by Kresley Cole
She lessened her grip on his arm. Another light caress and she began to relax.
“That’s it, female.” When he teased her, she lifted her hips for more. “So responsive.” He skimmed his forefinger between her damp, silken lips. “You’re quite pretty here, Elizabeth,” he said hoarsely. To utter that statement without the rána, he had to add, “I find you exquisite here.”
She swallowed nervously, studying his expression.
“Put your arms over your head. And keep them there.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m driving. Do it. Clasp your elbows.” When she hesitantly did, he fisted his hands on her nightgown and ripped it clean from her. Leaving her wholly naked.
Gods almighty.
“Lothaire! Your eyes . . .”
Between breaths, he grated, “I’ve needed to . . . to see you. Like this.”
Tiny waist flaring to shapely hips. Generous, mouthwatering breasts. Skin the color of honey.
The lush heat between her legs . . .
Lothaire believed he deserved all good things coming his way, considered them his due; but even he felt giddy with fortune as he beheld her spread before him.
When she started trembling again, he lay on his side next to her, bending his arm and propping his head on his hand. His casual position belied the need exploding inside him as he gave a slow circular stroke of her little clit.
She gasped again. “You make me crazy, vampire.”
“Of course I do, Elizabeth.” Another stroke.
* * *
This male was like sex incarnate.
Compared to Lothaire, the boys Ellie had been with before were ham-handed brutes.
Now she was dealing with a seductive immortal who used his talented fingers—and his cunning mind—to do sinful things with her.
An immortal whose eyes had seemed to catch fire, red deepening across them as he’d gazed at her naked body.
When he drew moisture up to continue those lazy circles, she relaxed her arms over her head and let her knees fall wide.
“Greedy for more?” Grinding his hardness against her hip, he nuzzled her neck, her ear, murmuring words in Russian.
His warm breaths against her made her shiver wildly. “Wh-what did you say?”
“I talked filth in your ear.” Voice gone ragged, he said, “I told you that you’ve got the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen, and then I told you what I’m going to do with it.”
She moaned, her nails digging into her elbows. “Lothaire!”
“Be my dear,” he rasped with that deep accent, “and finger yourself for me. Show me how you like to come.”
His accent . . . the rough edge to his dirty words . . . his wicked voice was like a touch, caressing her all over.
She readily obeyed him, slipping her hand between her legs, stroking her clitoris. Though he hadn’t asked her to, her other hand cupped a breast, which seemed to please him.
“You don’t penetrate yourself?” His eyes were locked on her fin- gers.
She could only shake her head.
“You wouldn’t know to, would you? Soon I’ll teach you how good it feels to have something inside you.”
“Lothaire . . .”
“Once your body becomes immortal, I’ll feed my length into you, spending deep inside here”—he tapped the pad of his forefinger right at her core. “And in here”—he raised his hand to her mouth, dipping his thumb inside it.
When she dutifully sucked, he hissed, “Yes. Ah, sweet Lizvetta, I’ll be at this flesh dusk, midnight, and dawn.”
Imagining his thumb was another part of his anatomy, Ellie suckled in bliss.
“I feel your little tongue. Are you to make me come just from that?” He drew his hand away, rubbing his wet thumb over one pouting nipple, then the other.
“Lothaire, I’m close. . . .”
“Without waiting for me?”
Rising, he unfastened his pants, shoved them off, then went to his knees between her legs.
She stared in awe at his naked body, at his huge penis—the most beautiful one she’d ever imagined. The veined shaft was so rigid, the head broad. Moisture beaded the swollen slit.
When thought returned, she said, “I want to touch it. Learn what you like.”
He gave her an unreadable look—pleased by that? “You’re busy with something else.” He gave a pointed look at her fingers, then grasped his erection in one hand, rising above her.
With his arm muscles bulging, he pressed the crown against the center of her chest, hissing an inhalation at the contact.
Slowly he dragged it over one nipple, then the other, making her moan low.
