Chapter 26
Later, in the soft light from the bedside lamps, Clare put on her silk nightdress in the guest room. They’d discussed over dessert how they would go about this, both carefully maintaining a professional tone, to the point it was almost laughable.
She would prepare herself in the guest room and wait for him to join her around midnight.
She’d taken a bath, tried to relax, but what she hadn’t told him was what she’d be wearing. A tiny silk nightdress in champagne silk, with thin threads and a low lace neckline that exposed the soft curves of her breasts.
And yes, that was wicked of her, but heck, even amid such a grave mission, she wanted to tempt him to let go of his iron will.
Madness, and yet…
The rub of silk on her skin made her feel so sensual, her whole body alive and bubbling over with expectation. She got into the big bed. Tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate, knowing that very soon Oliver would come to her.
Thinking about his mouth on her neck was such a turn-on, the thought of his fangs plunging into her vein, the feel of him sucking her blood, traveled straight to her clit, and warmth spread between her thighs.
Even so, she jumped at the soft knock on the door.
Her voice cracked a little as she called, “Come in.”
The door opened and then Oliver appeared, dressed casually again in loose tracksuit pants and a soft cotton t-shirt that made him look young and rakish somehow. He sat next to her on the bed and she eased herself up to sitting, the coverlet falling away.
His gaze sprang to her breasts, and then to her neck, and when his eyes reached hers, they were full of longing. She saw the glint of his long fangs as his lips parted, and glancing down, noticed there was a formidable bulge in his pants. There was no mistaking it, he was as aroused as her.
With slightly trembling hands, she pushed the covers away, exposing her legs, which she spread slightly at the same time as she lengthened her neck. His gaze jumped to the apex of her thighs, then sprang up to her face, eyes dark with lust.
“Did you wear this to taunt me, Clare?” he asked thickly.
She hid the truth behind innocent eyes. “I always dress like this in bed.”
“Lying witch.”
“That’s me. Apparently.” She laughed breathily, watching, fascinated as his fangs descended and sparkled in the lamplight.
He went to take her arm, but she proffered her neck instead.
He pulled back, frowning. “No Clare. I will take too much.”
“You need to take more to increase your powers. I will rest afterward to recuperate. My jugular is best.”
His breathing became heavier, his eyes hooded. Wanting her blood but also, she sensed, wanting so much more.
She stretched her neck like a kitten and sighed as he finally lowered his lips and kissed along her vein.
“Oliver. Please, just do it,” she begged.
With a groan, his lips grazed her neck and he plunged his teeth in. A sharp pain mixed with the pleasure that ran like wildfire through her, swirling in her belly, lighting up her clit. She writhed and moaned, the sucking sensation pulsing within her vulva, begging for relief.
It was so powerful. So impossible to be even vaguely contained about this intimate act. Already she was panting and whining and pressing into his body.
“I need you to touch me, Oliver,” she heard herself beg.
His lips still sealed on her neck, his hand roughly pushed back the covers and traced down her body, parted her thighs, found her swollen bud. He stroked it while simultaneously thrusting two fingers inside her. There was no gentle foreplay, it was a desperate hunger on both their parts.
Keening softly, she held his head to her vein and climbed so fast to her peak she was dizzy—from that, or from her blood being taken, she neither knew nor cared.
A moment later she was aware the suction had stopped at her neck.
She felt the sealing of the wound from his tongue, and then with a deep growl, he thrust her legs wide and plunged his head between her thighs, his tongue lapping along her seam.
He ate her out with the same desperation with which he’d sucked her blood, and Clare could do nothing but give in to the riot of sensations running through her body.
When she came, it was like being hurled off a cliff into an abyss of pleasure.
When she finally stopped twitching, Oliver looked up from between her legs. He grinned, suddenly boyish, his lips glistening with her blood and come. “Was that a fair exchange?”
“Ah, yes, but I have more.” She made to pull him closer, but quickly he stood, adjusting his pants. She reached out and cupped his swollen girth, and when he made to shift her hand away, she protested, “No, I’m not stopping, not this time.”
“Clare,” he murmured, his eyes full of passion, “I have work do.”
“And what if you never come back from that dimension? Leaving me knowing I had never returned the pleasure?”
He gave a husky laugh. “Oh sweet Clare, you tempt me.”
That was all the consent she needed.
Swiftly she sat and, cradling his thighs between her own, she locked him to her with her ankles behind his thighs.
He gazed down at her as if he was himself in thrall, her blood and juices still on his swollen lips.
With words of soft delight, her hands moved down his body.
Her palms stroked over his hips, and this time as she cupped the bulge in his pants he moved into her touch, not away.
Her heart thrilled, and heat ignited in her pussy, still swollen and ripe from her orgasm.
“Let me pleasure you, Oliver,” she husked. “You won’t be able to think straight on your mission otherwise.”
