It made him mentally tell her the truth. Baby, you don't know how long I've waited for this. Ever since he'd let her sleep untouched on his mother's sofa. You know how many nights I went to bed jonesin' for you, la amante? Losing my mind in my own mother's house...
Gentle caresses sent the message, he opened her with deep kisses, letting her feel the softness of his mouth against the soft slickness of her, preparing her to soon receive the opposite of that. Her fingers raked through his hair, holding him to her, a deep guttural moan aching within him as it pushed its way up her abdomen. He caressed her h*ps with his palms flat, tracing them, while his tongue drizzled pleasure into sweet folds and flicked at her bud. He let it find the deep cavity that had a throbbing rim, circling it, intensifying the ache, making it flutter with contractions, sending her voice through the roof as he probed gently at the thin skin that was partially blocking him easy entry - refusing to stop until the passageway became newly flooded. Then he drove in his tongue for real, claiming her sweet territory.
She called his name in her mind and it instantly came up from her throat low and deep. That was the sound he'd been waiting to hear. She'd called his name, repeating it like the refrain of a song that soon lost its beat and measure, drawn out on a spasm that choked before it died on a breathless gasp.
Tears filled her eyes and spilled from the corners of them down the sides of her pretty face. He could taste the salt in each fast-running drop the moment they hit the air. When he lifted his head to witness his handiwork in her expression, a sheen of fresh orgasm-perspiration made her skin glisten. He felt her total surrender, saw it glittering in her irises, the torch fire making it dance as her hands again found his shoulders and she slowly closed her lids, tilted back her head to expose her throat. He ran his tongue against his teeth - not this time. Not her first time. No. He'd be gentle.
But it was her ragged breathing that was messing him up, just like her urgent arch had... just like her racing pulse did. He slid his hand down her inner thigh, opening her wider, the rapid thud in her femoral artery a magnet. He was trying so hard to simply love her like a man, and not like what he truly was. She had given herself freely without him having to employ any powers of seduction from the dark side of his being, and that gift deserved to be cherished with the best he could give in return. Pure pleasure.
He studied her face, the tilt of her chin, and allowed his eyes to slide down her throat, her deep breaths burning him. He watched her chest rise and fall, lungs expanding and contracting like she couldn't get enough air - because of him. She was in his bed - his lair. She had gone against family, just for him. She had crossed a prayer line and left a fortress - just for him. He hadn't even called into the night for her, and she knew what he was, but yet she came to him on her own, regardless. And she was writhing beneath him - warm... wet... suffering with a need he understood all too well.
It messed up his reason, her sweet seduction had, and now it was threading its way through the dark crevices of his mind... that place within him that had wanted her like this for so long. He had to honor that request, as well as his own nature. The night was young, and he owned it.
He slid against her like they shared the same skin, swept his cheek hard against the side of her neck, making her shudder, then captured her earlobe with his lips, suckling it, drawing the same pleasure into it that he'd just visited upon the delicate bud between her legs. He could feel her open her eyes with the gasp she'd released, shocked. Yeah, hombre, do her right. The night was young, and so was she. She'd never been with a man before. Don't break the seal on this package too fast - be all-pro. Give her the best.
Her grip tightened on his shoulders as he left her earlobe just before she cl**axed, and he breathed a command into the canal of it. "When I call you, come to me. Hear?"
She nodded and shut her eyes tight, her body moving beneath him, trying to capture him within it, but he shook his head no. Not yet. Her response was a series of short pants that he stopped with his mouth, his kiss deep and feral as his tongue scored the roof of hers and concentrated on a single point.
In his mind he could see that agonized strobe of tender flesh within her canal. It hid just behind her cervix, deep, like a glowing ember that had never been properly stoked. He copied its throb into her mouth, using the tip of his tongue to make the transfer, then deepened the French kiss until she almost choked on her own spit when she came hard.
He abandoned her mouth, but not the sensation it carried, depositing points of pleasure along her jugular. Damn right, the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. He wanted every kiss to claim her, every brush of her earlobe to devastate her. He wanted to be able to glance across a crowded room at her and take her over the edge. He demanded an imprint like a maker's mark. A permanent bond. She was his, and he'd rewire her body's circuitry until she only responded for him.
While kissing her shoulder he went into her mind with purpose, a hard-thrust thought, like he was planning to do to the rest of her later, only to be so rewarded by her fantasies that he almost wept and busted a nut himself. Entering her thoughts so fast had felt like he'd just plunged into her up to the hilt. It took him a moment to steady himself through a shudder and her diaphragm-sent moan. Her smooth hands were running up and down his back, sending shivers with them as they slid with his sweat and her legs wrapped around his, then slipped over his h*ps to anchor around his waist.
