Sex and the Single Vamp (12 page)

“I can’t say no to you,” he ground out before he parted her lips with his tongue and possessively plunged in and took her breath away. He was fierce but tender as he tasted and nipped at her lips. The beast was there, but he knew when to pull back, when to advance, and it quickly took her to the edge of her sanity as pleasure bloomed between her legs.

His long fingers petted and stroked her folds, spreading her wetness before delving inside to fuck her slowly and sweetly. She pressed down on the digits, eagerly drawing him deeply inside her as her passion mounted higher and higher. She’d never had sex as a human and this was so different. In her vampire body, she’d been of equal power and the urge to make sex a battle of wills was almost overpowering. It was great, the power dynamic something that really got her off. But now she was the weaker one and the feeling of being totally open and vulnerable sparked an excitement that was completely unexpected.

Deacon stopped the kiss, pulling back from her as he reached down to unbutton his jeans and pull out the fat, heavy length of his erect cock. He was hard, the velvet-soft skin stretched tight as the tip leaked pearly fluid that ran down the side. He stroked himself, his fist tight around his girth as he pushed his pants far enough down his thighs that she could feel the coarse texture of his hair against her skin.

“I don’t trust myself not to hurt you, so you’ll have to control this one.” Deacon grasped her hips, drawing her body forward until she was positioned over him, the blunt head of his penis dragging across her folds. He released his hold on her, placing his hands on the arms of the chair in a grip that made the frame crack ominously. “Ride me, Cici. Take what you need. You can have all I have to give.”

She shivered at his words; the power he was granting her over his body was stimulating, sexy stuff, and the added warmth in her core testified that she loved the idea of controlling this ride.

Cici reached down behind her, grasping his shaft and placing it against her entrance. She lowered herself slowly, inch by inch, letting him fill her with his hard length until she was fully seated on him. She took a deep breath and lifted her body off him, her brain protesting the loss even though she knew the slow glide back down was going to be so good.

“I love you, Deacon,” she murmured against his mouth, pleased to feel the tremor that racked his body at her words. He couldn’t say them tonight, and while it stung, she could be satisfied with this for now.

This wasn’t the end.

It was just the beginning.

Chapter Fifteen

He was a selfish bastard.

Cici was a temptation sent straight from the devil, and he had no willpower to deny her even though he knew he should. This was exactly why he’d avoided her for the last few days, because he knew that if he saw her, he’d cave. Her fear and vulnerability called out to him, and he could not deny her.

But he would not lie to himself that this act, this blood-boiling dangerous act of sexual insanity, was for her.

He should be comforting her but this was all about him. Cici, sweet and giving, surrounded his cock with her heat and the ache in his chest subsided as they made this slow, sensual journey together. The yoke of fear and despair that he’d worn for the last few days felt lighter when she pressed soft kisses against his mouth. Her small hands petting his chest soothed the beast like nothing else ever would.

Deacon lifted his hands from the arms of the chair, praying to a God he’d long since given up believing in that he would be gentle and safe. He needed to touch her. He had to touch her. She was his lifeblood, his anchor in the stormy fury that roiled in his mind and threatened his control.

Her skin was so soft, so warm as he trailed his fingertips lightly over her face, her eyelashes fluttering against them as she closed them in her pleasure. She continued her slow rise and fall on his cock, bringing him agony and ecstasy with each stroke.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, as he continued his exploration.

Her neck was a long column of silk, the fluttering pulse beneath the surface calling to him in a steady siren song. Deacon leaned in and licked that spot, groaning when he could hear her heartbeat speed up, the blood moving more quickly through that sweet curve of her body, begging him to complete their intimacy by sharing lifeblood.

Casting out those dangerously alluring thoughts, he followed the delicate curve of her collarbone, down the valley between her plump tits and under to cup and caress the swollen globes. Her nipples, pink and tight, stood out against her pale skin and he gave in to the urge to taste. They were sweet, the flavor of Cici still strong and true against his tongue as he sucked the one to a hard, wet point.

Cici cried out above him as he moved to its twin, allowing himself a gentle nip before drawing it into his mouth. Her skin, now heating up with their loveplay, was like fire against his tongue, lips, hands. She was burning so hot his own temperature rose in response.

“Deacon, please,” she begged above him, her fingers curling tightly in his hair to hold him in place against her breast. He sucked more deeply, the pulls creating a clenching in her sex that made his cock harden even more.

