Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Samantha
Iwake up with Rafael’s head between my legs. He presses small kisses all over my inner thighs, only his breath ghosting over my pussy. I make a sound, something between a protest and a plea, and he slowly drags his tongue right through the center of me.
“Is this still what you want?” he asks and I lift my hips.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I chant in time with his kisses.
I don’t know how long he let me sleep, but I feel alert and ready to take him on. His hands press my thighs wider and then he goes back to licking my pussy. I’m drenched and needy, but his teasing kisses and licks avoid my clit.
“Rafael,” I moan and clutch my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. In response, he glides one finger into me and then another. I’m so wet, they go in with ease, and finally his lips close around my clit.
He works me up slowly, inching the pleasure higher but not letting it go over. I hate it and love it at the same time. Idly, I wonder if he will make me come again if I tell him to.
I want to hold out, but the moment the thought crosses my mind, Rafael intensifies his assault. Everything in me zeroes in on his fingers and tongue as I come, and he keeps massaging me through the orgasm, making it last until I’m a panting mess.
A condom packet rips and then he nudges at my opening. The aftershocks still run all over my body, but he slowly pushes his cock inside, stretching me. If I weren’t so relaxed and drenched, it might have hurt. Now it only feels good.
Mentally, I’m checking out. There is no way I can go another round, but at least he made it so good for me first, I won’t mind.
Once he’s seated to the hilt, Rafael lifts my legs to his shoulders and leans forward, bending me in half. He feels even bigger like this and I force my eyes open to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes tugs something in me and I squeeze my inner muscles around him.
“Do that again,” Rafael growls, the human shell cracking.
I try to focus enough to have control over my muscles and start pulsing them.
It feels good, too good, to squeeze tight around him and feel his cock jump in response.
I band my hands around his wrists and give it my all.
I’m milking him while neither of us moves, and my body responds more and more.
Soon, it’s not him I’m trying to please, it’s me.
“So, so greedy,” Rafael says and leans in to kiss my lips. The move pushes him even deeper and he swallows my gasp. He starts with shallow pushes that have me moaning and digging my nails into his skin.
“Naughty Samantha loves to be fucked like this.”
“Yesss,” I hiss and Rafael pulls back, almost all the way out, then slowly glides back in.
“You take my cock so nicely.”
“Harder,” I demand and Rafael nips my neck. His fangs drag along my vein but don’t pierce the skin. I arch my neck, giving him better access, and he sucks my neck hard enough to leave a mark.
His thrusts are still gentle, and I turn my head and clamp my teeth to his forearm. Rafael hisses and then the gentleness is gone. His thrusts turn long and hard, pounding me. The rhythm is punishing and I can only hang on and take it.
It’s helplessness and pleasure all wrapped in one.
The orgasm builds and each stroke drives it closer. I can’t believe I’m so close again. He’s driving me crazy.
“Let go, Samantha. Let me have it,” Rafael whispers and something about hearing the words overrides my brain. I scream and thrash when I convulse around him, but Rafael doesn’t slow down.
“Enough. I can’t!” I shake my head.
“You can. I promise you.” His voice is gentle in contrast to his hard body.
Rafael moves my legs down and the change in our positions hits me differently.
His hand snakes between our bodies and his finger finds my clit.
I don’t need any buildup, I’m already there.
Tears break free and I sob as I fly over the edge again, and this time Rafael follows.
I’m barely lucid when he pulls out and disposes of the condom. I don’t know for whose benefit wearing it was. Can vampires even get someone pregnant or sick? I might have to ask him when I have my brain back online.
A yawn takes over and I blink heavily. First warning sign. I’m so sick of always being tired. Doing anything strenuous saps my energy and sex with Rafael is strenuous to the extreme. Not that I’m complaining. It was worth every second.
My eyes hardly stay open and I look around for my clothes until I realize they are still in the bathroom. It takes everything to push myself up enough to sit. I need to get home before the inevitable crash levels me.
“Where do you think you are going?” Rafael’s arms band around my waist and pull me back against his chest. Instinctively, I snuggle against him and inhale his scent that is now enhanced with the smell of sex.
“Home,” I reply, trying to convince my body to get moving.
“Think again.” There is a dangerous edge to his voice.
“But,” I start and come up empty. I’m too tired to think. The alcohol, dancing, and sex have wrung me dry.
