Kiss of Surrender (24 page)

When he was able to move, and it took a while, he kissed her lightly on the lips and said, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Her eyes were still closed, and she didn’t respond, but there was a smile on her lips.

He went into the bathroom and cleaned himself off, then came back with a warm soapy cloth to do the same for Nicole, who was sitting up now, staring at him as if in a daze. Thank goodness the chair was leather and easily wiped off.

She stood and stretched, then said, “If that was near-sex, I’d like to know what not-so-near sex is.”

“You liked it?”

“Wasn’t that obvious? So, are we still playing games? Is the play still on?”

“If you want,” he replied hesitantly.

“Definitely. Act one is over. Time for the lady director to start the second act. Against the wall, my friend, I’m going to show you how we female soldiers torture our prisoners.”

Trond wasn’t sure he liked the idea of that. Oh, who was he kidding? Anything she did to him would be a pleasure. If she breathed on him, he would probably come again.

“You are not to move, unless I tell you to,” she said. “You could say this is Statues Redux.”

He braced himself facing the wall between the living room and the kitchen with his arms folded over his head, his forehead pressing against the plaster.

She traced the palms of her hands over his shoulders and upper arms, then seemed to be fascinated by the bumps on his shoulder blades. She touched them, she kissed them, she pressed her fingertips against them as if she expected something would pop out. “And you will have wings here someday?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you like that idea?”

“Not particularly. Not any more than I like the fangs. They are a fact of my existence.”

She kissed her way down his back and seemed to like the small of his back the way he liked the small of hers.

“I really, really like your butt,” she said with a laugh.

He laughed, too. It was funny the way modern women fixated on the buttocks, their own and men’s, as well. He couldn’t recall any women in Viking times ever commenting on that part of his body. Now, his cock, that was a different matter.

“Marie and I were talking about it one day. Marie called it prime.”

“You and Marie were discussing my ass?” Now, that surprised him.

“I like the backs of your knees, too,” she said. “They have dimples.”

“I do not have dimples. Anywhere,” he insisted.

“Turn around, big boy,” she ordered then. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Plenty. That’s what he had. Again. Already.

“A Blue Steeler,” she said with admiration, running her fingertips briefly over the blue veins of his thick shaft that reared out from the thatch of black hair at his groin. In invitation.

Instead of taking him up on the unspoken invitation—he had visions of her leaping up with her legs wrapped around his waist, undulating him to another orgasm—she examined his nipples with her fingertips, then her teeth and mouth, suckling him. He liked it, but it was not where he wanted her mouth at the moment, not that he would expect
that
of her.

But, of course, she did just the opposite of what he’d expected. She sank to her knees, gripped his buttocks with the fingertips of both hands, then spread her lips over the flaring head of his cock.

His mind went blank, and he almost came. “Easy, now, Nicole. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, looking up and holding his gaze as she took him inch by inch inside her mouth. Her eyes were large and liquid with her own excitement. Her cheeks hollowed as she drew on him.

That she would do this for him touched a spot deep inside him, one he’d sheltered and kept hidden for ages. The intensity of feeling for her that spread through him like wildfire almost scared him into pushing her away from him. But he didn’t, of course. What man would?

He tunneled his fingers in her hair then and guided her, his heavy-lidded eyes following her every move. For the next five minutes, or was it five seconds, she brought him to the epitome of male ecstasy.

When it was over, he sank to the floor with her, succumbing to the sensory overload. With her just cradled at his side, their backs to the wall, he kissed the top of her head. “Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure.” She cuddled closer.

For several minutes, they just sat, listening to the winds batter the bungalow that had apparently been built to withstand such storms. Who knew when the electricity would come back? Who cared?

Finally, she drew away from him and smiled. “So, what’s the score so far in our game?”

He didn’t hesitate for one moment before saying, “You win. Hands down, sweetling. You win.”

Twenty-two

Act four . . . or was it five? . . . and oops!  . . .

N
icole was in love with Trond.