The telltale tingling low in his spine told him that he would not last much longer. It had been too long without her. Now that he knew what it was like to be inside her, to love her with his body, and the eye-crossing pleasure she could bring him, he was like an addict. Fine when he had a steady supply of the good stuff and a mess of tweaking goo when he denied his needs.

Her breathing was ragged, the tempo mimicking the rise and fall of her body on his own, the sex-slick noise of their joining the only other sound in this room. Deacon lowered his hand to where they were joined, his touch seeking out her clit. He spread her folds and began to circle the hard button, his fingers quickly becoming wet from her arousal.

Cici looped her arms around his shoulders using the leverage to grind down on him and take him deeper into her hot, wet sex. He released her nipple, lifting his head to meet her heavy-lidded gaze.

“I want to see you come. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he confessed, his fingers moving rapidly between her legs. “I need it. Give it to me, Cici.” She cried out, her mouth open as she panted, sucking in deep ragged breaths and exhaling them every time she took him inside her body. Their bodies were slick with sweat, moving against each other in a frenzy as they both sensed just how close they were to reeling headfirst into that white-hot pleasure.

Cici came first. Her channel, already tight, clenched around him as the spasms of her orgasm took her over. Her rhythm faltered and Deacon surged up into her, fucking her through it and joining her in it as he emptied himself into her body with a shout.

She sagged against him and he wished he was totally undressed so he could feel her nakedness fully against every part of his body. He couldn’t get close enough; even buried in her heat was not enough.

From the first moment he’d seen her, he was hardwired to take care of her. He’d carried that obligation gladly, knowing the world was a better place because she was in it. She was a singular joy in his life that he’d cherished often from afar.

His bitter reaction to her rejection and their fundamental differences in the truth of commitment and forever were only enough to give him the excuse to keep his distance from her.

He loved her.

He loved her and the thought didn’t scare him anymore.

He’d loved her the moment he’d glimpsed her smile through the window of her father’s shop. Deacon had fought the attraction as long as he could until he just couldn’t bear the distance anymore. His love had pushed him to do the first truly selfish thing in his life—to attempt to bind her to him forever—and a small part of him had been relieved when she’d rejected him for another. The thought of giving himself away to another person to break or cherish, dependent on their whim, was terrifying. But she hadn’t rejected him. She’d loved him too, and they’d wasted several lifetimes being apart.

He was done wasting time, because now, if he couldn’t find a cure, they may only have what amounted to a blip on the timeline of eternity.

Deacon pulled back from her embrace, unwinding her arms from around his neck so he could see her face. He engulfed her tiny hands in his own, noting again just how very breakable she was. Her eyes, still blue but missing the fiery glow of vampire, were hazy with satisfaction.

“Cici—”

His cell phone rang on the desk, the heavy metal song loud and jarring. Deacon glanced down at the caller ID; it was from the Conclave. If anyone could find a cure it was the ancient men of letters who archived and preserved all the lore and mysticism of their kind.

“Sweetheart, this might be about your cure. Let me take it and then we’ll talk.”

“You promise?”

He leaned forward, taking her mouth in a kiss that gave her that promise and so many more. A lifetime’s worth.

He hauled her against his chest, picking up the phone and tapping the screen. “Deacon.”

“Deacon, I went to check on the progress of our researcher and he found the information you were looking for in an ancient tome from Mongolia. It’s an amazing book—”

“Stefan, please.” He laid his hand on the sweet curve of Cici’s back, feeling her tension as she waited to hear the outcome of this call. Her life hung in the balance and this guy wanted to discuss antiquities. “Get to the point.”

His response was decidedly cooler, but Deacon couldn’t give a shit as long as he got the information. “Yes, of course. The solution is quite simple. Your friend must drink the blood of her Maker and the curse will be reversed entirely. It must be from the vein, no bags or bottles. There are no side effects. No reversion back to First Phase. It will be as if it never happened.”

Damn it all to hell. Deacon’s skin prickled with unease as the words sank in. Sweat, cold and clammy, spread across his lower back as he tried to act as if nothing was wrong for Cici. He tapped her shoulder lightly, motioning for her to let him up. She slid off his lap, leaning down to grab the robe and wrap it around herself. He stood and readjusted his clothing, all the while listening to Stefan.

