Angel’s Blood (Guild Hunter #1)(17)
Author: Nalini Singh

Say what you would about the dietary requirements, vampirism sure did do great things for the skin and body. Any vampire over five decades old was svelte, with flawless skin. Their allure, too, grew with each passing year-though the intrinsic force of it depended on the individual. Elena had met very old vampires who remained more prey than predator, but the truly powerful ones . . .

Some, like Dmitri, were good at hiding their strength, their incredible charisma, until they wanted to use it. Others had gone too far along the timeline and leaked power almost continuously. But even the weak ones, the ones who’d never be anything close to what Dmitri was now, were stunningly beautiful.

"I get the lesson," she said when he remained silent. "I should be more tolerant of other people’s sexual practices."

"An interesting way to put it." He finally lowered his wings, folding them neatly behind his back. "But you’ve only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg."

She wondered if the TV anchor had his fingers in the vamp’s panties by now. "I’ve seen enough." Her face grew hot at the sense that all sorts of erotic things were going on behind her back.

"A prude, Elena? I thought hunters were free with their affections."

"None of your damn business," she muttered. "We either leave or I accept Dmitri’s offer."

"You think that matters to me?"

"Sure." She met his eyes, forced herself to hold her ground. "Once that vamp sinks his fangs into me, I won’t be able to walk or work."

"I’ve never heard a man’s c**k described as a fang before," he murmured. "I’ll have to share your estimation of his skills with Dmitri."

Elena knew her blush was burning up her cheeks but she refused to let him win this verbal skirmish. "Fang, cock, what’s the difference? It’s all sexual to a vampire."

"But not to an angel. My c**k serves a highly specific purpose."

Lust-sharp, dangerous, unbidden-squeezed her chest so tight she could barely breathe. Her blush receded as all the heat in her body shifted. To low, damp places. "I’m sure it does," she said sweetly, standing firm even as her body betrayed her. "Servicing all those vampire groupies must get tiring."

His eyes narrowed. "Your mouth could get you into more trouble than you can handle." Except he was looking at that same mouth with anything but censure. He was looking at it as if he wanted it wrapped around him.

"No way in hell," she croaked out past the thickening in her blood.

He didn’t pretend not to understand her out-of-the-blue comment. "Then I shall make sure we are very much in heaven when it happens." Eyes darkly indigo with challenge, he turned to open the door.

She stalked out-after sneaking a last, guilty look at the festivities. Dmitri was staring straight at her, his lips brushing the milk-and-cream skin of the blonde’s arched neck, his hand lying perilously close to the soft rise of her br**sts. As the door closed, she saw his fangs flash bright. Her stomach twisted in a vicious shock of hunger.

"Would you go to his bed sweetly?" Raphael asked against her ear, his voice an unsheathed blade. "Would you whimper and beg?"

Elena swallowed. "Hell, no. He’s like double-frosted chocolate mud cake. It looks good, you want to eat the whole thing, but in reality it’s too sickly sweet." Dmitri’s sensual nature was suffocating, heavy, a blanket that repelled even as it attracted.

"If he is cake, what am I?" Cruel, sensual lips against her cheek, her jaw.

"Poison," she whispered. "Beautiful, seductive poison."

Behind her, Raphael went so still she was reminded of the calm before a storm. But when the storm hit, it was delivered in a silky smooth voice that shoved deep inside her, laying her bare. "Yet I think you would rather drown in poison than gorge on cake." His hands closed over her hips.

Lust in her throat, brutal and demanding. "But then, we both know about my self-destructive streak." Stepping away, she put her back to the wall and faced him, willing her body to stop readying itself for a penetration she’d never allow. "I have no desire to be your chew-toy."

The lines of his face might’ve been starkly masculine, but at that instant, his lips were pure temptation, soft, bitable, sensual in a way only a man’s mouth could be. "If I were to splay you out on my desk and thrust my fingers into you right now, I think I’d find different."

Her thighs clenched as need spasmed through her. The image of those long powerful fingers thrusting in and out of her as she lay helpless was suddenly the only thing she could see. Closing her eyes just made it worse so she flicked them open to stare fixedly at the black shimmer of the opposite wall. "I don’t know what kind of kinky shit goes on in this building, but I don’t want any part of it."

He laughed, the sound full of dark, male knowledge. "Perhaps you’ve led a more sheltered life than I’d believed if you think of that as kinky."

It was a taunt that dared her to respond. She fought the urge. So what if she wasn’t as openly sexual as some of the other hunters? So what if the testosterone gang had named her the Vestal Virgin after she turned them down one after the other. She wasn’t, in fact, a virgin, but if it would keep her safe from Raphael’s erotic games, she’d play along. "I’d like to stay sheltered, thank you very much. Can we please have this meeting before I fall asleep?"

"My bed is very comfortable."

She could’ve slapped herself for giving him that opening, especially when her brain began to supply her with visions of him in bed, wings stretched out, thighs bare, co-She gritted her teeth. "What did you want to tell me?"

His eyes gleamed, but all he said was, "Come." He began to stride back to the elevator.

Running, she caught up, irritated at the way he expected her to obey. Like she was a puppy. However, for once, she kept her mouth shut. She wanted to get as far away as possible from the vampire floor with its reek of sex, pleasure, and addiction.

The elevator ride was short, and this time when she exited, it was into a classy setup. Cool white was the overriding theme, with elegant accents of white gold. But when Raphael ushered her into his office, she found that his desk was a huge black chunk of polished volcanic stone.

If I were to splay you out on my desk and thrust my fingers into you right now, I think I’d find different.

She cut off the thought before it could crawl into her mind again, remaining on the far side of the desk as Raphael circled it to stand by the glass, his gaze on the city lights and, beyond them, the dark spill of the Hudson.