caught as her womb contracted in a pre-orgasmic spasm—“all this time?” He raised his eyebrows with self-appreciation, and for the first time, Deanna saw the confident—if not slightly arrogant—wizard many of her new friends and family had told her so much about.