Unbelievable as it was, unacceptable as it was, she had to admit she’d fallen, head over boondockers, for the big galoot. And it was unbelievable that it had happened so quickly and with a man she had taken such a dislike to, initially. And it was unacceptable because the guy was a freakin’ vampire angel, for heaven’s sake!

Not that she would tell him about her love.

He would probably laugh at her.

It was now roughly two a.m. He’d made love to her on the recliner. She’d made love to him against the wall. They’d made love to each other standing in the dark shower. And none of it with penetration. Amazing!

By feel she’d made her way to the kitchen to get a drink of water while Trond was trying to batten down one of the shutters that kept banging in the wind. He came up behind her, soaking wet from the rain, and hugged her from behind.

“You’re wet and cold,” she protested.

“Warm me up then,” he said, then complained, “You got dressed,”

“Just with a T-shirt.”

He inserted a hand under the hem to check and smacked her rump lightly for good measure.

“Let’s go,” he said then, grinning at her. “We haven’t had near-sex in at least, oh, fifteen minutes.”

She grinned back at him, already becoming accustomed to his fangs that he apparently couldn’t control when in a state of “feverish arousal,” his words. Seemed to her, his “feverish arousal” was lasting a long time, which she chose to view as a compliment. “Poor boy! Fifteen whole minutes!”

They both picked up candles to carry to his bedroom. When they got there, he flipped the coverlet off, totally. Then, eyeing the sheets and her, he said, “I have an idea.”

She had to laugh at that. “Honey, you have way too many ideas.”

“Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?” The hurt, puppy dog expression on his face was almost comical, especially with the fangs.

“No, Trond, I’m not tired.”

Immediately, his expression went joyful. He picked her up by the waist—a habit of his—and tossed her up and onto the bed, facedown. He crawled up over her, not like a puppy, but like a cat, a big scary cat. In fact, he growled in her ear and whispered, “The things I am going to do to you, lady!”

“Should I be scared?” She turned her face to the side on the pillow and nipped at his chin.

“Very, very scared.”

For the next hour, and, yes, it was at least that long, they tortured each other with bone-melting caresses and multiple orgasms, for both of them.

He forced her to all fours and made love to her doggie-style, without actual intercourse. The way he tortured her front while engaged in that particular bout had her screaming an unending orgasm at the end.

They rolled over and over, taking turns on top as they set each other aflame, fueling the fires of desire over and over. It was too much and not enough.

This time when she forced him to his back, perspiration beaded her forehead. Her blood raced alarmingly as she rode the back side of his penis that lay pressed against his belly by the weight of her body. Suddenly, accidentally, she had pressed against the tip of him and he was inside her, halfway.

“Oops!” she said.

His body went stiff, and he shut his eyes, clenching his teeth.

“I’m sorry.” She started to lift herself off him.

He slapped his hands on her butt to hold her in place. “Do. Not. Move.”

To her humiliation, her inner muscles began to clench and unclench him. She was having a blasted orgasm with him only partially penetrating her.

He groaned. A long groan.

“Am I hurting you? We can stop now. No harm, no foul.”

He started to laugh then, and she felt it right down to his erection that seemed to be shaking inside her. “Stop now and I might have to kill you,” he said.

On those words, he flipped her over and slammed into her body, full-tilt boogie all the way to heaven, or at least her womb. Glancing downward, she saw his dark pubic hairs blend with her blonde ones in an oddly touching way, like they were meant to be together, those hairs.

Trond was a big man. When she said he filled her, she meant he
filled
her.

“Hold on tight, sweetling. I haven’t done this in two hundred years and I have a fierce need.”

He wasn’t kidding. So energetic were his thrusts that he actually lifted her off the bed, moving her across the mattress until she hit the headboard. The wet sounds of their mutual slickness was carnal music they created together.

He told her what it was like to be inside her, like a tight glove of warm syrup.

She told him what it was like to have him inside her, like silk on hot marble.

With chest heaving, his hips rolled wildly, and he continued to ride her hard. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. She didn’t want him to stop.

