Eternal Beast: Mark of the Vampire (17 page)

She opened her mouth then and blew. First on one side of his temple, then the other, until both wounds were closed nice and tight.

When she released him, Gray let his head drop down to her pillow. His eyes were closed and he looked tired and pale.

“You all right, Impure?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. But the thread of concern she had for him—that she was having quite often lately—was back again and more intensified.

“I’ll be fine in a few hours,” he whispered against her ear.

Dillon chewed her lip. If she was smart—if she was the Dillon from a week ago, that hard-ass who cared about no one but herself—she’d get up out of this bed and let the guy sleep it off. He’d be fine; clearly he’d been through this before.

Problem was, she didn’t want him fine.

She inhaled, exhaled, then whispered, “Drink from me.”

“Oh, damn, D,” he uttered, his lips just a millimeter away from her neck. “I don’t know if I can handle Beast blood right now.”

She shivered. “Don’t be cute.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m serious. Hot, rich, potent, and highly addictive. I may turn rabid.” His hand came up, and he trailed one finger down the other side of her neck. “Do I get to pick the spot?”

“You’re being cute again,” she said, everything above and below her waist churning with heat.

Gray inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as though he could scent that heat. “No, baby, I’m just hungry.”

Goddamn it, he needed to stop calling her “baby,” and she needed to toughen the hell up. Panic was beginning to wrestle with the desire inside of her. The male needed blood, and she was cool with giving it to him. It was just…Shit. She turned and eyed him dangerously. “Take as much of my potent and highly addictive blood as you want, Impure—”

His brow rose severely.

“Gray,” she amended with an eye roll. “But there’s a condition.”

He chuckled softly. “Tell me what you need.”

“No memory grabs.”

A surprised gleam flashed in his eyes and his mouth hardened just a touch, but he didn’t question her. Instead, he lowered his head and whispered into her neck, “Agreed.” Then he kissed the vein at her neck, and as he did his hand came to rest on her stomach. “I won’t go back in time, D,” he whispered into the curve of her ear, “but what about here? Can I go here?”

Dillon sucked in air as he eased his hand over the skin of her belly, down, down until his fingers touched the waistband of her jeans. His jeans.

Mimicking his hand, he grazed his fangs down her neck too, then circled the spot, the sweet spot where she would feed him. “While I take, will you let me give?”

Heat pooled inside her cunt, making her clit pulse with anticipation. She could say no. She could say no and he would take his hand away and leave her be. She could say no and he wouldn’t be angry, wouldn’t punish her.

She could say no.

So she said, “Yes.”

She felt him smile against her neck, lap at it with his tongue; then, with the utmost gentleness, he pierced her skin and sank his fangs into her vein.

A sound escaped Dillon’s throat, like pleasure and release and melancholy all wrapped up into one.

He uncurled the waistband of her jeans and pulled at the button. With deft fingers, he eased down the zipper and opened the fabric wide. She felt the air on her skin, on her shaved pussy, felt him shudder as his hand encountered nothing but smooth, hot skin. As he took slow, deep pulls at her vein, drank her rich, pure blood, his hand cupped her possessively.

There was something inside her brain that warned her not to take any pleasure from this male, but her body had other ideas. It craved Gray Donohue; it desired the touch of his long, fire-damaged fingers. It wanted to know what it would feel like to be completely without control. For just a little while. For one climax.

She released a breath, a soft moan of satisfaction and pleasure as his fingers played with her lips, first with the outside, so gently, so softly. She pressed her hips up, hoping he’d get the hint, wishing he could hear her thoughts in that moment. Then again, maybe he did. He dipped one long finger inside her wet slit and stroked her sensitive flesh back and forth. There wasn’t anything hurried in his touch. Gray Donohue wasn’t trying to get her off, then take off. He was an explorer, utterly gentle and highly erotic.

She didn’t need to hear him say it to know that he
wanted to feel her, experience her movements, the shake of her lower half when he slid another finger between her soaking pussy lips and circled her clit, urging it to swell.

