Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
ANDROS
Her light lashes fan across her pink cheeks as sleep claims her.
Hearing her cry my name earlier with such anguish tells me more than her words can ever convey.
It killed me to tell her I didn’t want to bond earlier, but I couldn’t lie.
Vampire mates can not only see each other’s memories but experience them in full technicolor.
Charli has enough bad memories. She doesn’t need to see or feel what that sadist did to me.
Brutal acts stored in the darkest recesses of my soul.
Their burden is mine to carry. She is mine to cherish.
Ronan was right and wrong. My craving for her body and blood is intense.
But so is my need for her. My la lumière, my light.
The lip she bites when she’s unsure and the one I most want to nibble on.
Seeing anger flash in the depths of her light green eyes, replacing moments of uncertainty with a confidence that’s breathtaking.
Her intelligence, blossoming as she learns more and more.
The compassion she shows to everyone, including her broken vampire mate.
Her brow furrows, and I rub a light finger down the center. Turning my bare hand in the early morning light, I wonder what she’ll think of them when she sees their wretchedness. Puckered skin. Gnarled fingers. Silver lines. The hands of a monster.
Macklin’s been walking around half-naked in an attempt to make her more comfortable with her scars.
And it’s working. She forgot she was wearing a tank when she woke from her vision, and Macklin’s tanks reveal more than she thinks.
I glance at the skin on her shoulders. Lines where the grafts were placed give it a slight patchwork texture, but it’s not nearly as bad as what I assume she sees in her mind when she looks at them.
I should know. I don’t see the silver on my hands, but the bloody skin shredded by the thorn switches my sire used to wield.
Her scars don’t bother us. Not the sight of them, anyway. What they represent is a whole different story. And the object of our wrath is coming here. How convenient. My incisors lengthen. Whatever happens in this battle, Hank’s reign of terror ends here. We will make sure of it.
She stirs and tilts her head up, surprise in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. Do you need me to move?”
“I need you to kiss me,” I murmur, bending to meet her lips with my own.
The languidness of this moment lends itself to a soft exploration.
The softness of her lips and the way she likes to tilt her head…
Sucking and nibbling, I taste her willingness to stay in the moment and not acknowledge the desire rising between us.
She pulls away and whispers, “They’re on their way back.”
“Do you want me to order you some breakfast?”
She shakes her head and bites her lip. “I want you. Slow and unhurried. Before the chaos of the rest of the world intrudes.”
Seconds later, I’m striding into my room and laying her in the middle of my unmade bed. Her blond hair frames her strong jaw and delicate features. Surprise flares in the depths of her light green eyes, and I glance down to see what she’s looking at and realize I forgot to put my glove back on.
“Sorry, I forgot. If it bothers you, I can close the curtains,” I murmur, my abs clenching with the need to grab a glove from the dresser.
“Show me,” she demands in a soft voice.
Pulling off the other glove, I hold my hands up to the light so she can see them in all their ugly glory.
“More than fire ravaged your hands,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek.
She takes a deep breath and sits up. Then she whips off the tank and turns, letting me look my fill.
“Different textures, uneven scars, and a universe of pain. It’s all there. But the story it tells isn’t one of ugliness but one of courage and strength,” I rasp, emotion clogging my throat. “May I?”
She grips the sheets with her hands and nods.
My lips travel the seams made by the skin grafts and hot coals up to her delicate ears where I capture her lobe, sucking lightly.
My arms wrap around her to cup her breasts and map them by touch alone.
I skim the tips of my incisors down her long neck, teasing her with the pleasure she knows they bring.
Pulling her down to lie on the bed, I shift until I can tongue that delicate collarbone and kiss the pulse at the base of her throat.
“Tie my hands,” she demands. “I don’t want to accidentally touch you until you’re ready for that step.”
Swallowing at the sudden knot in my throat, I get up and grab one of my favorite silk ties and tie her wrists to the headboard behind her. “Is that too tight?”
She shakes her head. “I kind of like it.”
