Getting What You Want (18 page)

“I can’t wait a long time,” she informed him plaintively.

He smiled, deciding to have mercy on them both. “You know, neither can I.” He pressed his mouth to the core of her, parting her with his tongue, tasting the dewy tang there.

He flicked his tongue, then swirled it, then sucked, repeating the process over and over until he tasted her release, her orgasm a sweet, heady flavor on his lips and tongue.

Erika cried out her climax, amazed at how quickly and how intensely this man could bring her to completion. He was amazing, and what she felt for him, even after such a short time, was amazing too.

Vittorio continued to lick her, seeming to savor what he was doing, and while she did too, and could easily orgasm again, she didn’t want it like that. This time she wanted to reach her release with him deep inside her. She wanted the feeling of being one.

She gently tugged at his hair, her fingers still knotted in the silky tresses. At first he didn’t follow her lead, his tongue still working its magic between her legs. But after another pull, he looked up at her, his lips rosy and wet, his eyes dazed with his own passion.

The sight awed her, because he truly loved what he was doing to her. He wasn’t doing it for any other reason than he wanted her fulfillment, and that certainty was a mighty aphrodisiac.

But she only wanted to feel his thick length deep inside her all the more.

“Come here,” she murmured, and with a regretful glance back at her thighs, he obeyed, sliding up her so his whole length was on top of her. The weight and the friction was delicious. Her breasts pebbled and her thighs ached.

“How do you do this?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure of what she meant.

“How do you arouse me so much? How do you make me forget everything but you?”

He gave her a penetrating look, then he shook his head. “I don’t know. But you have the same effect on me.”

She kissed him, and tasted herself on his lips, her own juices like a brand, a mark claiming him as hers and only hers. And somehow she knew that was true. She knew, deep in her bones, that he’d never acted like this with another woman. And that feeling was so empowering, so thrilling, she curled her legs around his back, pulling him tight to her, letting him know exactly what she wanted. Not that there was any doubt.

And he gave her what she wanted. He slowly slid his entire length deep inside her, filling her, stretching her.

For a few moments, he simply stayed that way. Just enjoying their connection, not knowing where she started and he began.

She touched his cheek, understanding the intensity and wonder of their union. He nuzzled her palm, closing his eyes, seeming to bask in her caress. Then he started to move, pumping into her, rocking her steadily and easily toward bliss.

She closed her own eyes, her hands sliding down his back, feeling each ripple of his muscles, each hard curve of his shoulders and back.

Then just as the slow rhythm got to be too much in its evenness, he started to move fast, filling her deeper, harder.

Her head arced back into the pillows, her legs locked tighter around his narrow hips, and soon another wave of release flooded her, wracking her body, leaving her limp, washed onto the shore of her own passion.

And Vittorio followed her, his own body writhing in the waves, passion washing over him until he too was limp, his breathing coming in harsh pants, his skin damp from exertion and release.

After a few moments—or maybe many, time lost all meaning—he lifted his head from where it rested on her chest.

“I think I changed my mind,” he whispered, and she frowned at him, not following. Then a stark, sharp jolt of fear filled her. What had he changed his mind about? Her? This situation?

But she managed to sound calm as she asked, “About what?”

“About my favorite song.”

She tried not sink into the mattress with relief, although her heart still thudded in her chest—and not just from their impassioned lovemaking.

“What is your favorite song now?”

He dropped his head back to her chest, and didn’t answer for a moment. Then he raised his head again, lightly resting his chin on her chest.

“It’s the beat of your heart.”

Erika stared at this man, who she’d started falling for that very first time they shook hands nearly three months ago. God, she was falling in love.

And despite how right it felt, she was still terrified. What if she was feeling more than he was? What if this was going too fast?

She started to open her mouth to ask if he thought that was true, but then she snapped it shut. She didn’t want an answer, not if it wasn’t the one she wanted. That Vittorio was falling for her too.

Instead she kissed him, and prayed he felt the same way.

