T. A. Grey (8 page)

He let her pretend to hold him up as they walked into the sparse cabin. He liked the feel of her arm around him, liked the tender, almost caring look on her face. No one looked at him like that.

“Sit down,” she said ushering him to the couch.

He stifled a groan as he sat. His leg felt like a hot poker was jammed inside his muscle.

Each move burned the wound hotter; it stung like a mother.

She started to head into the other room then stopped. “Damn all my supplies are at home.

I’ll be right back.”

Before she reached the front door, he stopped her. “Don’t. Just stay.” He wasn’t sure what compelled him to say it but he knew he didn’t want her to leave.

“All right, just give me a minute.” Her heels clicked on the wood floor as she went into the bathroom. She came back out carrying a wet washcloth, a hand towel, and some medical supplies.

Dmetri relaxed back into the seat. He needed blood and soon. His eyes popped open as she knelt in front of him. He could have sighed. This was what he wanted, minus the wound and lethargy.

She lifted the wet material from around the wound to inspect it. “I’ll have to remove your pants.”

Dmetri arched a brow as she reached for his belt buckle and started to undo it. His cock wasn’t completely dead; it jumped at her hands being so close, hardening at a rate that surprised him. She didn’t seem to notice though as she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down the zipper.

“Lift,” she said and he braced himself on his arm to lift up so she could sashay his pants down.

She stopped in the motion of pulling them down, eyes falling to his groin. Dmetri wanted to preen. Her tongue darted out to lick her top lip and he would have groaned if he had the energy, but sadly all he wanted to do was drink some blood, get patched up, and pass the fuck out.

Still he managed to say, “Is it to your liking?”

She swallowed hard then tore her gaze away. “Black silk boxers, why am I only mildly surprised?”

His grin was wicked. He liked her smart mouth. She made him smile, and she continued to surprise him. A sexy little puzzle.

She finished pulling the pants down past his knees and didn’t even flinch at the ghastly wound. Her fingers prodded near the wound applying just enough pressure that warning censors blew up in his brain.

“You’ll need stitches,” she announced.

She grabbed the wet washcloth and cleaned up the blood, some caked, some fresh that had bled down past his knee. The wound wasn’t a clean cut either, in and out. That’d be too easy; Claude had dug the knife in, twisting the blade so he serrated the flesh around it. Crazy bastard.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the soft cushion with a satisfied sigh. His body felt both heavy and light at the same time, almost like he was swimming.

Gently she cleaned him, her touch light as a butterfly. “This might sting,” she warned.

Liquid dowsed the wound and he didn’t make a sound even though it felt like she’d just poured salt on it. But quickly she put on a soothing salve that had his body relaxing even further into the couch. It wasn’t his kind of couch. He liked leather, black and sleek, and so soft he could melt into it. But, hell, he didn’t care right now. The cheap couch felt soft as a damn cloud.

He didn’t know how much time passed but when he opened his eyes, she wasn’t sitting in front of him. He blinked as he looked around.

“Christine?” His hoarse voice made him wince. He swallowed over his chapped throat wishing he had some blood.

She came out of the bathroom with a small smile on her face. “I just went to put everything away.” She stopped near him, looking unsure...and so damned beautiful. Her curly blonde hair was a mess and frizzing at the top of her head like a fuzzy halo. Her dress was wrinkled, and her hands were red from washing them under hot water. She looked so natural and real.

“I’m going to go now. You need your rest and, hell, so do I. What a night.” She chuckled softly. She leveled her eyes on him, brown and gold, colors he’d never really cared for before—

they were quickly becoming his favorite.

“Well, goodnight,” she said awkwardly and headed for the door.

Dmetri’s head followed her. It took him longer to respond than it should have but he chalked that up to blood loss. “You’ll stay.”

She laughed, turning back around. “Another order? I don’t think you’re in any position to give orders, Dmetri.”