“Yes, really. This curse is very old and we’re all surprised that a younger witch would know about it. Whoever contracted for the incantation had it done by a very old witch or one with ties to one of the older covens in Europe.”

“Okay.” Deacon cleared his throat, glancing at Cici where she leaned on his desk listening intently. “So, that’s it?”

“No, there’s one more thing.” Stefan rustled papers on his end of the phone, pausing as he gathered his thoughts. “While the effects can be completely wiped out, the incantation cannot be fully destroyed. The curse will revert to the one who breaks it.”

“English please, Stefan.”

“The incantation will manifest in the one who breaks it. In other words, the Maker who supplies the blood will die… The final death. A return to the ash.”

Deacon turned away from Cici, hiding his reaction to Stefan’s words. “And there is no way to stop this?”

“No. It appears your friend will remain mortal unless her Maker agrees to return to the ash.”

“Thank you, Stefan. Tell Maude that her debt is paid.” Deacon hung up, not waiting to hear if the ancient vampire also knew when the apocalypse would come. He didn’t want to know. He knew too much as it was.

“What did he say?” Cici asked from behind him.

Deacon turned around and soaked her in. She was so beautiful, so generous with her heart and her kindness. There was no question about who would be missed by this world. Cici brought happiness and love to people; she embraced life with open joy.

He was a killer. He’d functioned as a high-end mercenary for many years, and while he tried to always pick the side of the righteous, there were many times when he should have thought twice about giving his assistance. He was brusque and rude, and he could count his friends on one hand and still have a couple left over. Based upon that alone, it wasn’t a hard decision.

But the number one reason was that he loved her.

He knew it was love because the moment he’d heard the outcome from Stefan he’d known what he would do.

He would die for her.

Deacon walked over to her and swept her up in his arms, her eyes widening at his speed. He traced her jaw with his fingers, cupping the back of her head as he drew her in close.

“I love you,” he said, pulling her into a kiss that was far too rough for her fragile frame, but he couldn’t help himself. When he told her about the cure and explained why he was the key, she’d never let him do this again. He’d never get a chance to tell her how he really felt.

Deacon released her mouth, his body trembling slightly with the weight of his knowledge. He just had to get it out and navigate the consequences.

“I love you, too,” she breathed out on a sigh, her happiness filling her eyes with warmth.

“Remember that.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you hate me. Please remember.”

“I don’t.”

“Stefan found the cure.” She gasped, her mouth opening to ask tons of questions, but he gestured for her to let him finish. “To reverse the curse you need to drink the blood of your Maker.”

Her expression crumpled almost immediately, grief darkening her eyes and filling them with tears. “That’s terrible. You know I don’t—”

“I know who your Maker is.”

Cici swallowed, her mouth opening several times before she finally croaked out. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth. The void of sound in the moments that followed was all-consuming. Nothing chirped, ticked, or shifted as that truth opened a chasm between them he would never be able to close.

Chapter Sixteen

“You son of a bitch.”

Cici had never slapped anyone in anger before. Yes, she’d fought in the wars, but that was different; that aggression was for an ideal, to stay alive, to end tyranny and rid the world of evil dictators. This was personal. There had never been a more personal act of violence as the one that connected her palm with his cheek.

It felt good. It felt so goddamn good she did it again, her palm now stinging from the impact. But the pain was first-rate. It fed into her anger and kept her from doing something like cry and ruin this moment with her bawling. She could cry later. Now she needed to get answers.

“What the hell happened? Tell me the truth.”

Deacon stepped forward and she backed up, holding her hand out in front of her, a sharp shake of her head warning him not to come any closer.

“Cici, please.”

“Just the truth. I can’t stand another lie.”

Deacon hung his head for a moment, his shoulders slumped as his dark hair fell in a thick veil that shielded his expression from her gaze. When he lifted his face, it was haggard, pain etched in every line, his eyes almost black with his emotion.

“The night your family was killed I was supposed to be there to protect you. I had promised your father. The FAR was gaining power and the rumblings were that they were going to attack our supporters. Your father was immediately a target.”

“So why weren’t you there?” She swallowed down the pain of that night. Time had long since taken away the ever-present ache of loss, but when she was forced back to that time, the pain bloomed fresh, slicing through her like a heated knife in butter. “Why did it happen?”