She swallowed when he positioned himself between her breasts, cupping them until they pressed against the sides of his shaft.
With a groan, he thrust, his head falling back, tendons straining in his neck.
“Oh, my God . . .” I could come just watching him move. He clamped both of her nipples between a thumb and forefinger, then thrust again.
And again. “About to spill across your neck if I don’t stop.”
She whimpered, imagining that hot liquid marking her. “Do whatever you want!”
But he’d already begun dragging the head down her torso. In a haze of sensation, Ellie watched the damp crown trailing over her belly. “Lower, vampire. P-press it against me. Let me move against it.”
“Do you want us to touch? You want to feel me against those bare lips?” Again his tone was challenging. “Then kiss me. Rise up and kiss me.”
Ellie felt like the vampire was testing her, but to determine what?
* * *
Dragging her fingers away from her sex, Elizabeth put her hands behind her, raising herself on straightened arms. She leaned up to press her mouth to Lothaire’s, wantonly meeting his tongue.
Gods, she makes me crazy. He drew back. “Harder. Kiss me like you’ll die if you don’t come soon.”
Her eyes were locked on his lips. “I will!”
He grasped her shining hair and tugged her upward. “Do it!”
With a throaty cry, she leaned in. When he caught her mouth with his own, she sucked his tongue again, making his head swim.
And then . . . she tentatively licked one of his aching fangs, drawing her own blood for him.
He stilled in shock even while thinking, Yes, ah, gods, yes! Do it again. . . .
The little witch licked the other one. Harder.
Sharing another blood kiss with me?
The pleasure jolted straight to his cock, but the idea of her doing this burned into his mind. Too intense, too much from her.
Too . . . unforgettable.
He broke away. Furious with her. Thrilled with her. His cock about to explode. “Lie back, then.” He scarcely recognized his own voice. “Grab your elbows once more.”
When she obeyed, he rewarded her by inching his hips lower, his cock straining toward her wetness.
She wrapped her leg around his waist, spurring him on. Hot little
piece . . .
Finally, Lothaire rested his shaft against her quivering lips. Fuck!
He had to squeeze his cockhead to keep from instantaneously spilling. “So wet,” he hissed. “Dripping.”
With his other hand, he gently pinched her folds against his shaft, as he had with her breasts. Then he rocked over her clitoris.
“Oh—my—God!” Her hands flew to his hips.
“Elizabeth, still. Don’t you dare come yet!”
“Too late!” She shuddered, her long hair tumbling wildly over the sheets. “Can’t stop.”
He felt her nails bite into his ass as her hips rolled up and down, sliding her sex along his shaft. As soon as he released his grip, he’d spill. Can’t resist this. . . .
He spread his knees wider, shoving them against the backs of her thighs. When he thrust faster over her, her breasts bounced, her rosy nipples jutting. Too much . . .
Gaze locked on her heavy-lidded eyes, he rasped, “You w
ant my seed.”
“Yes!”
“Then watch me . . . come.” He released his cock; his back bowed as semen rushed forth. “Ah! Elizavetta!” he bellowed, pumping out onto her belly.
As arcs lashed over her again and again, he grew thunderstruck—because she was writhing in another orgasm.
And smiling. Her lips curled with delight.
“Lizvetta?”
When he finished spending at last, he collapsed beside her with a groan, his shaft twitching against her thigh.
Too much from her. He needed to get away from her.
And still, he lay on his side with one arm sprawled over her breasts, his leg drawn up over hers, pulling her closer.
Then he frowned. They fit.
Like two puzzle pieces.
* * *
Ellie’s body was humming, her skin tingling as his hoarse exhalations hit her ear.
They lay like that as they both caught their breath. He even brushed his lips against her temple.
Daubing a finger in his seed, she gave him a saucy grin. “Look what I made you do,” she said, repeating his words.
Just as Ellie was thinking she’d made progress with him, he drew back, his face a mask of rage. “Question me again like that, and I’ll make you beg for your death!” Before he vanished, he grated, “And you still don’t compare to Saroya.”