His brow arched, she was right. Still. He curled a finger at her. “Come here.” He resisted the urge to look down at himself. He knew he was a mess. He’d been in a fight; his knuckles were scraped and throbbing. His pants were down around his damn ankles and he had knife wound in his thigh. Still, she wouldn’t be leaving this night.

She came, a small smile playing at her lips. When she got close enough he snagged her wrist and tugged. With a yelp, she toppled into his lap, barely managing to keep from hitting his wound. He pressed his cheek against hers.

“That’s better.”

She didn’t say anything but he heard her breath catch.

“Lie down with me.”

Before she could protest, he grimaced his way until he was curled around her back. She was so damn warm he shivered at the heat of it. It was like sidling up to an electric blanket only she was curvy and soft, fitting against him better than even he’d thought she would.

“You smell good.” His eyes closed as sleep started to consume him. His body relaxed but he kept his arm around her waist. It just felt so good.

“Oh yeah, what do I smell like?” she whispered.

He liked her voice too. Throaty, womanly, full of life. “Flowers,” he said and then drifted off to sleep.

Warm, smoldering heat engulfed him. Dmetri came to his senses slowly. At first he became aware that his head weighed more than a bowling ball and that he felt like he’d drank an entire bar’s worth of wine. His throat was dry like it’d been rubbed raw with sandpaper and his thigh burned as if a cattle prod had stamped him.

The gentle smell of flowers teased his nose and finally he opened his eyes. Surprise flitted through him followed by satisfaction. Christine was wrapped around him like a second skin, her leg thrown over his hip, her slender arm wrapped around his back. She’d turned in the night, or maybe he’d turned her, so they lay close together with her head tucked under his chin.

Well that explained the heat and flowers.

Careful not to jar her, he tilted her head back. She made a soft noise but her eyelids never fluttered. She was passed out in his arms. He didn’t know what to make of the sensation but looking down at her in sleep made him feel better than anything had in a long time.

Her mouth was pulled into the tiniest of smiles and he wondered what she dreamed of that made her so happy. In that moment he knew that she would be his.

The term girlfriend disgusted him. First off, the women he dated exclusively were certainly not girls, and they definitely weren’t his
friends
. Just the thought had his lip curling with revulsion. They were companions that stuck around until either one of them got bored with the arrangement—namely him.

He’d have to get her out of here. When he had a woman, he wanted her close by at all times, for whenever his needs arose. She’d have to come stay with him. That wouldn’t be a problem. He lived in a mansion with his own valet. She’d be treated like a queen. No expense spared.

She snorted in her sleep and he grinned as he imagined her laughing in her dream. She wiggled and pressed deeper into him. Suddenly, need assaulted him—though not the need he thought it would be.

His stomach heaved, tightening into a hard knot in his belly as hunger reared its ugly head. He slammed his eyes shut as wracking pain pulsed through his body making him feel like dozens of blows were landing against him. His fangs protruded, sharp, and ready to strike.

Eyes flying open, tongue dry as a cotton ball, he panted. Blood, he needed blood. He pictured it in his mind, containers of it waited in the kitchen. He started to get up but she lifted her head to shake it, tossing her hair back before settling back down.

His pupils dilated. That one simple move, that shift to get more comfortable just parted the hair at her neck, baring it to him. His mouth watered at the sight of her tan, golden skin. His eye twitched, need warring with want inside him. To taste her...

The battle inside didn’t last long.

He leaned down, pressing his lips against the incredible warmth at her neck. She made another one of those damn soft noises and his cock hardened into stone. Her pulse beat a slow, steady thump against his lips and he held them there, enjoying her life beating against him. She would be his anyway. He’d have her in his bed every night; have her neck while he took her from behind.

Something dark and possessive came over him.

His lips parted and he couldn’t gentle the move as he sunk his teeth into her. He took her neck hard and fast. Hunger and need pounded inside his body, guided his actions with a forceful hand.

She came awake with a loud gasp. “Dmetri!”

He heard her but it was impossible for him to pull away.
My God, her taste
.

Everything about her was in her blood. Rich, sweet, soft, and full of life.

