"You feel... so perfect," he said, punctuating the words with his strokes. "I was made to... be inside of you."
The luscious scent coming from his body intensified as his pumping did, until all she could feel was him, all she could smell was him, all she could taste was him.
She called out his name as she climaxed, and she felt him go over the edge with her, his body shuddering into hers, his release as powerful as his thrusts had been, his orgasm pouring into her.
When he was still, he rolled them over so they were on their sides. He gathered her close, so close she could hear the great beating heart in his chest.
She shut her eyes and slept with an exhaustion to rival death.
Chapter Twenty-nine
That evening, as the sun fell and the shutters rose up from the windows, Mary decided she could get used to being pampered by Rhage. What she couldn't handle was any more food. She put her fingers on his wrist, stopping the forkload of mashed potatoes coming at her.
"No, I'm stuffed," she said as she lay back against the pillows. "My stomach's about to burst."
With a smile, he picked up the tray of dishes and put it on the bedside table, then sat down next to her again. He'd been gone for most of the day, working, she assumed, and she'd been grateful for the sleep she'd gotten. Her exhaustion was getting worse by the day, and she could feel herself sliding into sickness. Her body felt as if it were struggling to maintain its regular processes, little aches and pains cropping up all over. And the bruises were back: Black and blue marks were blooming under her skin at an alarming rate. Rhage had been horrified when he'd seen them, convinced he'd hurt her during sex. It had taken a lot of talking to get him to realize they weren't his fault.
Mary focused on Rhage, not wanting to think about the illness, or the doctor's appointment that was coming soon. God, he didn't look any better than she felt, although he was keyed up, not grinding to a halt. The poor man couldn't settle down. As he sat beside her on the bed, he was rubbing his thighs with his palms, looking like he had a case of poison ivy or the chicken pox. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he spoke up.
"Mary, will you let me do something for you?"
Even though sex should be the last thing on her mind, she eyed the biceps that stretched his black shirt. "Do I get to pick what it is?"
A soft growl came out of him. "You shouldn't look at me like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I want to mount you when you do."
"Don't fight the feeling."
Like the strike of dual matches, his pupils flashed white. It was the oddest thing. One moment they were black. The next, pale light was shining out of them.
"Why does that happen?" she asked.
His shoulders thickened as he bore down on his legs and braced himself. Abruptly he stood up and paced around. She could sense an energy coming off of him, out of him.
"Rhage?"
"You don't need to worry about it."
"That hard tone in your voice tells me maybe I should."
He smiled at her and shook his head. "No. You don't. About the favor. Our race has a physician, Havers. Will you let me give him access to your medical files? Maybe our science can help you."
Mary frowned. A vampire doctor. Talk about exploring your alternative therapies.
Yeah, but what exactly did she have to lose?
"Okay. Except I don't know how to get copies - "
"My brother, V, is a computer god. He can hack into anything, and most of your stuff should be online. All I need are names and places. Dates, too, if you have them."
When he grabbed paper and a pen, she told him where she had been treated as well as the names of her doctors. After he'd written it all down, he stared at the piece of paper.
"What?" she asked.
"There are so many." His eyes lifted to hers. "How bad was it, Mary?"
Her first impulse was to tell him the truth: that she'd had two rounds of chemo and a bone-marrow transplant and had just squeaked by. But then she thought about the night before, when her emotions had gotten so out of control. She was a box of dynamite right now and her disease was the best fuse around.