“Because I couldn’t face being so close to you, knowing you didn’t want me.” He ran a hand over his three-day-old scruff, looking over her shoulder as he continued the story. “I’d made your father a promise to always keep you safe and I broke it because I let my feelings override the danger I knew was coming. I was selfish. A coward.”

He wiped a hand over his eyes, the red smear of a tear giving away the depth of his emotion, but she would not be moved. Too many years had passed, too many lies to forgive, over a few tears.

“I got to your house and I smelled the blood before I’d even tied up my horse. I’ll admit that my first thought was of you, but I checked Benjamin and Charles first. The floor was covered in their blood, their heartbeats silent. I could do nothing for them.” He looked at her then, his head cocked to one side. “You don’t remember any of this?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t remember anything except waking up in Tilly’s house two nights later. How would I know it?”

“Fair enough.” He settled against the desk, hands curling in a white-knuckle grip around the edge while he avoided her gaze once again. “I then turned to you and your father. There was so much blood, the cuts on your throats were gaping, raw…but I heard two heartbeats so I knew you weren’t gone yet. Your father grabbed my hand. He was weakening by the second and I knew I had to choose which one of you to save and he knew it, too.”

“He told you to save me.”

“Yes. He told me to change you, to make sure you lived, and he made me swear to always protect you.” Deacon lifted his eyes to hers, his hand reached out in pleading. “He was my dearest friend, a father to me in so many ways. How could I say no?”

“So you turned me and protected me out of obligation to my dying father?” She laughed in derision, bile rising in the back of her throat from her anger. “No wonder you ditched me with Tilly. No wonder you weren’t there when I went through First Phase. Who wants to babysit a sniveling, scared girl through a change that kills a quarter of new vampires?”

“I never thought of you as an obligation. I loved you. I loved you so much I could think of nothing but revenge and hatred for the people who did this to you.” He stood up, his eyes blazing with anguish and anger as he advanced on her. Cici stumbled backward, stopped by the heavy wooden door at her back. Deacon was so close she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye as he continued his story.

“I tracked down every man who’d participated in or knew about this massacre and did nothing to stop it. I stalked them, made sure they were terrified, and then executed them slowly with as much pain as I could inflict. Some were so badly damaged their families only had their clothes to identify them with. I was full of hate, the beast on the rampage, and I did nothing to control him. I
enjoyed
it.”

Cici was panting now, her chest heaving as his latent rage fed through her and ignited her emotions to the same fever pitch. It was as if she could see the memories through his eyes, hear the sounds of that time through his ears, feel the crush of bone and the gush of blood on her skin.

It scared her. She didn’t want to hear any more and she shook her head, her whimper a plea for him to stop.

“No, Cici. You need to hear all of this.” He barely paused before continuing. “When my search led me to Daniel Allsworthy, I was like a crazed animal. I trapped him in his house and ripped him apart with my own hands and did the same to his hateful father. There was nothing left of them to bury. I left his mother weeping and terrified on the floor in a pool of their blood. The scene broke her mind and I was glad. It made me happy.” He held his hands out, looking at them as though they were still covered in blood. “I was homicidal with my guilt and rage over what happened. You were everything I thought was good in this world and my jealousy allowed them to rip it from you. How was I supposed to tell you I’d killed the man you loved to assuage my own conscience? You would have hated me, but no more than I hated myself.”

“But why keep your identity from me?”

“The rules of our kind require a declared Maker to share blood with you as often as possible over that first year. I simply could not do it. I was selfish. A coward. The thought of sharing our blood after you had rejected me was unbearable.” He closed his eyes briefly, pain making them burn like molten copper when he looked at her again. “But the bottom line is that I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to know the pain I felt when you rejected me.”

Oh my God. The pain in her chest was so great.

“So why show up later in my life? Why not just leave me alone?”

“I came to my senses. I promised your father to keep you safe and I made a vow to keep it this time.” He walked over and opened a file cabinet, pulling out files, videotapes, and computer discs, and flung them onto the desk. “I’ve been watching you for years. I knew where you were at all times. Your friends, your lovers, and when you signed up to help in the war, I made damn sure you were assigned to me.”

