Chapter 46
Forty-Six
“Bathroom?” Cally asked, pointing to the obvious door in the wall.
“Yes.”
“We don’t need this,” Cally said, pushing the remains of his tuxedo jacket off his shoulders.
It fell to the floor at his feet, and she took in the state of his shirt.
She’d seen the rips and bloodstains, but to see how many there were, how excessively he had bled—the shirt was stained so much that there was hardly any of the original white left.
She looked up at him, eyes filled with worry.
“Are you all right? Do you need to feed?”
“I’m fine,” he said softly. “I fed on Tobias, if you recall. After the taste of your blood, mon amour, it was a little like sipping from an open sewer pipe. But it held enough power to heal.” He pulled open a cut in his shirt, and the fabric, sodden with his blood, parted easily.
“See?” he said, showing the skin beneath. “Not a mark left.”
“Then we don’t need this either.” She slipped her fingers inside the slashes in his shirt and tugged. It came away easily, like unwrapping a present, his fine musculature revealed, piece by piece.
He gave her a dry look. “You are developing a fetish for destroying my clothes.”
“No, I’m not. The shirt was already ruined!” She stepped back, watching him guardedly. “Don’t tear mine,” she warned, protecting herself with her hands. “I didn’t bring any others.”
“That is hardly an incentive to behave, ma chérie. But you started the clothes destruction, not I.”
“Really?” she said with an arched eyebrow. “I have a different recollection. In fact, didn’t we fly over a pair of my ripped panties this evening? I could’ve sworn I saw them, caught on a chimney beneath us.”
“Guilty.” Antoine held his hands up in surrender and smiled wryly. “A truce perhaps? While we still have something to wear?”
She faked a pout and started to unbutton her blouse, then turned away as she slipped it off her shoulders. She knew he was watching. She unclipped her bra, let it drop to the floor, and kicked off her ankle boots.
Behind her, he exhaled slowly, a soft sound in the quiet of the room. It made her smile.
“Is it a big shower?” she asked, as she unfastened her chinos.
He’d moved with his usual speed and stealth, and she hadn’t heard him. But he was behind her, his hand trailing gently down her back. “So beautiful,” he murmured.
It wasn’t an answer, but she’d take it.
She drew down her chinos, the move deliberate and slow, keeping her legs straight as she bent. It pushed her ass against him, exactly as she’d intended, and his firm thigh pressed back.
“You are teasing me, ma chérie.”
“No, I’m promising you.” She straightened, pushed her panties over her hips and let them fall to her ankles, then stepped out and walked toward the door he’d indicated. She looked playfully back over her shoulder. “I’ll scrub your back if you scrub mine.”
His gaze was intense with arousal, so hungry it prickled across her skin, making her want to shiver. He followed her, unbuckling his belt as he came. Not the belt she’d snapped, of course, but he owned so many.
Or he had, at least, back in the house they wouldn’t visit again.
She opened the bathroom door, and it was more than she’d expected. Clean modern plumbing, ceramic tiles, and a walk-in shower, no expense spared. It suited Antoine; it just didn’t suit the house. But the basement was where he really lived; the dusty rooms above were nothing more than a smokescreen.
It didn’t take long to get a pleasant flow of warm water, and by then he’d joined her.
His hands traced over her shoulders from behind, sweeping her wet hair aside, and he kissed the side of her neck.
She angled her head in offering and leaned against him, and his hands slipped around to cup her breasts.
She reached back for him, finding his thigh with one hand, his hip with the other, and arched into his touch.
He ran his fingers lightly over her stiff nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.
Beneath her feet, the water ran pink. It somewhat spoiled the mood.
“You’re up first,” she said, reaching for the shower gel he had hanging nearby. “I want this blood off you, and then I’m going to lick every inch of your skin.”
But Antoine reached up and brushed his thumb across her forehead, wiping away the circle of dried blood on her own skin that she’d all but forgotten about.
The one over her heart had mostly washed away beneath the spray of water, but he helped it on its journey, then bent to place a kiss where it had been.
