Born of Ashes

A moment later a bed appeared—sheets, pillows, comforter, everything, well, everything except the bed frame and the box spring.

He gestured with a sweep of his hands. “Will this do?”

He was turned away from her, apparently admiring his skill. She had a daring idea and thought the thought. “Very nicely, and will this do?” she asked, mimicking him.

He turned back to her, then his eyes flared since she stood naked in the cool March air, even shivering. Her nipples responded, pulling into hard beads. His gaze fell to her breasts and he moved into her, sweeping an arm around her back and covering one of her breasts with his hand. He thumbed the hard tip then kissed her.

Fiona let it all go, her grief, her fears about the future, about what had almost happened to him in Honduras, everything. She focused on that beautiful mouth of his, the lips that were pointed and full, so sensual, on his tongue as he invaded her mouth searching out the recesses.

She shivered. Her hair was still damp and the night was cold. She pulled out of his arms and dove beneath the covers.

He laughed and, with another thought, divested himself of his clothes as well. He climbed into bed beside her and looked down at her. “You are so beautiful in starlight.”

“You say the loveliest things.” She saw him in her preternatural way, as though he were lit by candles. Because he was over her, she had a view of the long column of his throat. She could see his pulse beating and desire rose in a sudden sharp tug between her legs. “Jean-Pierre. I have never taken blood before but I want to, so very much, and I want you to be the first.”

He growled softly, but she thought it was a growl not of desire but of ownership. She knew the state he was in most of the time, that she was for him a territory that he had to mark and claim and stake, over and over.

She shifted onto her side and patted the bed next to her. “Will you lie down and let me take you at your neck?”

He groaned a second time, but this was accompanied by a wave of his delicious coffee scent, which made her mouth water. Would his blood be flavored like his scent or would he taste of something more, something exotic perhaps?

Her breathing changed in anticipation. Her gums tingled. She felt her fangs emerge, lowering to make her strike.

He stretched out on his back. She put her hand on his stomach and played with the soft well of his navel until his back arched, then she followed the seductive line of hair that led lower. She didn’t get far because he was fully aroused, ready and waiting, and he was big, very big.

Her heart rate climbed higher and higher as she touched the crown of him and felt the wetness that came from him. She felt the need to do what he had asked her to do earlier.

When she pushed the comforter back, down to his thighs, she turned in the direction of what she wanted in her mouth. As she lowered herself to him, his hand found the nape of her neck and he rubbed and pushed, guiding her. She found the commanding touch so erotic. She opened her mouth and took him inside, as far as she could. Jean-Pierre was large and beautiful, so only part of him fit in her mouth. But what remained, she grasped in her right hand.

He groaned as she alternately sucked and stroked him. I love having you in my mouth, she sent.

He groaned, louder this time. I love entering your body any way that I am able.

She opened her hand and slid her palm over the hard length of him, lower and lower, to the sack that carried what was most essentially male. She savored the ribbed feel of him and the tender, floating bits beneath. She released his cock from her mouth and trailed wet kisses down and down. He let go of her nape and stroked a hand down the center of her back as she reached low with her tongue and licked and sucked and drew as much of him in her mouth as she could.

His back arched again. Fiona. So exquisite, the sensation like velvet, but wet, so wet.

His voice in her head brought desire streaming from her. He pushed her legs apart, and her hips flexed. His hand trailed lower, drifting over her buttocks, lower and lower until he found what he had made so very wet. He explored as she licked, pushing aside all her folds.

Her hips rocked as one finger slid inside her. She began a slow journey back up his cock. She needed him in her mouth again, and with a slow sucking motion she stroked him up and down.

His finger went in very slowly, just as he had promised earlier. She groaned. His finger came out equally slowly.

More, much more, she sent.

He removed his finger altogether and she protested with a whimper as she drifted her tongue around his crown and pulled on him with her mouth.

This time two fingers went in. He had the most beautiful hands, this vampire, long elegant fingers, and he made use of them now, stroking her in a slow and steady movement, pushing toward the front of her until she cried out.