Cici’s legs barely carried her to the desk, the adrenaline caused by the shock of the last few moments wearing off and leaving crippling fatigue behind. She lifted a file and opened the cover, barely biting back the gasp at seeing her face plastered all over dozens of photographs of her in the 1950s and living in Los Angeles. She dropped that file and picked up another. Now she was in New York City in the sixties with Aaron, and every year they spent together was documented in detail.

She sifted through the remainder of the materials, walking down memory lane with the assistance of the creepiest set of scrapbooks she’d ever seen. She was angry, but it was the kind of pissed where everything unfolded at a fuzzy distance or you just might have a psychotic break and kill everyone in your path.

“In what universe was this okay?” She waved a hand over the pile of papers, files, and other detritus. “You can fucking spy on me but you can’t tell me that you’re my Maker?”

“After what I had done, I figured that having me as your Maker was the last thing you’d want.” His jaw was set in a stubborn line. He really believed this crap.

“And later? When we worked together? You didn’t think to tell me then?” She rushed over to him, her anger propelling her forward, ending in a hard shove against his chest. “You knew I always regretted not knowing. You
knew
!”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” His eyes were somber, sad, and a perfect match with the low, measured timbre of his voice. “It was a coward’s way out, and I’m sorry.”

He was sincere. She knew him well enough to know that much. It was the truth, finally, but she couldn’t be moved to forgive. Too little, too late.

“I’m leaving.”

He blocked her exit. His big body might as well have been made of stone for as much chance she had getting by him. But she wouldn’t be pushed around by an arrogant, asshole vampire who thought he had the lock on what she did and did not need to know.

“Deacon, move. I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Get the hell out of my way.”

“Look, I know you’re pissed at me, but you still have some crazy asshole out there who’s trying to kill you.” Deacon crossed his huge arms over his chest in the universal sign for “I’m an alpha-hole.” “You’re a sitting duck and you’re not leaving until we find him and get you cured.”

Cici reeled back. “Are you insane? I’m not drinking your blood.”

“Cici, don’t do something stupid just to get back at me. Please.” His eyes flashed bronze and black as he let his fangs descend, lifted his wrist, and bit down. Two strong draws and his blood was flowing down his arm, dripping on the floor and staining his full lips. Cici was surprised at the clenching warmth in her sex and her breasts at the sight, but she wasn’t giving in to her desire to lean forward and take what he offered.

Life.

Immortality.

This time she had a choice.

“No.” She shook her head. “No, I will not drink from you.”

“If you don’t, you’ll die.” Deacon stretched out his arm to wave the blood source even closer to her mouth.

Her mouth watered. Some tiny party of the vampire was still inside, waiting to be brought back to life. But she just couldn’t do it; she couldn’t drink from the man who’d broken her heart with his lies.

Deacon sighed. “Do you hate me
that
much?”

The question was the last straw for her tonight. It showed how much he didn’t understand what he’d done wrong.

“Yes, I think I do,” she spat out with a vehemence that startled her. The meanest, smallest part of her was glad when he dropped his arm and staggered back as if her words were a physical blow. “All you’ve done is lie to me. You’ve had several lifetimes to come clean and you hid behind a promise you made to my father.” She moved forward, poking him in the chest, tamping down the urge to hit him again. “You say you love me when you don’t know the meaning of the word. I understand now why you don’t believe in forever for our kind.” She paused, shaking her head as she corrected herself. “
Your
kind. You don’t have a clue what love really is.”

“That’s not true. Not anymore. I want that with you.”

“Why? Because you feel obligated to take care of me? You fucked up
again
and now you feel like you have to sacrifice your precious freedom to make up for it?” She clenched her hands at her sides, the urge to claw at his face overwhelming, the pain of his betrayal crippling. “What? You figure you can put up with pretending to love me for the span of my poor, pathetic lifetime?”

“No. I want to be with you. It doesn’t matter how long we have.”

“That’s too bad because I never want to see you again.”

Cici stared him down, leveling another hard shove to his chest. Deacon gave in, letting her slide past him to access the door.

He stopped her with a touch to her arm, sullenly staring at her profile until she had no choice but to look at him. Deacon’s face was strained, his eyes dim with worry, mouth tight with the effort to hold back words he desperately wanted to say. It was probably a good thing he was holding back because so far he’d said all the wrong things. “Let me send some of my men with you. Please.”

“Your debt is paid in full, Thomas Deacon. Have a nice life. I’ve got to get busy living mine.”