She lay stunned, eyes darting, disbelieving what had just happened. But the glaring proof pooled on her belly.
Before, she’d found it erotic to feel him come over her; now she felt sullied by it.
Used. Ellie covered her face with her forearm, her bottom lip trembling. Not only hadn’t she been good enough to sway him, he’d mocked her again for trying to seduce him away from Saroya.
Stings so bad. . . .
She never let herself cry, not even in prison. Now she didn’t know if she could stave off her tears.
She’d just gotten off—again—with someone who’d threatened her, threatened her family, repeatedly. Someone who murdered.
Someone I hate so deeply.
Before she could burst into tears, she felt a stirring in her chest. Saroya. I wonder what the goddess would think about his spunk all over her? If she truly did scorn all things sexual . . .
Hell, even if she didn’t.
For the first time in her life, Ellie would let her rise without a fight. “For the buckets of blood I threw up. Have fun with this, goddess.”
28
“ O h, you little bitch.” Saroya rose up in bed, staring in horror at her coated belly. So close to taking fruit.
This was why I was compelled to rise. Lothaire’s seed felt as if it scalded her skin, like acid upon her.
Life in every cursed drop.
She rushed into the bathroom of her suite, frantically wiping it away, scouring herself with a wet cloth until her skin was abraded.
How Lamia would laugh.
If Saroya had risen when the vampire had asked, was this what he’d planned for her? Degradation? She’d known she wouldn’t be able to hide her revulsion!
Once she felt relatively clean of his marking, she assessed herself in the mirror. There were bruises on her upper arms and inner thighs. Was there blood in her mouth? He’d cut her tongue with his fangs!
Brute.
Saroya’s first impulse was to recede. But clearly, Lothaire had just been serviced. If he’d remained in the apartment, this would be an ideal time for her to face him. . . .
As she began to ready herself, Saroya longed for the ages when she’d had scores of attendants to bathe, clothe, and adorn her with jewels. Now she must fend for herself.
After applying her own cosmetics, she picked through the paltry number of garments allotted her, choosing a slinky black skirt, stilettos, and a metallic halter.
Satisfied with the results, she strode to his room, finding Lothaire at his desk, staring absently at a puzzle in his hands. Deep in thought? About what had just occurred with Elizabeth?
All around the room was crushed debris. Had he experienced one of the rages he’d spoken of? This doesn’t bode well. Perhaps that was why he’d used the human—to vent his rancor.
He raised his head, casting her a sneer. Before she’d said a word, the look faded. “Ah, Saroya has deigned to rise for me.”
“Why didn’t you mistake me for Elizabeth?” She and the mortal weren’t merely twins, they shared a body.
Ignoring her question, he asked, “When did you wake?”
“In time to find your . . . leavings on my belly. Elizabeth let me rise just to enjoy that.”
He gave a half-laugh. “You deserve nothing less. I waited for you last night, but you refused to join me.”
“And is that what you had in store for me?”
“Depends on how good you are. I don’t come like a fountain for just anyone.”
The gall! “Then she must have been quite talented.”
“Surprisingly so.”
She might have felt vulnerable that Elizabeth had pleasured him so well, but she was Saroya, goddess of blood and divine death. Besides, Lothaire was bound to her.
He could no more forsake her than the sun could keep from dawning.
“Perhaps I would have treated my Bride differently,” he said. “In any case, it should have been you bringing me pleasure.”
Saroya examined her nails. It would never be her. She’d avoided surrendering to a male for twenty millennia.
Only Lothaire would believe he’d be the one to master me. She raised her gaze to him.
The Enemy of Old would do well not to persist in that belief after she was turned. Otherwise, she’d delight in his last pitiful thought: I believed she wanted me.
* * *
Lothaire had expected Elizabeth to come marching into his room, upbraiding him about his exit and stinging comments.
Was I even looking forward to it?
Instead, Saroya faced him once more.