Groaning at the ideas her words invoke, I return to my exploration of her body before I’m tempted to throw slow and unhurried out the fucking window.
Her nipples are pink and tight like the smallest rosebud. And her breasts are the perfect mouthful. I settle in and learn everything she likes and doesn’t like, changing course based on the slightest of sounds.
Cheeks flushed with desire, our eyes lock as I trail my mouth down her body to the sweetest little spot.
Panting, she watches my mouth lower and cover her, and she throws her head back and arches into my tongue as it slowly circles.
I bring her to the edge, then lick a line down the center, finding a new spot to devour.
Her head rolls from side to side as she moans and begs for more. “Andros.”
Spearing her with two fingers, I curl them and rub the inside as my mouth settles on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her muscles tighten as she lifts her body, aching for the release only I can give her, and I tip her over the edge. She sweetly milks my fingers as her body rides out the wave.
Chest heaving, she lies there breathing and staring at the ceiling for a minute. “Slow and unhurried might kill me.”
I chuckle, and she frowns. “Why am I the only one naked here?”
Pulling down the sweats I threw on when I heard her cries last night, my cock springs free, and she licks her lips. But unlike her, I’m not ready to shed my shirt yet. Compared to her scars, mine reflect a lifetime of abuse as a human living in medieval times without the benefit of modern medicine.
“Can I taste you?” she asks, searching my face for any sign of uneasiness.
“It’s been a long time since anyone has asked,” I admit with a sigh, trying to think of the best way to do this without it triggering me. “But I’m not comfortable with you on top of me.”
“What if I sit up against the headboard, hands tied, leaving you in control of the situation?” she asks breathlessly.
My cock bobs as if it agrees wholeheartedly with this plan. I help her sit up and straddle her body. She wets her lips and swirls her tongue around the tip, then opens her mouth. Pushing in an inch, I nearly come the minute she sucks on my head.
My low moan makes her squirm, and she takes another inch.
I thrust lightly into her mouth, and heat pools at the base of my spine.
I tighten my fist on my shaft and push in another inch.
Her cheeks hollow as she continues to taste and suck, and I rock back and forth, enjoying the sight of her mouth stretched over me.
“Stop.” I groan. “Your mouth feels too damn good.” I slip my cock from her, pull her down flat on the bed, and thrust into her slick body, then stop. “My cock was on the verge of swelling.”
The second the word leaves my mouth, I swell, filling her tight channel. Not wanting to rush this, I rock back and forth and lower my lips to hers. She wraps her legs around me, keeping them low, until there’s not a centimeter between us.
“I must have done something right in my past life,” I muse. “Or you did something really bad.”
She laughs, and I groan. Lifting up, I cup her knee and widen her legs so I can go deeper, but I maintain the slow pace she requested. Gritting my teeth to hold on to my control, I slide in and out until her body starts moving restlessly, demanding more.
“Bite me,” she pleads, her body trembling with need.
Leaning forward, I lick her breast, then bite, taking only a small sip, but it’s enough to drive her into an avalanche of sensation.
Her body convulses around mine. I lick the punctures closed.
Thrusting hard and deep, I prolong the waves battering her body, watching her come over and over until I let go and join her.
Untying her wrists, I rub them to make sure the blood is circulating, then settle beside her and gather her in my arms. She covers my hand with hers, then falls asleep between one breath and the next.
I tug on the collar of my shirt and glance down at my bare hands.
Not only did I show her my hands, but she’s in my bed.
Asleep. I cover us both and glance up when there’s a knock on the door.
Teague pushes the door open and studies the two of us. “She looks good in your arms.” His breath catches. “Is she not wearing a shirt?” There’s a tinge of jealousy in his voice.
I raise my bare hand. “Macklin’s easy acceptance made her more comfortable, then she saw this and took the leap.”
He nods. “I’m glad.” His countenance grows darker. “Hank is coming. I don’t want him leaving here alive.”
“Same page, mon ami. Same page.” I tighten my arm around her, and she smiles in her sleep.