She caressed his shoulders. She soothed him with warm whispers of encouragement. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I can take it.”

In the heated pitch of excitement, he whispered against her ear, “You are more than I ever expected or wanted, more than any woman I have ever had. You are . . . everything.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was pleased nonetheless.

The hurricane was hitting full-force outside if the whistle of the wind was any indication, but it was nothing compared to the storm in the bedroom. Trond became the wild creature he was beneath the civilized soldier. His eyes were shards of pure silver now. His fangs were extended. His nostrils flared.

She wasn’t scared of him, though.

Even while he started the short, pounding thrusts into her body, and she felt herself literally melting around him, her female ejaculation wetting his balls, she gently fingered the edges of his damp, military-short hair and caressed the rigid cords of his neck. Then she held on for life to his wing bumps.

Trond threw his head back and roared his male triumph as he began the crescendo to his climax. Something pulled deeply inside Nicole, and her inner body welcomed his finish with a nonending series of hard spasms that tried to keep him inside her, and thus increased the delicious friction.

They came together and he fell upon her, holding her tightly, as if he never wanted to let her go.

She didn’t mind his weight. In fact, she relished it. And, although she didn’t say the words aloud, as she ran her palms across his back, caressing, she thought them.

I will love you forever
.

The end was fast approaching . . .

Four days later, Trond had made love more times and more ways, some of them rather amazing, so that it was a wonder his cock wasn’t worn down to a nub. Instead, it seemed to be growing with each use, so much so it was almost embarrassing. Well, not really.

They’d changed and washed bed linens so often it was a wonder the threads weren’t worn out. And wasn’t it amazing how many Egyptian cotton sets Zeb had, all with fifteen-hundred thread counts from high-end department stores?

He had no idea when Zeb had started the “clock” on his five-day shield, but it could be as early as tomorrow when he and Nicole left this bungalow. He had mixed feelings about that. He wanted to go back and complete his missions, and yet this interlude with Nicole had been a time he would never forget, especially since he would be paying for it for God or St. Michael only knew how long. Even so, he wasn’t ready for this time with her to end.

There were some problems that niggled at him, though.

One, every time he looked at Nicole, and not just when she was naked and doing something wonderful to him, he got this odd ache in his chest. Like heartburn, but not. He was afraid to think what it might mean.

Second, he was worried about Zeb. Very. Worried.

Third, his feeding off JAM when he’d saved him should have lasted him for at least a month, but he had been outside in an extremely hot and bright sun too many hours each day here, including days of clearing up the storm debris. Without Fake-O or a blood ceorl as a backup, his skin was growing paler. He hadn’t lost energy yet, but he would. Feeding would have to be a top priority on his return.

Four, Mike had been uncommonly absent. It had to be deliberate.

In the meantime, he was trying to stay away from Nicole. He could literally smell her blood, and it was driving him nigh crazy with the urge to feed on her.

He was watching a sports channel on the TV, sitting on the low sofa (the recliner posed too many memories), his long legs propped on the coffee table. He wore a shirt with his shorts today because Nicole had told him repeatedly how his chest made her horny, and she had a habit of touching his wing bumps every time she passed by. She came into the room, carrying a basket loaded with tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, onions, green and red peppers, grapes, cantaloupes, and oranges from an overladen tree outside. In fact, grapes were boiling on the stove right now to be made into jelly.

“Nicole! There isn’t any way we can eat all that stuff before leaving here.”

“Well, I can’t leave it out there to rot. I’ll put it in the fridge for when Zeb returns.”

He saw the tears in her eyes, and he didn’t know why, and was afraid to ask, if it was because Zeb might not ever return or because they would be leaving.

“Do you want to play cards?” she asked.

“No!” he replied too sharply, then chuckled. “The last time, I lost my . . . Well, never mind.”

She grinned impishly at him. “
Interview with the Vampire
is on one of the cable channels at three o’clock.”

“Pfff! Tom Cruise is the sorriest vampire I’ve ever seen.”