He was still furious with the goddess for not showing—but he was even more so at Elizabeth for being so inconceivably sexy.
The way she’d licked his fangs . . . her throaty moans . . .
Her passion aroused him like nothing else he could remember. Far from being disgusted by his seed marking her, she’d seemed excited by it. “Look what I made you do,” she’d teased, nigh beguiling him.
Don’t think of her. Your Bride stands before you.
The one who hadn’t risen for him. “Tell me why you didn’t meet me as promised.”
“Elizabeth didn’t let me rise.”
Pretty little liar. Again, where was the loyalty, the trust? “If so, then she’ll be punished. Severely. Though I do wonder how she prevented you from it—while she slept.”
If Saroya hadn’t risen, then perhaps she’d been afraid to. The goddess of blood afraid to face me? Impossible.
“Are you any closer to the ring?” She changed the subject, and he let her, deciding to drop this, to get past his resentment.
Ivana had told him that he’d be a good and true mate to his Bride.
No matter why Saroya had denied him, Lothaire would begin afresh with her.
“No, I’m no closer in my search,” he said. “But I might see my target’s memories the next time I dream. If not, I plan to capture his Valkyrie female to force his cooperation.” If Declan Chase lived. Lothaire would find out this eve. “As you know, there’s no greater leverage than a loved one.”
Of course, Lothaire might kill Chase’s female the first time she mouthed off to him. Regin the Radiant could try a fey monk’s patience.
“Your plans are sound. And Dorada?”
“My oracle searches for her. So far she has not strayed near you.”
He noted her evident relief, but didn’t remark on it. “Now that I have you here, you can spend the night with me. Sit.” He pointed to the settee.
When she crossed the room to follow his order, he traced to his closet to politely don a shirt, as a good male might.
; She called out, “How did you know it was I instead of the mortal?”
Lothaire’s hands stilled on a button. He’d known because Elizabeth was . . . prettier.
He’d kid himself no longer—the two females were not one and the same. The goddess caked her face with makeup, covering those charming freckles on her nose. And she walked stiffly, not with that sensual roll of her hips.
Elizabeth’s eyes were brighter. She smiled on occasion.
No, no. Saroya looked and walked differently because she was a goddess. She would comport herself as one. Not commonly like Elizabeth.
When he returned, Lothaire answered, “Surely, I would know my own Bride.” He sat in the desk chair; Saroya perched on the very end of the settee, as far from him as possible. Even Elizabeth hadn’t done that, and she feared him. No matter. “Speak with me, Saroya.”
“About what?”
“Whatever is on your mind.” Earlier, he’d sat with the mortal, matching wits with her. For a time, their bandying had distracted him from other concerns. Could he expect the same from Saroya?
“Very well. I want servants.”
“I can trust no one but Hag.”
“Then give her to me. Make her my servant.”
“I doubt that would work out as you intend. Some immortals do not make good slaves. Alas, she’s one among them. Besides, I need her talents as an oracle.”
“This disappoints me deeply, Lothaire.”
“It is temporary. We make sacrifices now to be rewarded later.” Silence followed. “And is there nothing else on your mind?” That sounded harsher than he’d meant it to.
“My thoughts are consumed with the ring.”
Another bout of silence.
As a male whose existence had almost always been solitary, Lothaire wasn’t used to casting about for things to discuss. “What’s your favorite memory, Saroya?” As good a question as any, he supposed.
“Why would you ask this?”
“Just humor me.”
She gazed at her nails. “Once, for amusement, I chose a pair of my vampire acolytes, a male and his Bride, and threatened the lives of their two offspring. Of course, the parents would do anything to save them. So I made the father vow to the Lore that he would eat his female, bite by bite— starting from the toes.” Saroya sighed. “Afterward, he tried everything to get out of his vow, to circumvent it. At the very least to ease her suffering. But his vow compelled him, and her pesky regeneration ensured that this went on for decades. In fact, he was still at it when I was cursed.”