He groaned a laugh, but still his hips bucked toward her as, with trembling fingers, she shucked down his pants and freed his length.
Oh gods. His cock was magnificent.
The head was like a beautiful, rounded arrow, the frenulum like a crown above his long shaft. His balls were drawn tight between his muscled yet slim thighs. How very human he was—and yet not. He was more beautiful, more sculpted for pleasure than any human male could ever be.
Silver pre-cum sprang from the tip of his cock.
Ah, now she knew for sure that the myth was untrue. Oliver had already belied it with what he wore, his hair, his ring. And how could a vampire be allergic to silver when their very own seed was pure as that metal? The taste of him tantalized her, delicious, woody and verdant like mountain forests.
She sighed and took his length into her mouth.
“Clare—fuck! Oh, sweet goddess.” He held her head to him, murmuring her name over and over, his fingers twining in her curls as she teased his cock with her tongue.
She was going to mouth fuck him like a whore.
And finally, he was going to let her.
A deep, gritty, primal sound escaped his lips as she sped up her actions and she felt his cock leaking, swelling in her mouth.
She let her tongue slide around his frenulum, her lips move down his length, from tip to root, her hand joining in the onslaught of pleasure, one cupping his balls, the other sliding up and down his length.
She felt him resist, as if to pull back. “Clare, slower, slower. I haven’t done this for… almost a hundred years.”
For a moment, that gave her pause.
“I took a vow of celibacy when I became a detective, but gods, you are undoing me, sweet one.”
Power soared inside her at the knowledge that she was the one to break the fast.
“That is my intention.” She laughed softly, then plunged her mouth back around his cock.
He growled out expletives, louder, harsher, and she sensed him nearing his climax. He was so human in this moment… so desperate, so vulnerable and out of control as his fingers twisted in her hair and his hips canted wildly.
Totally at her mercy.
Clare worked him faster with her tongue and fingers, knowing his release was close, and then with a harsh shout, his seed spilled into her mouth, the sweet musky liquid running down her throat as he ground out her name.
And if there was a lot to swallow, so be it. This guy had a century of build-up.
In the aftermath, her breathing mingled with his.
Feeling the deep relaxation in his body, she placed her arms around his hips and gazed up at him.
Oliver’s beautiful mouth opened, as if he was trying to form words but couldn’t.
He rubbed his beard, ruffled his hand through his hair. Laughed in wonderment.
“I think you needed that.” She grinned wickedly. “Sir.”
“Minx,” he muttered as she roped her arms tighter.
Running her lips over his belly, under his ruched-up t-shirt, she marvelled at the narrow band of dark hair just below his belly button, the corded v that ran from his waist down toward the apex of his thighs.
Glancing up again, she saw that his lips and even his pale gaunt cheeks had filled with color.
He looked youthful, and washed clean. Clare let her gaze feast on him.
“Thank you,” he husked, finally. “That was… not the plan, but…”
She laid her cheek against his abdomen, and he stroked her hair. They stayed like that for long moments, embracing.
“I love your hair, it’s so wild and untamable,” he murmured, bending lower and planting a kiss on her crown. “So very like you. You tug it all in tight, but when you let it go… Oh boy.”
“Wild and untamable is not how I see myself.”
“Then you do not know yourself. You are stubborn and determined, and wise beyond your years.”
“I could say the same of you, sir.”
“Then that would make me very, very wise. Which I am not.” He laughed, then sighed softly. “Do you know that every single time you called me sir these past years, I have I longed to seal your mouth with a kiss?”
She gave him a wicked smile. “Then I will keep calling you sir.”
He chuckled, playing with a tendril of her hair. “Ah, that we could spend time together outside of this damn case.”
“After it’s solved, we will no longer be colleagues. We’ll be free to do whatever we please,” she said.
When he paused her heart contracted once again, worried that he would reject her.
He sighed softly. “Clare, you cannot begin to know how much I want that. But sooner or later I would go too far. I would turn you. Maybe not this year, or even in ten years, but eventually, I would, so that I could keep you forever by my side.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“When you watch everyone you love fade and die—not just your parents, which is the natural law of things, but your brother too, and then your baby niece becomes an old woman before your very eyes and dies… even your own child—our child—may not be born with the eternity gene. And then you would have to watch them die, or turn them to keep them with you. Eternal life is not the natural way for humans. In time you would come to resent me and I—I would never forgive myself.”
She hushed him. “Please Oliver—don’t find excuses for why this won’t work between us. Please… don’t say anything more. There is a job to be done. Just kiss me and go.”
He gazed into her eyes for long moments, then wordlessly pulled her up to standing and placed his lips on hers. He wrapped his arms around her and they kissed, long and tender. When he pulled away, his eyes were still shadowed with sorrow.
“Promise me you will return to me this time,” she whispered.
His gaze flared burgundy, and she could no longer doubt the depth of his feelings for her.
“I promise.”