"Don't stop," she whispered hard against his ear, still moving under him, cradling his head, running her fingers through his hair.
"I have to feed," he said, breaths staccato, words running together. "I'll kill you."
"You can't, not this way now that I'm already turned..."
"Not permanently."
Her head was tilted back, her neck arched, breathing irregular through her mouth. The words, the timber of the plea, the invitation, were a double-edged blade - slicing reason, while snapping it back into focus, if only for a moment. He pulled out hard, causing her gasp to stab him. She turned away and pressed her cheek against the cold tiles.
"You right, you're right... okay," she said between her teeth after a moment.
But the sight of how the water played over her shoulder blades, the definition of her spine flexing drew his fingers to each vertebrae, lingering to kiss them with his touch, making him take one step back to admire the form of her wet ass.
His hands slid over the high, glistening cheeks with the water, and he entered her, hard from the rear.
He cried out as her stomach hit the wall. He slid his hand between the tiles and her wondrously smooth belly, pulling her into him, against him, to keep her from being slammed into the wall. Using an outstretched arm with his elbow locked to brace the impact, shelter her skull, his breaths became a chant. He needed to feed.
With his head thrown back, his eyes shut tight, he tried to reason with her, slow his motions, his pulse, the inevitable. "Downstairs in the lair, on tap," he said between pants. "But you have to stop moving."
"I can't." Her voice broke, and she reached back, holding his hips, refusing to allow him to break the seal of their bodies. "Not yet."
"It's now or never," he told her honestly, gathering her in his arms, his hands sliding up her slick torso to mold her br**sts. "Let me feed, so we can both live to do this again tomorrow night."
Grudgingly, she moved, disengaging their bodies and allowing him to turn her, shuddering when the connection was lost. He embraced her and nuzzled her hair. With a thought, they were downstairs, dripping water on the black marble kitchen floor.
She backed up to the sink, baiting him with her eyes. "Turn on the tap," she ordered. Her voice was low, and husky. Lethal.
He nodded and it ran blood.
Without his looking at the cabinets, they slammed open - and a crystal goblet materialized in his hand. She inched over and let him fill it, watching him with burning intensity as he downed two glassfuls quickly.
"Can I taste?" She smiled, her fangs glistening in the darkness, her eyes flickering gold.
"It's got a kick to it... not like feeding from me, or the packs."
She nodded, her hot body sliding beneath him. She dipped her finger in his glass, put it in her mouth, and closed her eyes, pulling her finger out slow and wet. "Yeah... it does."
He let her take the glass. She took a deep swig, dropped the glass, and let it shatter. With feline agility, she pushed herself up on the counter and leaned back and her eyes said it all - no mind lock necessary.
More stable now, he took his time, his lips finding her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, but denying her ready mouth his kiss. It was about finesse. A sad knowing overcame him as he honored her body - she was too far gone, the purge hadn't worked, and she'd turned. Instinctively he knew that while female vampires could not reproduce the scent of ripe Neteru, a master could reproduce any illusion that he had intimate knowledge of. In this case, he'd made a female master with Neteru DNA. He wanted to weep.
"I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered, swallowing away his tears.
"If I had to be bitten and turned," she whispered, stroking his hair, "I'm glad you were the one who did it."
Carlos nuzzled her neck. He'd never forgive himself, but vowed to spend eternity making it up to her.
Breath warm and coating teased her throat, a nip, a flicker of tongue, making her squirm in frustration as she waited for his bite and entry. Deep, long kisses sucked her collarbone. A gentle caress lifted her br**sts, causing a shiver. Gooseflesh from anticipation made her arch to make contact with his mouth, the tips hardened, ready, but ignored, then suddenly captured. The sensation almost blinding, then gone.
Moistened thumbs traced a lazy circle around edges of her ni**les in a burning tease. A light kiss on her breastbone made her belly quiver. A long, sweeping lick down her abdomen - impossible to hold her head up and watch. A tongue circling her navel, then penetrating it, causing a slow moan... a series of advancing kisses, nips, that forced her to lift her head with hope... then he looked up at her and smiled.
Her thighs opened wider on their own accord. But the place that she most needed to feel him, he ignored. The tender insides of her thighs were on fire. Every swipe of his tongue, every deep French kiss against them, made her lift her h*ps and contract, not knowing when the kiss there would come.
When his hands slid down her sides and over her thighs, water came to her eyes, blurring her vision. His caress was so lazy, almost hypnotic, were it not for the white-hot burn it created.
"You always smell so damned good," he murmured into the soft down as he kissed it.
His words vibrated against the tender place, sending a hard contraction up the core of her. Her face felt hot, and she licked the tiny beads of sweat that had formed just above her lip. But when he separated her with his tongue an electric current straightened her spine.