V
ittorio watched Erika, making sure that she was sound asleep before he slid out of bed and walked quietly down the hallway. He debated using her bathroom, but decided against the idea. He couldn’t risk waking her up, and what he had to do was going to require a toothbrush and mouthwash afterward.

He slipped through the darkened apartment, the only light in the living room that of the courtyard lights reflected in the eyes of Erika’s evil cat. The animal practically sneered at him, then curled back in a ball, acting like he hadn’t seen him.

Vittorio unlocked her front door and headed toward the stairs. He would have shifted to shadow, but the truth was he was so miserable, he wasn’t sure he could manage the concentration needed. And he only planned to be a minute, surely nothing could happen in that brief a time.

Still, he took the steps two at a time, nearly groaning at how vile he felt. Once in his apartment, he beelined to his bathroom. He barely reached the toilet before he wretched, ridding his stomach of the food he’d eaten tonight.

He groaned, reaching for a towel to wipe his mouth. God, that was attractive. Nothing beat a vomiting vampire. Although he had been able to suppress the need for quite some time. He’d been a little too busy having mind-blowing sex to even notice how disgusting he felt.

He turned to the sink, getting his toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste out of the medicine cabinet. He brushed three times and then rinsed with mouthwash for a full three minutes.

As soon as he was done, he felt a thousand times better, although he could feel his own brand of hunger rising up in him.
Damn it.

He debated sneaking to Bourbon Street for a moment to siphon off some of the energy of the revelers there, but before he could even move toward his front door, he heard Erika. She screamed and screamed as if she was being killed.

His first thought was that he should have locked her door. His next was to race down there, jumping down half the steps in his panic.

He tore through her apartment, heading straight to her bedroom. To his relief, she was still in bed and the room was empty. But like the past three nights, she wrestled with her bedding, her eyes wide open, her mouth open in a horrible, soundless scream.

He quickly crawled on the bed, pulling her close to him. Willing her to wake up. She struggled against him, panting and whimpering as if she thought he was going to hurt her.

“Erika,” he called to her loudly. “Erika.”

She shook her head back and forth. “No! No!” She stared with that distant, eerily glazed look. She fought him, batting at him with her arms, kicking with her legs, attacking him as if she was fighting for her life.

He hated to restrain her, but he couldn’t let her hurt herself. And the way she was flinging herself around, she would. Tonight seemed worse than the others. She struggled and clawed and cried.

“Erika!”
he practically yelled, his mouth close to her ear. But still she didn’t wake. She screamed and wrestled against him, her scream dwindling down to a high pitched keening sound. A desperate sound. A frightening sound.

Again he thought this was too extreme, too severe to be just a normal nightmare. Or even night terrors. Fear filled him, matching hers. What if whatever she was battling with inside her head had the power to hurt her? What if it wasn’t just imagined, but something real? A psychic attack of some sort.

And he couldn’t rule out his mother being involved with this. She had managed to curse Ren. She’d managed to become a lampir. And turn her sons into them too. God he wanted to go back to a time when he didn’t believe in anything supernatural.

She screamed again and began to chant,
“Stop!
Please stop. Stop.”

Vittorio couldn’t handle this. He was afraid for her, very afraid.

He pulled her close, pinning her to his chest, her arms trapped between them. And he began to take her energy, breathing in her essence, which now, laced with her fear, wasn’t as sweet, but still pleasant like dark chocolate, bitter yet still tempting.

He breathed in deep, hoping he could take in some of the fear with her energy. He pulled it deep, over and over, his hunger gripping him, his fear that she was at risk making him continue. Eventually her movements calmed and she relaxed against him. He breathed in again, the sensation of her energy calming him too, sending him into euphoria, lovely floating pleasure.

His own hold on her relaxed as pleasure weighted his limbs, making him feel sated and almost lazy. Only then did he realize Erika was limp in his arms. He immediately released the last breath of energy that he’d taken, a new fear gripping him. An icy, horrible fear.