The slow-moving but powerfully shocking buildup of heat spread through every part of her, and Dillon grabbed the sheets at her sides and fisted them. Her eyes closed, her toes pointed, she listened to him suckle as he played her. For one brief second, the image of the monster, her monster, tickled the exterior of her mind, but she refused it entrance. Instead, she forced her mind on him, on Gray, the one with the magic hands and the fangs that belonged inside her vein and only her vein.

As Gray nursed at her neck, Dillon opened her eyes and looked down, watched as he pressed her lips open with his thumb and middle finger, then circled her shiny red clit with his slick index finger. Though it was highly erotic to watch, there was also something comfortable, stable in his hands. They were so big and scarred and yet they were the kind of hands that wanted to bring only pleasure to her body, never pain.

As his fingers feathered her clit, Dillon felt Gray’s other hand tunnel behind her back, then move down over her ass to the slick wet trail that led to the opening of her body.

“Oh God,” she uttered, feeling her body release even more moisture as she pumped against both of his palms, begging him to continue, begging him to come in, come in where it was warm and drenched and aching for his touch.

Gray groaned against her neck, pressed his fangs in
deeper, then entered her with one long finger, one delicious thrust. Dillon gasped, her fists tightening around the sheet. Shards of electric energy raced through her system. She wanted to move, wanted to attack, wanted to scream—and God, she wanted to touch him. But when she called upon her limbs to respond, they wouldn’t. Her body, inside and out, was no longer her own—and yet she’d never felt more in control. She bucked, rolled her hips, moaned his name, and let her head thrash to the side.

Gray released her then, pulled from her vein. But as he did, he slipped another finger inside her.

“I’m inside you,” he said hoarsely. “But you’re inside me too. Not just your blood, but your jaguar. And it’s screaming and clawing at me to give you more.”

His thrusts grew quick and intense, and every time he drove up inside of her, he pressed the pads of his fingers against the sensitive spot of her clit.

“Oh God, yes, Gray,” she cried out, then whimpered as he gave her clit another flick. “God, yes! Fuck me, Gray, please.”

She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, and she let her head drop back against the pillows. Knees bent, hips pulsing, Dillon let her thoughts evaporate. Gray’s fingers were working her over like nothing ever had, thrusting, pistoning inside her as he circled her clit faster and faster.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, his tone a hoarse, hungry demand. “Come for me. Shit, no. Come for you—you and the tight, hot pussy that’s riding my fingers, drenching them, suckling them.”

She was dying—or was it living? She didn’t know,
but whatever was slamming through her right now, spark after spark—whatever it was that had just made her mind and body connect for the first time—she wanted more of it. Her back arched off the bed, and as the walls of her pussy trembled, then clenched around his fingers, she cried out. Again and again. Climax ripped through her, sending wave after wave of delicious, bone-melting satisfaction to her limbs—hitting her from all sides, beating her against the smooth, unmoving rocks of impossible heat and wondrous pleasure. And as Gray rode them with her, his fingers still thrusting inside of her, her hips canted, again and again, as she stretched, trying to hold on, wanting more, until finally, the waves receded and she released a weak, shuddering sigh.

Her hips dropped to the cool sheet at her back, her breath hitched, and she just lay there. Then, through her exhaustion, her haze, she felt that old sense of doom creep in. It was that feeling she’d always had after sex, after orgasm. The need to run. To leave before anything got heavy, serious, intimate.

But she didn’t, didn’t move. Instead, she lay there, waiting for him to try to climb on top of her, take her, pull down her jeans and get something out of this encounter too.

Would she let him? she wondered, the doom inside her growing. Maybe.

Probably.

Her mind got fuzzy and her skin grew tense, and then Gray Donohue leaned in and kissed her neck, lapped at the spot where he’d bitten her and released her. Not pushed her away or acted as if she owed him
something and she’d better get to it, but just released her. He lay against his pillow, opening his arms, letting her know she was the boss; she was in control.

Her breath caught somewhere in her throat, Dillon stayed where she was. She wasn’t sure what to do with this, with him—with herself. Especially when the feelings of panic and doom receded and she was left only with a raw and honest need for intimacy. So instead of turning away, giving him her back, as was her nature, she moved closer and curled in to him.