Rafael’s arms soften and he kisses the top of my head. “I like having you in my bed, darling. After all these years, did you think I’d let you leave once I got you here?”
“Mmh,” I hum. “I don’t know. I didn’t really think that far.”
He’s quiet for a moment and when he speaks, his tone is almost… hesitant. “Why now, Samantha? You’ve made your position pretty clear, so why did you change your mind?”
I’m so not ready to have this conversation with him. Maybe because I don’t fully understand it myself. Or, to be honest, I don’t understand why I said no in the first place.
“Sam?”
“I got tired of being scared,” I whisper, giving him a partial truth.
“I would never hurt you,” he rumbles.
“I wasn’t scared of you.”
That shuts him up long enough that my eyes refuse to stay open anymore. Distantly, I think about how sticky and sweaty I am and how much I need another shower, but my head grows fuzzier by the second as exhaustion creeps over me.
My dreams are full of weird colors, like everything has a filter on it and I can’t see through it. I’m walking in a forest that looks nothing like any forest I’ve ever seen, but when I try to focus on the details, they get hazy or my vision blurs.
On the one hand, this place feels familiar and homey. Another part of me is creeped the fuck out by everything.
Something is watching me.
Then a butterfly lands on my nose. It’s the same butterfly that has haunted my dreams ever since I was a little girl. The butterfly I tattooed on my shoulder as soon as I talked my mom into giving in. Vivid purple and pink fill my vision as the butterfly flaps its wings.
Disoriented, I blink my eyes and then the pain splits my head open. I whimper. Another stab of pain convinces me that I’m no longer dreaming despite the color flashing in my vision. Desperately, I reach over to where my nightstand and my meds should be but only meet another pillow.
No, no, no. Did I turn around in my sleep? Where the fuck are those pills?
My breath comes out in pants and I force my eyes open, expecting tiny shards of light to bore into my skull but instead meet utter darkness. Am I blind now? Scared out of my mind, I whimper again.
“Samantha?” A voice comes from somewhere. A man. Rafael. I’m still at his place. A wave of pain hits me again and I curl into a ball. A cool hand touches my forehead and I flinch.
Think.
You need to think.
Focus.
“My purse.” I have meds in my purse. I never go anywhere without them. “Where’s my purse?”
“I think it’s in the hallway. I’ll get it.”
I hear him move, or maybe I imagine it. My senses are all jumbled up. I inhale deeply and clamp a hand over my mouth.
I’m going to be sick.
Desperately, I kick and fight free from the blankets and spring to my feet. Dizziness makes the nausea worse—I have a few seconds to get to the bathroom. I grind my teeth together, hold my breath, and run.
I bang myself on the door, then against a table, but instinct guides me to the bathroom. I hit my cheek on the toilet ring just in time. Violently, I throw up.
Every heave makes the pain worse and worse and worse.
Sobs break free and clog my breathing. I cling to the toilet and fight to pull in some air, until finally, there is nothing left to throw up, and the dry heaves allow more air to filter through.
It takes a while to even my breathing out enough that I can reach for the toilet paper and blow my nose. It’s then that I realize Rafael is holding me up. I would be mortified if I had any energy left, but I only have enough to flush the toilet before slumping against it again.
“Want some water?” he asks, tension ringing clear in his voice.
This wasn’t what he signed up for. I’ve been careful to keep my condition a secret from him. I didn’t want him to treat me differently. I didn’t want him to check in on me or ask how I was doing.
When I was with him, I wanted to just… be. Forget. Talk about the latest hit song or what was happening in our favorite drama about high school vampires. We both loved the show for very different reasons, and getting Rafael riled up over the male lead was always fun.
Focus, Samantha.
“Please,” I croak in reply to his question. Rafael makes sure I don’t bowl over and crack my head when he releases his hold. I hear water running but keep my eyes closed and my breathing light, waiting for him.
“Here.” He holds the glass to my lips and I tilt my head and take enough to rinse my mouth. No way I’m drinking anything now.
“Did you find my purse?”
“Yes.”
It lands in my lap and I open it by feel.
The familiar numbness is already spreading down my face and arm, but I manage to get a hold of the packet in the side pocket and pull it out.
It takes several efforts to pull back the cover and get the small pill under my tongue.
It should dissolve before I throw up again.
“Do you… want my blood? It will ease the hangover.” Rafael sounds stiff, like he doesn’t want to offer but still does. He thinks I have a hangover! Mentally, I give a tiny giggle at the idea. I would love to have a hangover.