Cally washed him slowly, letting the anticipation build, trailing her hands over him. His broad shoulders, firm chest, the tantalizing ridges of his stomach. Skin warm and slippery beneath the soap, which smelled subtly of eucalyptus, lemon, and a hint of cedarwood. It suited him.
She lowered to her knees before him, trailing soapy hands down his thighs, and he was already hard and strong.
She closed her eyes and nuzzled her cheek against him, making a sound low in her throat, and he echoed it with his own moan.
She finished quickly, not wanting to be in the shower anymore, and stood, brushing up against him as she rose.
“You’re done. I’m clean enough. Bed.”
There were towels on a warming rail, and they dried each other. But she was impatient. She took his hand and led him back into the main room.
“Lie down for me?” she asked.
Antoine gave her a searching look, but complied, pulling away the comforter, then stretching out on the cream sheet in his glorious nakedness.
Usually, in their lovemaking, he took a dominant role; it was who he was, the natural predator.
But tonight, she wanted to do things her way.
To show him that he wasn’t lonely anymore, that this excuse for a house didn’t suit him anymore. There was so much she wanted to do.
She crawled onto the bed beside him, and now she wasn’t in a rush, her movements slow and deliberate.
The heat in his gaze was exactly what she wanted to see.
She started with a kiss, leaning over him, letting her breasts brush lightly over his chest. His hand came up to cup her neck, his other trailing lightly down her flank to her hip, gentle touches that suited her mood.
They kissed slowly, teasing with lips and tongue, as if exploring each other for the first time.
She pulled back enough to see his face. “I love you.”
“You have my heart too,” he murmured. “My very soul is yours.”
She let the words linger between them, savoring them, then the corners of her lips curled playfully. “Keep still, now.”
It was her turn for control.
In answer, he let his hands fall to the bed either side of him, an amused smile flirting with his lips, eyes watching her. They flickered from blue to lilac with the depths of his feelings.
She trailed kisses across his chest, finding one nipple with her mouth, flicking her tongue over it.
His muscles flexed, and he let out a slow exhale.
His cock lay hard against his stomach, but she carefully avoided it, licking over his stomach, skin soft and warm, with the ridges of his abs firm beneath.
She shifted lower for a better angle, crawling between his legs.
He spread them for her, and she ran her hands up his thighs.
He was hers to enjoy, and she intended to take her time. She leaned in, kissing up one leg, letting him feel her breath play over him as she gazed at his hardness, his balls heavy below.
“It is my turn to taste you.”
“Ma chérie,” Antoine whispered, voice catching, then he gasped as she licked between his legs, feeling his balls moving beneath her tongue. His hands jerked as though he wanted to reach for her, but they remained where they were, as if held by her will.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had compelled him, that the strength of their bond had grown such that he obeyed because she’d told him.
But he’d voiced no objection, and the heat in his eyes belied any possible reluctance.
Besides, it wasn’t the time for those thoughts; something to worry about in the future.
Cally trailed her tongue up his length, and his cock jerked beneath her mouth. His breath hitched, fists clenching, and she smiled.
Teasing was fun, anticipation made everything greater, but now she wanted more.
She slipped one hand around the base of his cock and took him into her mouth, closing her eyes as she traced the silky head with her tongue, tasting the sweet-saltiness of his precum.
His hips shifted beneath her, like he wanted to thrust forward and had denied himself.
He gave another shuddering exhale, and she opened her eyes to find him watching her, intense and hungry, yet with a hint of reverence that squeezed her heart.
She drew back, gave the tip of him a kiss, smiled up at him, and then took him in again, deeper than before.
He was so long and thick that she wasn’t sure she could take all of him, but she wanted to try.
Cally pushed down, licking as he glided over her tongue, quickly filling her mouth.
And still there was more of him to hungrily swallow; her lips met her hand, encircling the base of his shaft.
She bobbed on him, enjoying the feel of him between her lips, the noises he made as she sucked softly on his crown.
The feel of his cock penetrating her mouth, ever more deeply as he grew slick with his growing arousal and her saliva.
Her hand worked the base of his shaft, rubbing and twisting, lubricated with her own spit.