But what was even sweeter, what made this a thousand times better, was that she didn’t push him away. Instead, her hands curled into the suit jacket and pulled him closer. He gentled his sucking, wanting to prolong the moment. He felt her excitement, the lick of arousal that saturated her body with lust. That’s what he wanted, wanted to feel her come apart in his arms just from his bite.

Her hips arched against his, seeking and pumping. A harsh groan broke from his lips as she brushed against his cock.

Much softer she said, “Dmetri.”

The sound of his name from her lips was like sexy music to his ears.

Her hands flattened against his chest then, so slowly, made their way down. Her blood warmed him, made the pain in his leg feel like a slap on the wrist. But it also made his cock feel like it was about to explode and cover them both in a mess.

Her hands stopped at his waist and pushed under his shirt to flatten against his stomach.

His eyes almost rolled back into his head. She was just so
hot
. Everywhere she touched him it burned—but it was a delicious burn that he wanted more of.

Control, he needed to keep control. He never lost it.

But you almost did last night
, a little voice in his head teased.

He fucking ignored it and sucked hard at her neck. Her moan hardened his cock faster than any woman’s fist ever did. The room filled with the sweet, heady scent of her sex. His mouth watered as he remembered the taste of her from last night. So damned sexy, sweet, and fresh. He could have stayed down there for hours. Oh hell, who was he kidding? He’d have come in his pants if he did that. He’d barely resisted taking her as it was.

Her hands moved again, captured his stiff cock over the silk boxers. When she stroked him with her warm palm, he couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting. The soft silk combined with her warm, gentle touches was near perfection, gliding along his shaft like a gentle caress. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Pulling away from her sweet neck he ordered, “Wrap your hand around my cock, Christine.”

She panted, her beautiful lips parted and wet from where she’d licked them; her neck arched gracefully, perfectly towards him. Her thighs rubbed sensuously up and down his and then she dove her hand under the band of his boxers and held him in her little fist.

“Very good.” He couldn’t tell if she’d even heard him because his voice was little more than croak. When her eyes closed again, he sank his teeth back into her.

Her moans escalated as he drew from her. He steadily lost control, could feel it slipping away like he was slipping on ice. He told himself not to do it, to wait and get what he needed later but
fuck
he couldn’t. He reached down, yanked her dress up, and cupped her pussy. Hot, wet, so soft over the silk. Her shiver was one of the hottest things he’d ever felt.

The grip on his cock tightened reflexively and then she stroked him up and down. He groaned, and though he rarely made sounds during sex, he couldn’t stop to think about it because the pleasure she gave him was about to make him come harder than he ever had.

She pumped him, slowly at first then steadily faster, tightening his balls and building the release inside him. Dmetri tore off her silk panties with a satisfying snap and then slid his fingers between her sweet thighs to where he wanted to be—deep inside her, pumping hard and fast.

For a moment, he stopped taking from her neck, so astounded at how utterly hot and wet she was, at how tightly she gripped his two fingers. She was no virgin but she wasn’t a practiced woman either.

“Dmetri,” she cried and arched against his hand.

Stay in control. Stay in control.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice like gravel.

He pumped his hips faster in her hand and bit into her neck once more. It was so hard for him to take from her slowly, just enough to give them both ecstasy without exhausting her. Her hand moved faster, wetting her palm with his seed using it to guide her movements. It drove him wild.

Suddenly the hand pumping him stopped, squeezing hard. The muscles in her sex trembled around him, squeezing and flexing as harsh cries left her throat.

Damn, she’s coming.
Fucking
hard.

She shook against him as if she was having a seizure, her cries making his blood pump faster in his veins. He was right there with her, would have come if only she moved her fist, but instead she kept her tight hold on him as her little channel milked his fingers so snugly. Hot fresh cream coated his fingers and his mind shut off completely.

He was going to mount her, couldn’t wait any longer, had to feel her, come inside her.

But then she pulled away and climbed over him.

The move was so quick, so unexpected that when she slammed his shoulders back into the couch, he flattened against it so he was lying down without protest.