He stared down at Erika, her head lolling over his arm, her breathing shallow.

“Oh my God,” he said, his voice panicked, his muscles taut with terror.

What had he done? He’d taken too much. He’d stolen too much of her energy in his own hunger. In his own bliss.

He pulled her close again, angling her head, trying to see the pulse in her neck. She moaned as her head lolled back. More panic filled him, then she slowly lifted her head, blinking blearily up at him like a sleepy child.

Gradually her senses seemed to return, although she was clearly drained. Literally drained.

She smiled sweetly, completely oblivious to the fact that he’d nearly stolen all of her energy. All of her life force. Her life.

He suppressed another bout of nausea. Seeing her like that brought back images he’d tried so hard to forget.

He touched a shaking hand to her face. She caught it, pressing his palm to her cheek. “I think these nightmares are getting to you worse than they are me now.” She gave him a worried smile.

He didn’t answer, but kissed her, his lips lingering.

“Really,” she said when they parted, “are you all right?”

“I should be asking you that.” He touched her again, her cheek, her shoulder, needing to touch her and reassure himself she was fine.

“It
was
a bad dream,” she admitted. “But waking up in your arms goes a long way to making it a lot better.”

More guilt assaulted him, making it hard to meet her eyes. She touched him, brushing his hair away from his face.

“Vittorio, I’m fine. I’m sorry this is happening, but—”

He cut her off, pressing his fingers to her lips. He couldn’t listen to her apology when he’d come so close to hurting her.

“I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t be,” she said, then she wriggled off his lap and moved over. She patted the mattress. “Come on, stop looking so worried. I’m fine now. Honestly. I’m just so glad you are here.”

He hesitated, feeling like he had no right to get near this woman. First he was risking her safety by being with her when he believed his mother may have hurt others in the past, and now he was endangering her himself.

He should leave her—except he was afraid they were in too deep. How could he walk away, leaving her on her own? The truth was, he couldn’t. And he didn’t want to.

He slid onto the bed beside her, and she curled her body around him.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his chest, her fingers playing with his hair.

God, he felt like a jerk.

Erika tiptoed around her room, carefully opening the armoire and cringing as the door creaked—a loud, tinny squeal of metal on metal.

She glanced over her shoulder, but Vittorio still slept on like the dead. That man really could sleep. He hadn’t even moved since she’d gotten up and headed to the shower. She didn’t think he’d even twitched.

Then again, she’d woken him again with another of her horrible dreams—this one again about those hideous creatures that chased her, intent on causing her harm. It had been more graphic than any of the others, and she was beginning to doubt they’d go away any time soon.

Although they had started suddenly, so she supposed they could end that way too.

Vittorio had looked as shaken as she was. Actually worse so, really. But then he’d cuddled her, keeping her close to his side for the remainder of the night. Her favorite place to be.

She sighed, just recalling. Her toes curled against the cool hardwood floors. She reflected a moment longer, then forced herself to return her attention to what she should wear today.

She pulled out one of her favorite dresses, a black knit with a little puff to the sleeves and an empire waist. She tilted her head, debating if that would reflect what she wanted it to. Funky, artsy, yet together. She decided with the proper jewelry and cute shoes it would do the trick. She gathered the other items she wanted and headed back to the bathroom to dress and fix her hair and makeup.

Twenty minutes later, she was ready to meet this mystery client. A thrill at the idea of actually being commissioned for her work curled around in her belly. Some of that was nerves too. She really wanted this to work out.

A sale would make life here a little easier. She’d managed to save a good sum over the years, with the idea that she would eventually give at least a year or two solely to her art. But more money would allow her to attempt this career even longer, if necessary.

She supposed her worry could have triggered the worst of her nightmares. She was concerned that this would never be a full-time career. And she did feel the need to prove herself.

But hopefully today’s meeting was just a sign of more to come. And it would be a real career after all. She practically wanted to skip around the apartment as she gathered her purse and phone and of course, fed the grumpy Boris.

