Demon Night (33 page)

Deny herself Ethan like she would fried foods, alcohol? Those things, when she had too much or couldn't control her need for them, might hurt her.

Ethan never would.

“No.” Her reply trembled from her, and she forced herself to relax. Hard to do, when the shape of his fingers felt like a brand against her flesh. “It was just habit. And it's so
hot
,” she said breathlessly.

“And you're awful wet, Charlie.” His voice was gruff. His long middle finger gently cajoled her soft folds apart, circling her entrance before drawing a path of fire up to her clitoris.

The handcuffs clinked; she grabbed the mattress again. She turned her cheek to the side, tried to keep her hips still.

“You want to move, you want to moan or kick, you go right on ahead. Ain't no one to hear you but me.” Ethan's teeth tugged at her earlobe before he licked the side of her jaw. “And I'd sure like to hear you sing for me, Charlie.”

Was that what she was doing? His lips covered hers as his thumb repeatedly strummed her clit, as she arched and cried into his mouth. As he took up a slow rhythm with his fingers, teasing from her each rattling breath, the uncontrollable roll of her hips.

It almost felt like it, the swell of emotion in her throat and lungs, releasing it to Ethan's murmurs of appreciation—and his gaze, urging her on.

And it came easy, too—the soft bite against her tongue. She didn't taste the blood, but it roared through her, a crescendo throwing her body high. Ethan caught her with his mouth and his hands, holding her up against him until she sagged to the bed.

He dragged his lips from hers, his chest heaving. His palms smoothed up over her trembling stomach, her skin glistening from his heat. Her fingers were buried in the hair at the nape of his neck, and metal jingled as he slipped from under the loop of her arms, moved down.

His thumbs parted her, and his throat worked as he looked. “Oh, Miss Charlie. What you showed me ain't half as pretty as you really are.”

No. And she couldn't have imagined how his pleasure could feed hers. He closed his mouth over her sensitive flesh, but it was his gratified moan that ripped an echo from her throat.

Her teeth locked together, but a part of her screamed. Silently cried for him to continue tasting her as if he'd die without it. To keep looking at her as if she was a necessity. To touch and lick and thrust as if she was the key to gaining something he wanted, needed.

If he needed her for this, it might be enough.

It was almost more than she could stand. Her body was singing again, rising and falling with the leisurely pace of his feast, the drumming of her blood. She kicked and moaned, and he held her, his tongue swirling, flicking, and it was hurting now, strung too tight, pitched too high.

“Ethan.” She was twisting, panting. “I need to…but not without you.”

Ethan fucking her.

It didn't matter how, only that he was inside her. But though he stiffened when she hit him with image after image, he didn't relent, but pushed her higher, licking, sucking, his fingers sinking into her, big and hot.

Desperate, she tugged on his hair. Metal clinked. Again, as she pulled harder. “Ah, God, Ethan—
please
. Please,
please
.”

She almost sobbed when his mouth released her. He kissed her nipples as he rose over her, then her throat.

“You ready then?”

Never more. And his fingers were still slick and full inside her, so he must have known. “Yes. Yes, yes—”

Ethan swallowed the last yes. His hands left a moist trail from her sex to her inner thighs; he pushed them wide. Cold air teased her exposed flesh, then heat as he settled against her, the thickness of his cock nestled between her folds.

Her fingers scrabbled on the mattress over her head. His left hand smelled of her when he brought it up, bunching it in her hair.

He rocked forward, not entering her; his hard length gathered moisture, glided over her clit. Again.

Again.

She went mad with it, frantically jerking her hips toward him, whimpering with need.

Until, finally, he closed his eyes and breached her entrance with burning pressure. “Easy, Charlie,” he whispered, but his voice was as tormented as the sounds she was making. She tried to pull him in hard and fast, but he went slow. So slow.

But not easy. She was adjusting to him, so wet he slid as if she were oiled, but tension clamped her muscles tight around him. Soothing noises came from his throat, but they roughened when she lifted her knees, tilting her hips to take him at a new angle.

He dropped his forehead to hers with a heavy groan. “God Almighty, Charlie. Just stay real still so I don't hurt you.”

“I can't. You aren't.
Please.
” She couldn't control her body, her tongue. “I need it, need you—”

He shoved deep, muffling his shout behind clenched teeth. Her back bowed. Her eyes opened wide; her body stretched to envelop and caress every inch.

Hard, thick—and so hot. Her awareness narrowed down to the heat of his hand on her thigh, the heat of his mouth against her temple, the heat of his cock buried within her.

Ethan gathered himself, rose up to look at her. He untangled his hand from her hair, drew her cuffed wrists over her head. “I'm plumb losing my mind. You all right?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“All right then.” His skin was taut over his cheekbones, his amber eyes glowing. “Now, Charlie, you got a choice. If you're like this—” He pushed her knees down. “I'll be able to work you just right.”

He withdrew and then drove back in with short strokes, stopping only when he was seated firmly, grinding against the aching bud of her clitoris.

Her
mind was going. She turned her cheek against the mattress; harsh, whistling noises broke from her throat—and she didn't care, only wanted him to do it again.

His body shook. He let go of her hands, caught her behind her knees. “Or like this, Charlie.” He pushed her legs up toward her chest, then braced his hands against the bed, her knees over his elbows. Immediately he sank farther into her, tighter, hotter. The pressure was almost unbearable; she closed her eyes, shut out everything but the feel of him. “I'll be deeper, but you won't be able to move much, and I won't be able to rub up against your sweet little—”

“Deep,” she cried. “Deep deep deep.”

