I stopped nagging his brain and went still.
I did this for two reasons. One, because he went still too. Completely. Nearly as solid as when we were talking about my dream. Two, because one part of my idiot brain caught up with what the other, more idiot part of my idiot brain was actually saying.
His head came up. I twisted my neck to look up at him and wished my possible vampire abilities extended to turning back time so I could take back words.
“You were worried about me?” he asked.
I tried to cover. Well, you know, anyone would get worried when someone was carted off in the middle of the night.
“They wouldn’t be worried if they hated the person who was being carted off,” he pointed out logically but his voice was pure velvet and it seemed to glide across every inch of my skin.
Why oh why was I such a freaking loser!
Don’t read anything into that, Lucien, I warned.
He grinned and it was his arrogant grin. “Hard not to, pet.”
Well, try, I pushed.
His face got closer and his voice was still velvet. “I rather like what I’m reading.”
May I remind you that you spanked me last night. Spanked me! I snapped.
“Oh, I remember.” Still velvet, still gliding across my skin, now I was getting goose bumps. Then his eyelids slowly lowered to half-mast and he muttered, “I’m thinking I should have done that at your initial bloodletting. Saved time.”
My body went tight then it jerked against his hold. I knew this would have no effect but I felt better doing it.
It was high time to change the subject.
I need food, I declared.
“Me too,” he whispered.
Damn it all to hell, that got a response. I felt my ni**les get hard and I went instantly wet.
He knew it. I knew he knew it because I saw the flash of a satisfied, smug smile before his face disappeared in my neck. His lips traveled down my chest and, with one arm locked around my waist, the other hand came up to my camisole and tugged it down sharply to expose one of my br**sts.
I gasped.
Then I felt his tongue at the side of my breast, fire shot between my legs and I squirmed.
Let me speak, I whispered and the instant I did, his mind released mine and I felt the blood flow. “Oh my God,” I breathed.
Powerless to stop them, my hands went to his head, fisting in his hair, holding him to me as the sweet, familiar thrill from his feeding shot through me.
His hand came up, fingers wrapping around my wrist, he pulled it away and down. Taking my hand in his own, he guided it into my pajamas, my undies, straight to the heat of me. His fingers manipulating mine against my most sensitive part, he coaxed a deeper response. I took over and his hand moved, a finger sliding in me then two then he stroked, the rhythm sure and strong, practiced and powerful, building in intensity and quickness.
With the feeding, my own fingers and his thrusts, it took only moments for me to come.
“Lucien,” I whispered in my raspy voice and when I did, my fisted hand in his hair tightened at the same time holding him to me.
It was consuming. It was beautiful. I hadn’t had that in three weeks either. It nourished me too.
He imprisoned my hand cupped under his between my legs, lashed the wound at my breast with his tongue, pulled up and rolled into me.
With his weight pressed against my side, his face in my hair, he spoke.
“You’ve broken,” he declared, victory warm in his tone.