The cat’s nose actually seemed to be wrinkled with condescension as he watched her pour his food, then add a little wet food to it.

“I know,” she murmured as she set it down, then checked his water bowl, which was fine. “I’ve been ignoring you the past couple days. But if you had a hottie like that, you’d ignore me too.”

She smiled over calling Vittorio a hottie. That word was too trendy, too adolescent to fit him. Even though he was. But he had maturity to his soul. A cultured, regal bearing. And she really liked that. Yet he wasn’t as serious as she’d once believed. Last night, he’d been playful and sexy and funny. She liked that too.

Of course, his serious side had returned with her nightmare. She really wished she could get control of these terrible dreams. She hated to worry Vittorio, and frankly, she hated the dreams too. Even remembering them caused her to shudder.

She sighed, a habit she’d developed since meeting him.

Again she regrouped herself and picked up her purse, which she’d placed on the counter while fixing Boris’s food, which now held the black cat’s full attention.

She found a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down a quick note reminding Vittorio where she was going, leaving it on the kitchen table. Then she hurried from the apartment. She had ten minutes to walk to the restaurant, and she didn’t want to be late.

She arrived at the restaurant right at two, as Isabel’s voice mail had instructed.

“Can I help you?” the hostess greeted, smiling broadly, her teeth as white as her starched white blouse.

“Yes, I’m meeting someone here, but I’m not sure if she’s here yet. Or what she looks like, actually. We’ve only spoken on the phone.”

The hostess immediately nodded, even before Erika finished her explanation.

“She’s waiting for you out in the courtyard. Let me show you.”

Erika followed the hostess out into the bright courtyard. Sunlight dappled the flagstones and white tablecloths through vines and other greenery crisscrossing overhead. A fountain bubbled in the center. The atmosphere was truly beautiful.

The hostess walked straight toward the far corner, and not until she moved aside did Erika spot the woman who waited to meet her.

The woman sat in the sunlight, her arms resting on the arms of the wrought iron chair, her face tilted upward toward the sun. And Erika’s first impression was that of a sun goddess. Thick lustrous blond hair cascaded down her back and framed perfect features, high cheekbones, a nose that was neither too small nor too large, lips that were full and a tad pouty. A small rounded chin.

She opened her eyes as they stopped at the edge of the table. And Erika was struck by the color of them, such a dark brown, they actually looked black. A chord of familiarity struck her, but Erika didn’t get a chance to speculate on what seemed familiar to her, because the breathtakingly beautiful woman spoke.

“You must be Erika Todd.” She extended a hand, her fingers narrow and graceful, her nails buffed and tastefully polished in sheer pink.

Erika leaned forward to accept her handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Andrews.”

The woman smiled, her smile as lovely and ethereal as the rest of her.

“Please call me Isabel.”

Erika nodded, then pulled out the chair across from her. She accepted the menu the hostess offered, then turned her attention back to this stunning woman.

Looking at her, it was impossible to tell her age, her blond radiance could have ranged anywhere from thirty-five to forty-five. Maybe younger, maybe older.

“You are a lovely willowy thing,” Isabel smiled, her dark gaze roaming over Erika.

Erika actually felt herself blush. “Thank you.”

“Just stating the truth.”

Erika smiled, thinking any woman she’d ever met would have a tough time competing with this woman’s beauty.

She managed to stop staring and gather her thoughts. “So you are interested in a sculpture? Did you have anything in mind?”

“Right to business, eh?”

Erika’s cheeks burned even more. She was honestly so disarmed by this woman, she’d grabbed on to the only subject she could think of, too abruptly, it seemed now.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so thrilled about your interest.”

Isabel smiled, then reached out and touched her hand, her fingers cool, despite the fact she sat in the direct sun.

“Believe me,” she said with a sweet smile, “it is I who am thrilled to be meeting with you.”

Erika smiled back, immediately feeling an affinity with this woman. There was something so comforting in her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. A sense of knowing her, which, given her belief in providence, she saw as a lucky sign.