Say no - How? Tell him back off - not possible. Not when he felt the way he did - even standing just beyond her steps, his scent divine, making her know what he really was with each burning phantom touch... all vamp. Maybe more.
"And you love it," he whispered, accessing her mind without permission.
"Stop," she whispered. "This isn't the Carlos I know."
"The old Carlos is gone," he murmured sensually, "Murió en un desgraciado accidente. No quiero desilusionarte, pero... estoy deshecho, cansado... baby, desnúdate, then sufrí un desmayo... helado. Tomorrow we can discuss it. Por lana mañanas tengo la mente más despejada."
His eyes briefly slid shut, as though he was regaining his composure, and when he inhaled, it sucked the air right out of her lungs, making her feel faint. She struggled to translate what he'd told her, feeling a shred of truth in the vibration resonating within his statement, but couldn't bring her mind to work that hard for her, not when he was speaking to her low and sexy in Español... not when he was working her body the way he was.
"Please, Carlos," she gasped, trying to back away on the porch floor. "I can't think when you get like this, and something is definitely wrong."
"¿En que estás pensando? But creo que estás equivocado," he whispered, his lids now half lowered as he continued to inhale deeply. "No te muevas. Ya no hay mas. No importa." He placed his hand on the door. "Permission to enter your house, mi tresora."
Something fragile snapped inside her and she nodded, defying every instinct that lay coiled within her. He chuckled so low and deep that she felt it across the porch like a depth charge through her womb.
"That's better," he murmured, slowly walking toward her, his motions so fluid she wasn't sure his footfalls had landed against the floor. "Then... permission to enter you?"
Her eyes were shut tight. She heard her front door groan and splinter open behind her, and another pleasure assault washed her into her living room. But when she opened her eyes, she was in a place she couldn't recognize. Naked, writhing bodies were all around her. A shadowed figure was in her doorframe. A pool, marble, togas - oh shit, old Rome!
Before she could protest, every sensation resident in the tangle of human flesh gathered and covered her, entering every orifice, until she wept from orgasmic exhaustion. Through sobs of exquisite relief, she sought a pair of eyes she knew. Her line of vision locked with the shadow in the doorway. Breathless, she waited for the familiar glow of silver, something to make her know that he was still with her, that this was just a phenomenal floor show, but no silver light returned to her. Dark, blue-black fire met her stare.
"If you love me, you'll stop right now, Carlos! Do not bring this bullshit into my house! I forbid it." She covered her mouth with one hand and sobbed as he smiled, and another orgasm arrested her complaint.
"I thought you wanted to really know what was inside the mind of a master? I just opened the first layer of my black box for you, baby. Can't handle it?" he said in an amused tone. "Before, you said - "
"That was before," she said, pushing herself up on all fours so she could eventually stand on wobbly legs. But she never made it that far.
"Cypress, maybe, then?" Carlos murmured, "The Greek isles? The Oracle at Delphi had some moves you wouldn't believe. Three-way? That was a very decadent era... and you are definitely in my favorite position. She'll love it, too."
"Don't," Damali said firmly. "Let me up."
"That's right. You're an old-fashioned girl. Old school, Old Testament. So maybe we should just go back to the beginning and do the damned thing right."
Her hands sank into rich, fertile dirt, and vines began to climb up the walls, forming Eden.
"Fallon tried it, I didn't like it," she said quickly, before Carlos transformed into something that might lope over her threshold.
"My bad," he whispered. "Careless and unoriginal. Maybe - "
"Just please stop," she said quietly, needing to appeal to whatever rational part of him was left. "Let me up; let's just be who we are. No games."
A deep chuckle thundered up from Carlos's insides. "No, baby," he said slowly, shaking his head as he made her bud throb harder, "you definitely aren't ready for that."
She could see him stroke the line of his jaw as though considering her fate, even with the unnaturally dark shadows eclipsing his face and body. Something was definitely wrong; he'd never violated her like this, and his power had never been this strong. Although he'd never laid a physical hand on her, what he'd done mentally was more than enough. Fighting against the new wash of sensations he was beginning to create, she went for his emotional core - given that her long blade was missing, and her baby Isis had probably fallen off the porch.
"Carlos, I will never forgive you for this," she said in a distant tone, glancing away from him. "I can't believe you'd act like this or treat me this way."
He paused. Maybe he'd gone too far. New approach.
She watched him slowly run his fingers through his hair, and instantly, the force holding her to the floor lifted.
Part of him said not to do it, but an overriding desire shunted that protest. He had to get inside her, feel her sweet heat all around him. He'd played too long, had blown his own mind, there was no work left for her to do. Fluid had already filled his shaft, turning it to what felt like throbbing granite.
As soon as the thought was completed, she was outside on the porch, na**d in his arms, initially struggling against his hold, her skin sweaty and pulsing beneath his grip until her hands grasped at his back to pull him closer. His mouth consumed hers, devouring her moan, breaking down her resistance. Her Sankofa blazed white-hot silver on her spine, almost searing his hands as they ran down her back. Damn, her will not to conceive was strong.
"I want you so badly, I feel like I'm losing my mind," she gasped against his neck, biting his earlobe, her hand covering the place where his tattoo lay dormant. "Just don't make me pregnant tonight, we can't, I can't," she panted in stuttering jags. "Make it burn silver, baby," she said nearly weeping, waiting for his dead symbol to engage. Then she bit his jugular and sucked hard.
Down in seconds, they slammed onto the porch floor, her tattoo literally making the wood smolder beneath her, but her urgent movements under him demanded his earlier question be answered. Permission to enter? Her body was on fire, becoming dangerous liquid silver in his arms as her passion for him spread through her Neteru bloodstream. Big f**king variable. Time was of the essence. The throne didn't offer clues about a fully matured female Neteru's secret weapon to withstand an unwilling seduction!