by L. A. Banks
“Enough.” There was no play in his tone. He was beyond games as he stared into her eyes; saw a glow of red reflected back from her dark brown irises, knowing it came from his. Her scent bathed him, made him shut his eyes tight as he breathed in deeply and entered her hard. “This is what I want.”
His fingers tangled in her velvet spun locks, and her arches finally met him in a rhythm they both knew by heart—no stopping, no teasing, just hard down, uninterrupted returns until he felt his gums give way to the incisors he could no longer hold in check, no more than he could hold back the inevitable convulsion of pleasure that was about to rip through his groin.
Nuzzling his throat, her fingers wound through his hair, and he was surprised by the force of her pull, that her fingers had made a fist at the nape of his neck, and that one of her palms slid against his jaw to push his head back, her breath on his throat in the way he’d always imagined. Trembling with need, the sensation was so damned good . . . if only . . . she could . . . just once . . . Oh, baby . . .
Then she suddenly shifted her weight, her legs a leveraging vise, and rolled on top of him. Her strength came from nowhere. It happened so quickly. A sharp strike as fast as a cobra’s tore at his throat, making him shut his eyes harder, his gasp fused with a groan that transformed into a wail, and the pull that siphoned his throat sent the convulsion of ecstasy throughout his system, emptied his scrotum until his body dry heaved, made his lashes flutter from the rapid seizure, where every pull from her lips erupted hot seed from him into her. Sheets gathered in knots within his fists before his hand again sought her skin, shards of color ricocheted behind his lids while he cradled her in his arms, stuttering through tears, “Don’t stop . . . take it all.”
His body went hot, then cold, minutes of unrelenting pleasure—her hold indomitable, a physical lock of sheer will, as she moved her hips in a lazy rhythm, ignoring his attempt to rush her with deep thrusts and staccato jerks, his voice foreign to him as it reverberated off the walls of the lair, echoed back, and taunted him . . . a master vampire . . . done for the first time, for real, by what could only be a female vamp. A master female. One conjured from his darkest fantasy, riding him with more than skill, precision, working his ass to the bone—slow torture that he couldn’t stop, even if he’d wanted to.
Winded, siphoned, turned out, he could barely open his eyes—but he had to. Which one of them had taken Damali’s place, stolen her form? Daaayum, his territory had some shit with it . . . but never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined it to be like this. If Damali ever found out . . . and how did this female get in here? Where was D!
She smiled, looking down at him, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Who made you, baby?” Dazed, that was all he could ask.
“You did,” she said, chuckling low, and pressing an index finger over one of his streaming bite wounds to seal it. Then she slowly licked her finger and smiled before sealing the other so he wouldn’t entirely bleed out.
Carlos blinked twice, staring. “Damali?” Two inches of fang glistened crimson in the moonlight within her lovely mouth, and a thin red line of blood had dribbled down her chin between her breasts. He resisted the urge to sit up and lick the dark trail up to her stained lips.
“Who else?” She shook her head, sat back with him still in her, and folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, so you had some other Jane on your mind while I was working?”
“No . . . oh . . . shit . . .”
He grabbed her by the hips, and extricated himself from her to stand, stumbling a bit, but he needed motion—fatigue and the siphon, notwithstanding. He had to break the physical contact with her. The pleasure wave of aftershocks were impairing his judgment, and if he bit her in this condition, he’d flat-line her for sure. Even standing away from her, he could still feel her hot seal. “No, no, no, no, no—this cannot be happening.”
He could feel panic bubbling within him, and he had never been a brother to outright freak about anything. But this, of all the things he’d seen and been through so far, was scaring the shit out of him.
“No!” he said fast, walking in a circle, then going from the deck back to the side of the bed, gesturing with his hands in a naked frenzy. “Something went wrong. I have to get you back to the guardians—to Marlene, your Mom . . . baby, you’re turning—”
“Turned,” she sighed with a smile, “and I love it. Relax. What’s done is done.”
“Oh, my God, D—”
When she hissed and held both sides of her head and glared at him, he could feel hot tears begin to form in his eyes. He could call on the Almighty, but the Neteru couldn’t? What the hell had he done?
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