“No. Thanks,” I say and then count to ten when the next wave of pain crashes over me. I just want to get home, to my own toilet with its very thick and soft bathmat and stockpile of towels on the floor.
“It really would help,” he says, sounding very stilted.
“No.” The word comes out with empty heaves and I clutch the toilet. Sometimes the meds work, sometimes they don’t. It seems I won the latter option in today’s lottery.
“Fine,” Rafael snaps and then he is there, holding me up again. As soon as the heaving eases, I sag against him.
It was sweet of him to offer, really. But I did my research a long time ago.
Vampire blood is great if you have a wound or a broken bone or anything that needs cell stimulation to heal. Cancer cells would have a field day with it; my presumed days left to live could easily turn into presumed hours.
Earlier, when I got my feelings hurt by him not offering, I only wanted to feel like he was sharing himself with me. I would have said no.
“Just… give me a second to get dressed, and I’ll get out of your hair,” I say, gathering my strength and leaning to reach for my dress that’s still on the floor. The movement makes cold sweat break all over my body but no nausea. Maybe I finally caught a break.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’ll call a cab.” My fingers reach the hem of the dress and I pull it closer. I can only guess how I look. There is a pretty good chance that the cab refuses to take me in, but then again, an ambulance ride to the hospital doesn’t sound like such a bad idea right now, either.
“Samantha.” His tone demands that I look at him. I turn my head slowly, fighting the stabs of pain, and meet his eyes. He’s angry—no, enraged, that much registers even in my mushy brain.
If I could be angry back and fight him off, we would both feel better, but I can’t muster the energy or the words. I drop my gaze to the packet on the floor and go for another pill.
His hand wraps around mine before I get the package open and he tugs it from my hand. His expression shutters when he reads the label. Then he hands it back to me and I get the second dose in and close my eyes again.
He’s not speaking and I don’t see the point either.
Blessedly, this time the medicine cuts down the worst edge of the pain and the tenseness slowly drains away. If I were at home, at this point, I would have my towels as a pillow and I could simply fall asleep. Now, I mentally try to shore up enough energy to move an inch.
“Want a shower?” Rafael asks. He’s still holding me.
“Tired,” I mumble, the drugs making my tongue sluggish.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll help.”
“Lovely.”
I mean it to come out sarcastic, but the result is half a moan and Rafael has us under the water in seconds. My legs won’t hold me up anymore and I sag like a rag doll while his arms hold me up around the waist.
Efficiently, he washes my hair and most of my body and rinses us down. We are done in record time. He doesn’t ask when he grabs a towel and quickly pats me down, grabs the pills and my purse, and carries me back to the bedroom.
“Plastic bag,” I force my brain to work enough to form the words. There is no guarantee I’ll make it to the bathroom on time again.
“Let’s get you settled in and I’ll go get one.”
Good enough. I don’t think I’ll throw up in the next few minutes. I’ve been wrong before, but there is hope. Rafael sets me on the other side of the bed and my purse on the nightstand, then he disappears. I blink and he’s back with a trash can lined with a bag.
I do love a man who listens.
“Do you need something else?”
“Sleep.” I yawn and wince when the movement releases a new bout of pain.
I don’t know what time it is, but if I’m able to doze off, it would be best. I’m so, so tired, everything aches.
I miss the days when I only had this battered feeling and murky brain after serial migraines. I knew it would pass eventually.
This will too, permanently.
Fuck.
“Do you have migraines like this often?” Rafael has moved to the bed behind me and his voice is soft and low enough that if I were asleep, I would not have heard him.
“Sometimes.” Try every other day. Or lately, every day.
“Is there something that sets it off?”
“Extraneous exercise,” I try to joke, but it falls flat.
“Samantha.” He sighs. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m not funny. “Anything that makes it easier?”
“Dark, cool room with no draft, sounds, or smells. Got one of those?” I’m half asleep and talking is easier when I don’t try to think.
“Actually… I do.”
“Well, good for you.” I snuggle deeper into the pillow, hoping I can ignore the sweat pooling at my spine. Hot and cold flashes are just one of the lovely aftereffects of getting one’s brain fried.
“I can carry you there.”
“What?”
“To the other room.”
“Yeah, sure,” I mumble, not really comprehending anything anymore. I just wish the meds keep working.