She was chopping up some of the vegetables she’d just brought in and washed in the sink. Probably making yet another salad for their lunch. He was going to turn into a rabbit pretty soon. He needed to go out and hunt a boar . . . or something. Of a sudden, he recalled the one winter when he was a boy and food was so scarce that even grass, let alone a salad, would have been welcome. Anything that walked ended up in the kitchen cauldron.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked.

“Did you ever eat boiled wolf?”

“Huh?” she said, then added, “Have I told you how much I like your lopsided smile?”

Only a dozen times.
“I do not smile lopsided.” Leastways no one had ever told him that before. “Nicole! What are you doing now?”

“Taking off my shirt.”

“Why?” he choked out, trying not to look at her bare breasts, which was impossible.
Is she going to cook bare-breasted? That could be dangerous, but then she’s not cooking over a hot stove. She’s making a loathsome cold salad. Aaarrgh! My brain is melting.

“Because it’s hot, and because I want to get an all-over tan before we leave.” On those ominous words, she set the bowl of salad greens aside, walked out of the kitchen, shrugged out of her shorts, then pranced right in front of him toward the deck and a waiting chaise longue. At the open doorway, she paused and looked at him over her shoulder, “Want to join me?”

He shook his head. He could not speak over his long fangs. He put a hand to his mouth to make sure his tongue wasn’t lolling or that he wasn’t drooling.

Over the next hour, Trond did everything he could to avoid looking at Nicole’s nude body glistening in the sun, including two cold showers. Finally, he did what any good vangel did. He dropped to his knees in the bedroom and prayed.

“Dear Lord, please help me to resist this woman because the worst possible thing has happened. I love her.”

Bite me!  . . .

Nicole was hurt and puzzled by Trond’s behavior, and she’d had enough.

For four days they’d screwed each other like bunnies in every room, on every surface, even outdoors. And now he avoided her like the plague. In fact, he’d gone to bed early, in a different bedroom.

Well, enough was enough.

She tried the door handle, and it was locked. That hurt. But it wasn’t about to stop her.

“Trond, let me in. We have to talk.”

Silence.

“I mean it. Let me in, or . . . or I’ll do something drastic.”

Silence.

“I’ll cut off all my hair.”

He laughed. Apparently, that wasn’t drastic enough.

“I’ll set the door on fire.”

A snort of disbelief.

She tried to think of the most drastic thing she could say.

“I’ll get back with my ex-husband Billy to save my sister.”

The door flew open. “That wasn’t the least bit funny.”

Oddly, he was sitting on the side of the bed, his face in his hands. How had the door opened? She shook her head to clear it. Really, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the state Trond was in.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked, coming up to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, jumping up and putting some distance between them.

Which gave her an opportunity to study his appearance. He looked like hell. His eyes were not just silver, but a glowing silver. His fangs were elongated. Perspiration covered his body, and his face was flushed, the flush being more apparent because of the paleness of his skin.

“You’re sick.”

“No, Nicole. I’m not sick. I just need to feed.”

Suddenly, everything became clear to her, based on things he’d told her about vangels over the last few days. And an idea came to her . . . a scary, distasteful idea. “Trond, does your brother Vikar feed on his wife?”

“Yes, but—”

“Is she a vangel, too?”

“No, but—”

“Then you can feed on me.”
Oh Lord! Did I just say that? Did I just offer myself up as Dracula bait? No! Trond is the man I love. If he is a Bram Stoker creation, then he’s a good Dracula. Maybe Dracula had a nonevil brother.

“No! Absolutely not!”

“Would you hurt me?”

“Of course not.”

“Then do it.”
I don’t like needles. How am I going to bear teeth piercing my skin? Don’t start shaking, Nicole. Do. Not. Shake.
“Besides, you’re hurting me now by shutting me out. You have to know that I love you, Trond. Oh, don’t get that sick look on your face. I’m not asking anything from you, and I know we have no future. But there it is. I love you, get over it. And I want to help you.”