17. Christopher #3
“I think she’d like that.” Maria wanders off to search the rest of the house, then returns. “What’s up those stairs?”
“Bedrooms. Pretty typical tract house.”
“Can I look?”
“Sure, why not? I’ll go with you, see if there’s anything worthwhile.”
The second floor is less filthy. Dusty, yes, but the sand hasn’t made its way up here, and I follow her into the master bedroom.
The room is frozen in time, reflecting the interior design of 2034.
Maria stands in the center, slowly pivoting. “This is how people used to live?”
“Minus the dust. But I thought you did your own scavenging?”
“We did more of a grab and run during the day. I was afraid of running into other survivors like us. If I went out, it’s because we desperately needed tools or repair parts for our water system.
I’d find those in abandoned hardware stores.
Even when I scavenged residential garages, I didn’t go into bedrooms. Bringing back soft goods increased the risk of disease—according to my granddaddy. He was a microbiologist.”
“As a vampire, you don’t have to worry about that.”
She snoops in the closet, shuffles through the drawers, then folds back the bed’s duvet, careful to keep the dust from flying. The blankets underneath are only slightly dusty. Removing them, she runs her hand over the sheets and gasps. “Oh my. These are so…smooth. What are they?”
“Satin sheets.”
Something in her posture shifts and she gives me a look.
I’m not a complete imbecile when it comes to women. I’d recognize that look anywhere. “Are you thinking we should try out those sheets?”
She squints at me and strokes the fabric again. “Yes? Even though I’m still a tiny bit angry with you?”
Never underestimate the sexual hunger of a new vampire. Anger and lust tend to bleed together when we first turn.
I don’t know how to tackle all the mixed-up feelings I’ve been having. But sex? That’s simple. Maybe that’s how Maria feels, too.
I join her by the bed. “We should get out of these filthy clothes first.” Glancing around, I look for a place to put them once they’re off her—then an idea hits me.
“Step back.” I grab the duvet and spread it dusty side down on the carpet next to the bed.
Plopping onto the clean side, I slip out of my backpack and tug off my slip-on leather boots. “Join me.”
Her eyes brighten, and she gets the idea.
Once I’m naked and she’s shoeless, I offer a hand to invite her to stand on the duvet. I plan to revel in the luxury of removing one garment at a time until I reveal her beautiful body.
The goggles come off first, then I pull the t-shirt over her head and drop it onto the duvet. The bra she wears came from my warehouse and is rather utilitarian. She deserves better, after the harsh life she’s lived. I promise myself to find her more luxurious lingerie when we return.
She sighs when I slip one strap off her shoulder. I kiss her neck and my lips feel the goosebumps that form.
It’s not the room’s temperature that pebbles her skin—it’s still at least ninety degrees in here—but the touch of my lips that excites her.
I wrap my arms around her, sliding the hook and eye apart, and drop the bra on top of her t-shirt. Then I curve my fingers under her naked breasts and lift them. “Beautiful. So beautiful.”
Next, I unbutton her jeans and pull them down, taking her white bikini panties with them. Except the cotton gusset sticks for a moment before breaking free. She’s so wet I can see her arousal glistening between her legs.
I’m so excited by the prospect of making love to her, I’m ready to explode. Except I want to take my time once I’m inside her. There’s one way to ensure I do.
“You said no one had ever feasted at your thighs before. But have you ever given head?”
A crevice forms between her brows, and she tilts her head. Her expression asks the question.
Right. She wouldn’t know that lingo.
“Oral sex. Taking a man in your mouth—”
“Oh no. Lehm and Gabriel—”
I hold up my hand. “You don’t have to try if it doesn’t appeal.” I have to break her of the habit of mentioning her dead husbands during sex. “I was just thinking that if I have a release now, I’ll last longer inside of you and can take more time focusing on your pleasure. If you’re agreeable.”
Her kittenish tongue wets her lips. “I’m willing to try.”
Anticipation clenches my balls, and I’m fully erect by the time the words leave her mouth. I grab a pillow from the bed and toss it at my feet. “Kneel, so you’re at eye level with Mr. Happy.”
“Mr. who?”
Speaking of things not to mention during sex.
My face warms so hot I swear it’ll blister from my blush.
Smooth, Chris. Real smooth.
“My dick. My cock,” I correct myself, waving at the poor boy, who’s flagging. “Whatever you call him.”
She giggles. “Our parents only taught us the medical terms. You named your penis?”
“Enough.” I bury my face in my hands, temporarily covering my blush, then raise my head. “Please?”
She grins but drops onto the pillow and faces my one-eyed monster. Crap. The problem with living a long life is you pick up slang from each generation.
She looks up at me, heat returning to her gaze. “Now what do I do?”