Chapter 8 #3
But the man in front of her, Vampyren or not, for the moment, he was what she wanted.
His skin felt slightly cold to the touch.
She'd never voluntarily touched one of them before and now she wondered with their blood drinking and behaving like Earth's fictional vampires, were they cold blooded like lizards?
It would explain the desert hot planet they came from and their love of Earth's hottest reaches.
It would explain the unfettered killing spree the Chicago winter was creating – they'd need more blood than ever to survive it.
He touched her face gently, his long fingers easily cupping her cheek, wrapping to the back of her skull.
He could crush her, she knew, but the thought only sent a shiver of excitement through her that detonated between her legs, building the fire there higher.
Her nipples tightened, her mouth watered, she was wet and wanting and she knew he could smell her, the changes in her blood if nothing else.
More likely he could smell the tang of her desire.
He stroked her face, let his fingers run into her hair, and all the while Kiera stroked his chest, pulling the military jacket from him, then the tight, long-sleeved undershirt he wore.
She had to go up on tiptoes to get the shirt over his head, and lost her balance partway through, spilling onto his chest.
He watched her with only the slightest of quirks to his mouth. The invaders rarely smiled, even more rarely laughed. But their eyes could express volumes, she realized, watching him as he let her touch him.
Her hands moved over his arms, the biceps rock solid, veins of deep purple along the pale skin dusted with dusky hair.
They were dark men, most of them heavily bearded, but pale skinned in these cold months.
She wondered now at the glints of gold in his hair, the tawny coloring along the pale, and the way his jaw was covered with stubble, a few days worth but not a full beard.
He wasn't the same as the others, and she mocked herself for the thought.
He was violent and deadly and he had as much as given Dave to his brother. She had heard the screams. And he was giving Diane and Stu to the Council to dispose of and soon.
But with her?
He's different with me, she thought and instantly refuted it. It was the excuse given by every human female ever to enter into a domestic violence relationship.
In that instant, she knew maybe he was different with her and maybe he wasn't. Nothing about the relationship was voluntary. She had no choice.
And if she had no choice and he affected her like this? She might as well go for it. When would she have the option for sex of her choosing again? Or gentleness?
Her hands slid over the thickness of his pecs, the smooth skin and the hard, hard muscle. She lavished attention on his nipples and saw him draw in breath, as if no one had ever done that to him before.
Likely they hadn't. She licked and sucked and took a chance and bit and felt him shudder beneath her ministrations as if all this was new.
Probably it was. Vampyren enjoyed sex with their mates when not breeding. The women were adventurous and uninhibited, but slip over into breeding and they were deadly.
It would be hard to relax under such conditions and probably unlikely such mates spent a lot of time doing things simply –
because –
they felt –
good.
She licked a line, sensual, slow and hot, down the amazing musculature of his abdominals.
What would bodybuilders of the human persuasion give to have abs like this?
Slow and sexy, feeling him respond to her, until she reached the line of tawny hair that led down into the trousers he wore and he stopped her, pulled her up into his arms, reluctantly.
He kissed her, then, his mouth cool but no less exciting for that.
His tongue was rough, unfamiliar, like a cat's tongue.
He teased her lips with it, forced them apart and found her tongue, playing over and around it.
All the while his hands were in her hair, his fingers knotting and smoothing it, pulling it a little, then bunching it into a fist at the nape of her neck.
His other hand moved around and found her breast, laying flat over it all at once, as if taking possession, before he began to rub, his palm causing friction there, her nipple growing harder, standing out, longing for his touch.
She wanted to break from the kiss so he'd duck his head and take the other one in his mouth, or let go of her hair and put both hands on her and then when he did she'd want him to move on with it, to touch her between her legs where she was burning hot, aching for him.
He did none of those things. Instead, he pulled her arms up around his neck, and lifted her still clothed, his hands under her ass, so her legs went round his waist. He carried her then, across the small office-made-bedroom, and pressed her up against the window there, the whole of Chicago spread below her a couple stories down.
She gasped at the cold of the window even through her clothes, then clung to him, kissing his neck, biting his ear.
He kissed her again, pulling at her shirt now, at her bra, stopping in confusion at the pullover jog bra she wore. Kiera felt a laugh building up, stupid because he might take offense, but he looked so utterly confused.
"It's for running," she said, and pulled back in his arms, trusting, for some reason, that he would keep her torso supported with his hands as she pulled the thing over her head. "So they don't bounce." She was blushing.
He frowned at her. "So they don't – "
She dropped the jog bra and put her hands under her breasts, offering them up. "My breasts. It hurts to run if they bounce."
His eyes left her face and went to her breasts, and then he wasn't supporting her torso and she clung to him while both hands went to her nipples, stroking. She arched against him, made a sound like a purr or a growl, her legs tightening on his waist.
He carried her away from the window then, a murmured, "Hold on," and he was laying her gently on the bed, bending over her, his mouth on her nipples, his fangs dropping down to graze so gently, but with threat always on the far side, the way she had sometimes, only rarely, used just the edge of her teeth when going down on Aaron.
Just enough to force trust into the oral.
She writhed under him. He had said he wasn't using pheromones and she believed him, but whatever this was, it was powerful and mind-blowing. She wanted him every way she could imagine and when he moved to unbutton her jeans, she thrust her hips up to him to make it easier.
He laughed then, so they could laugh, his voice thick and deep as he whispered, "Yes," drawing out the "s" and then he was running his eyes over her whole body as she lay nude and winter white before him.
She blushed, her blood flaring, and saw his nostrils twitch, his fangs slide just a tiny bit lower, and for an instant she was scared. But if he was going to feed, at least she'd be unafraid when it happened and please, please let her come first.
She reached for him, intending to drag him down to her, but he evaded her hands, running his sharp nailed fingers over the insides of her thighs and she thought of the artery that beat there, inside her, close to the juncture with torso. Sever it, open it, and death was guaranteed and fast.
His mouth there, her imagination, and then, no, reality, she'd never imagined his mouth cool, there was a heat in his eyes and a heat to him even if when she touched him, he was cold.
She shuddered at his mouth, looking down at where he sucked and licked, wondering if he intended to take her that way.
It had nothing to do with breeding.
He didn't, and she lay back, both frustrated and relieved. That had never been her preference. She was all about –
Cock. She heard his trousers hit the floor, pulled herself up to her elbows to look and sucked in her breath.
She was only five-foot-two, her own brother towered over her and the Vampyren, while maybe a couple inches shy of seven feet, the shortest of the band that had come for them, still he was huge compared to her.