“All right. So we've got it just how you like it, then.” His breathing was ragged. “Open your mouth, Charlie. I aim to kiss you all the way through this.”

She met his eyes, parted her lips, and he thrust with his body, his tongue. Her scream locked in her throat, and Ethan inhaled the air that escaped as he pushed into her again. Her toes curled, her fingers gripping his hair as hard as she could, hanging on to him.

But she was losing herself. Losing her mind, her control, to the frantic burn inside her. She had no way to move, to give—only to take. And she took him again and again, until she was full, overflowing with the frenzied pleasure of his possession, but she couldn't release it.

Blood—she needed blood. But she couldn't bite herself, couldn't turn away from the penetration of his tongue.

Ethan increased his pace, a rondo rush toward the finish. Her nails dug into his nape, and he ate each moan, each pleading cry.

Until he stopped. He lifted his mouth from hers but the intensity of his gaze held her frozen, prevented her from closing her teeth on her tongue.

“You have a choice.” His voice was low, and he slid into her again. “But I want you to choose me. Take the blood from me.”

Excitement and fear gripped her, the memory of shattering pain and exquisite flavor, and she trembled against him. She searched his face, but couldn't halt her strained reply. “I don't want to ruin this.”

Ethan's eyes closed. “All right, Charlie.” The fierce need smoothed from his expression, and after a short nod, he hunched his shoulders, dropping his jaw beside her temple. His hips pistoned with even strokes.

It felt incredible…but she'd managed to ruin it, anyway. The craving, the connection between them was gone, replaced with mechanical coupling.

Her eyes stung, and she blinked quickly, until the brilliant stars above were sharp points. She'd wanted Ethan to ask her for something.

And he had.

Maybe the pain wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would stay beneath the pleasure, as it had before her bloodlust had brought it shrieking to the surface.

Her hands flattened against the back of his neck, and she lifted her face to his throat. His skin was smoldering satin under her mouth.

At the touch of her lips, Ethan missed a beat, drove into her with a quick lunge. His voice strangled her name. Her fangs sank deep.

It blazed over her tongue—each note rich with sensation, passion.

And no pain.

Relief pushed a staccato sob from her chest, but it was swept away in the wake of the blood. Ethan wrapped her legs high around his waist. His fingers speared into her hair, and he held her against him as if afraid she'd pull away.

“Just like this, Charlie.”

Like this.
She moaned her agreement.

He moved inside her, his thick groans anchoring the soaring tones of his lifeblood. Mixed, impossible to separate her pleasure from his, the arousal of her body from the ecstasy of drinking.

The cuffs jingled and pulled at her wrists. She needed to touch but telling him meant breaking away; she formed an image of the metal, falling away from her skin. An image of her fingers, tracing the line of his body.

A pure, perfect harmony pulsed through her veins; Charlie stiffened against the cold force of it, then let it sing through her. The sound of his Gift was unmistakably
Ethan
, but distilled, as if the abrasive and conflicting emotional notes had been boiled away, leaving the essence of him.

Unbelievably, inhumanly beautiful. Without flaw.

Without passion.

Then her hands were free and the notes were warm again, heating as his heartbeat quickened. Her heels dug in, urging him faster; his hand fisted in her hair as he surged, and she was hot now, wet, from the inner clasp of her sex to her skin, all absorbing the volcano of his body and blood, all so tight and the pressure too high. And then releasing, rolling through her flesh in great quaking waves, and she clutched Ethan as he broke, his breath jagged, his blood molten.

She didn't want to let him go. Ethan turned, taking her with him, and she still drank. Arousal lay beneath the sweet pleasure of it, soft and buoyant—but it only lay, without grabbing and piercing her.

And she thought she wouldn't mind if it did eventually sharpen, so long as it remained painless.

But she couldn't drink forever. She had to come up. To face him, and find something to say that wasn't the
I love you
welling through her.

Would he even want it? Though it lifted her from inside, she felt heavy, grasping; and if she placed it on him, would it just become another weight for him to carry?

She still held him within her…and she was taking blood from his throat like an addict who couldn't cut herself off.

The puncture wounds had almost closed. It had been easier to stop than she'd thought it would be, but she carefully wiped his skin clean with her fingers rather than with her tongue. Slowly, she began to inch off of him. Ethan guided her with his hands on her hips, and her breath caught as he gingerly slid from inside her.

Say
something
, she told herself. Something that wasn't about her emotions, or her need, or how very much she loved him. She settled in next to his side, and Ethan half-turned to face her, looking her over with a soft, searching gaze.

Could he see what she was feeling? Did he already know? She hadn't sensed him inside her mind, but he could have slipped in, and she just hadn't recognized his mental touch over the sound of his blood—or his Gift.

She grabbed at that, and cleared her throat. “When you unlocked the handcuffs, it sounded…” She couldn't come up with the right word to describe it, but she forced her way through. “Different. Beautiful, but strange. And not as it did when I felt it before, when I wasn't drinking your blood. Though it was still
you
, and a lot like the way you taste.”

He continued studying her for a long moment, his brows lowering as if he was trying to work through a puzzle. “And how do I taste?” he finally asked.

“Good.” She needed to touch him; she lifted her hand to his jaw, smoothed her fingers down the strong line to his chin. “Really, really good.”

His smile crooked his lips. “Now, that's more like what I expected to hear from you when you rolled on over, Miss Charlie.”

So much for his modesty. She turned her cheek against the mattress to laugh, and he drew her in close against his length. Her legs met the fabric of his pants, but he didn't replace his shirt as quickly.