For several minutes, she remained tightly pressed against his side, breathing in and out. It wasn’t until she noticed his T-shirt was wet that she realized she’d been crying.

What a fucking pussy, she thought.

What a fucking loser.

And then he pulled her closer and kissed her hair, and she released a mighty breath from her aching throat, wrapped her arm around his waist, and pulled herself tighter against him.

G
ray had a hard-on the size of New Jersey, but he wasn’t going there. Not now, not yet—not until he knew she was ready. Sounded kind of nuts in his head, because ever since he’d met Dillon she’d been openly sexual, up for anything—with anyone.

But now he knew better.

He didn’t know the details—but he knew better.

She pulled herself even closer, her core pressed against his thigh, her face buried in his side. For a second, he’d thought maybe she’d been crying. He didn’t know…but maybe he’d heard something, and maybe his T-shirt was wet where her face was tucked in.

But that had to be sweat, right? D was no tear dropper. Hell, the
veana
got pissed, not sad. She got annoyed, not sad. It was her way.

“You got some seriously talented hands, Male.” She glanced up, grinned. “You just said I couldn’t call you ‘Impure,’ right?”

No tears, Gray thought, but those hazel eyes were glassy and a little red. Could be from climax. Shit, she’d come pretty damn hard a moment ago.

But even as he reasoned away the possibility that Dillon had gotten even the smallest bit emotional from their encounter, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing his thumb along the upper ridge of her cheekbone. The skin felt pliant, cool with the last shades of moisture. His chest hitched like he’d just had a blade thrust into it.

Her mouth thinned and her eyes hardened. “What are you looking for?”

“Just looking at you.”

“You’re staring. Thinking. I can feel it.”

“Stop being so suspicious, D,” he said, moving his hand down, running his fingers across her mouth. “Don’t you recognize this? What we’re doing here?”

“No.”

He attempted a hurt-guy look. “Come on, baby. It’s post-orgasm cuddling. Basking in the glow and all that shit.”

She opened her mouth and swiped at his fingers with her fangs in play. “I don’t do that.”

“Well, now you do,” he said, wishing every damn movement she made wouldn’t keep cranking up his need for her to blistering. “I suggest you get used to it.”

“Fine.” She lifted up on her elbow and gazed down at him. “So. What are we supposed to do here? Share our feelings?”

He laughed at the look of utter disgust on her face. “How about we just talk?”

She shrugged. “You first.”

His gaze locked with hers, and he took a risk. “What do you want to do after this? After you get complete control over your shift?”

The question surprised her, as he’d known it would, and her body stiffened a little. “We’re getting deep, eh?”

“Dillon.”

“I don’t know, okay?”

She sounded defensive. What a shocker.

“You haven’t even thought about it?” he said.

“Not really.”

Annoyance on top of the defense, Gray mused drily. So much fucking fun.

“Maybe you need to,” he said, his hand on her back. “Keeping out of the Order’s way, off their radar, is going to require some strategy and planning.”

Her jaw tightened. “I know.”

It wasn’t like he wanted to be thinking about this shit. He’d just touched her, made her cry out—wanted to again…and again—all night long if she’d let him—but like his gift of hearing the thoughts of others, these kinds of thoughts just weren’t a choice. His brain went there too damn much. The thing wanted to know where his
veana
would be next week, next year—and if she saw him in any corner of her life.

“I can help if you want me to,” he said, knowing he was a fool for offering, and yet…“Come up with a plan. Ask around about safe houses; if there—”

“What is this?” she said, sitting up, a scowl on her face.

“Just talking, D.” He released her, dropped back on the pillows. “Back and forth, swapping info.”

“Sounds more like an inquisition to me.” Her body was going rigid, screaming its defense, total shutout. But the eyes, her hazel eyes told a different story. “Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

Oh, baby, I’m trying to keep you
.

“Get rid of you?” he said, keeping his tone light. “Not a chance. I need you.”

Her mouth softened.

“You got the flash, D,” he said, grinning. “The way into the Paleo.”

“Nice,” she muttered drily, but at least a thread of her defensive tackle was gone.