No, it wasn't over yet. Sweet torture was divine, didn't she know? He gently pushed at her knees until she released his waist. He chuckled low in his throat as she shook her head to tell him no more, not again, that the pleasure was unbearable. He savored the fact that she was beyond words, even telepathically. Stop? Not hardly. He wasn't finished leaving his brand.
He gathered up everything she'd forbidden herself on a hard inhale, letting the tension in those secret places build like slow thunder, moving down her torso, trailing her belly with his tongue again, collecting and stroking each time she'd whimpered alone in her bed, connecting to every time her hand had cautiously slid down her stomach searching for release alone but denied, years of pent-up want straining to hold out and do the right thing, her pillow her lover. Six years of agony, of night sweats and wet dreams... years of brutal intensity unanswered, her delicate hand a poor substitute for him. Oh, baby, you suffered... want me to kiss it and make it better?
When she nodded quickly, tears streaming down her face, he let it all go with a deep plunge of his tongue, finding her unspoiled opening once more. He sent all of her denied release as a spiral of sudden cl**axes bound to shock waves of pleasure, answering each unquenched night he'd endured in the pulse of his tongue.
In a subtle fusion he made both his pent-up agony and hers collide on his deepening kiss and offered her the threat of spontaneous heart failure lick by lick... six years was a long time to want somebody this badly... didn't she know he had the power to make her feel it all at once, in one incredible flash-fire moment? Love her like a mere man, impossible now. She was more than a woman; she was his Neteru. You ready?
This time she released his name in the key of G, perfect pitch, then riffed the scale with one shrill word�"Yes."
Oh... yeah... the night was young, and he was night itself. He was gonna put his thing down hard so she'd never question him again, or tell him no.
Yet her seizure had almost made him forget that it was indeed night, just like her voice had... and her sobs... damn ... he had to remember to breathe. She had scorched him like daylight; her burning response left him near ash. He nipped her inner thigh, but didn't break the skin, determined to finish the brand with authority. But she grabbed his hair, her spine a snap-flex that had her almost sitting up to make him look up at her.
"Oh, f**k it - stop playing, Carlos," she whispered, tears washing her face, her voice coming out fast, harsh, so urgent that it made him shudder.
The expression in her eyes stunned him for a moment, so had the husky demand. It had instantly caused a groin contraction that filled his shaft with hot fluid pressure. He could feel it pearling at the tip and oozing from it in a thin, clear line down to the sheets. She'd made him want to slide inside her so badly his vision was blurring. Damn, he was gonna lose control if she kept talking to him like that. But not tonight. He'd brand her with pleasure, just like she'd branded him with her Isis - a slow, sizzling burn. He would molten-bronze cast that shit before he was finished with her. Make her banish the word no.
He came to her fast, covered her in a hot slide against her, and kissed her hard, then broke from her mouth and held the sides of her head, but didn't enter her. He made her look into his eyes as his fingers tangled through her hair. "I don't want you to bleed, not there." He heard her mind shriek that she didn't care as her pelvis gyrated beneath him. Fuck it, he did. "Uh, uh, I don't want you to ever associate pain with me, not there, baby. You don't want it like that. Neither do I."
Focus. He slid his hand to her back, pressing against it hard to hold her close, giving her a little bit of what she craved, just the tip, and held her pelvis down against the mattress to keep her from moving, to keep himself from moving and in check. He dropped his voice low so she would pay attention. "Let me work it in slow. Trust me."
He had to stare at the wall for a moment to get himself together; her contractions were like a desperate siphon, her voice had unraveled to an agonized wail carrying the word, "Please." When a sob of pleasure ripped through her and she begged him to hurry and put it in hard, he almost did. His breathing was getting ragged, and the point on the wall wasn't working.
Oh... shit... this woman was fine. She was like a piece of rare, passionate art, needed to be displayed proper in the correct venue, mounted right and handled with care, not ruined. But her voice was blowing the lid off his mental black box. It was taking him places that he knew he didn't need to go... not for her first time. But, shit, his possessiveness was loosed, he was a Scorp before he died... and she needed to know what she'd been missing from him all these years. Needed to know one voice, one pair of hands, one set of eyes when she closed hers at night - his. He owned this; her pu**y was claimed. She was his territory. Fuck a pillow - never again, not on his watch. Tell me it's mine!
The side of his hot face caught her temple; she arched, nodded, sputtering, sobbing, and answered him righteous.
"Oh, God, yes, Carlos, it's yours."
Exactly.
That was probably his undoing... Especially when she sobbed and told him it always had been his. True he was a vampire, but he was also a man. Her shudder became his sudden shudder, and his kiss against her throat became more aggressive than intended. He almost dropped fang. She smelled so damned good, and the way she felt around him, her legs constricting his waist, squeezing him in the rhythm she was aching for - hard stroke. But no, if he went there, it would be all over way too fast. She was holding him to her, her nails digging into his skin until he could smell his own blood. That's what I'm talking about.