“Good,” he whispered.

He pushed on that special place over and over until her hips met him with each drive of his fingers, and pulled away as he withdrew. She tightened around him. Faster, she sent. Her breathing as she continued to suck him grew harsher. She matched his speed as she pulled on his cock with her lips.

She felt him shift. “Fiona, release me and lie across my abdomen, let me bring you.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. She stretched over him.

“Now spread your legs.”

She did. Her feet hung off the wide mattress. His fingers found her again. He leaned up on one arm, supporting himself as he began to drive into her once more.

She crossed her arms in front of her and settled her head on her arms. The pleasure was so intense. She cried out and whimpered. He increased the speed and she cried out again and again.

“Jean-Pierre.”

That delicious ache began to grow. Faster and faster he pumped his fingers into her, hitting the most necessary spot over and over.

She was crying out, deep throaty cries. She lifted up. She couldn’t help it. She pushed up and arched her back and then the pleasure came streaking along her clitoris and gripping her within so that strong grunts left her mouth.

Look at me, he sent. Let me see your eyes, your passion.

She twisted just enough to look into his face, and once more he brought her. God, he was gorgeous and she was shouting into the night sky.

She fell forward, her body growing slack across his abdomen. He petted her back and when he touched a wing-lock, she didn’t know which reaction affected her more: the sudden need to be scratched or a quick desire to be stroked and sucked on every one of her wing-locks.

She groaned.

He chuckled and then he started at the top, rubbing and scratching. For her, it was a different kind of ecstasy, but ecstasy just the same. He didn’t stop until he’d ministered to every single one.

She remained slumped over him, but looked at him over a lazy shoulder. “How much pleasure you give me, Jean-Pierre.”

He still rubbed her back.

“You have wonderful hands.”

“You have a wonderful body.”

Always, he said the sweetest things.

He deserved some good treatment. “So, what’s your pleasure, monsieur?”

He smiled. His hand drifted lower until he rubbed her bottom in slow smooth circles. “I want you to take my blood. That is my pleasure.”

Her brows rose. And just like that, desire rose once more as his savory coffee scent battered her senses. Her gaze fell to his neck and she whimpered. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Come,” he murmured, then he eased back onto the pillow and laced his hands behind his head. “Of course anything else you want to do to me first would be welcome.”

Her gaze drifted down his lips, his neck, the hard line of his collarbone to his pecs. His nipples were hard beads. She licked her lips. Once more her fangs made an appearance.

There was more she could do with her fangs. She needed to expand her thinking.

She pushed up and away until she leaned against her heels. He became a starlit feast. The trouble was, it was still March and she was chilled again. She thought the thought and brought her chenille robe into her hands and slipped it on. For what she wanted to do, she needed to take her time. But she couldn’t take her time if she was shivering and cold.

“We could go inside, if you want?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she spread her hands over both pecs and pushed up on his nipples, then brought her hands down rubbing hard. His back arched. “Or we could just stay here.”

“I like the fresh air,” she said. She leaned down and licked his left nipple. Once more he put his hand on her nape, rubbing and stroking, guiding. She licked and licked.

She knew she could release potions from her fangs so she planted her hand on the mattress, between his rib cage and his arm, to steady herself. She hesitated.

“Just do what feels right,” he said. “Trust yourself.”

She looked up at him. Your fangs are beautiful, chérie.

She held his gaze for a long moment, then looked back at the thick muscles of his chest. Desire once more drove through her and she struck.

A heavy grunt left his throat and his back arched. “Oh, mon Dieu,” he whispered.

She thought the thought and when he cried out, she knew she’d done what she’d never done before. She withdrew her fangs and touched the little wounds. She rubbed back and forth.

His back arched all over again. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Fiona. It’s never felt like that before. It must be you, the way you affect me. The potion is like fire.”

She rubbed his pec and thumbed his nipple. He writhed back and forth.

“What does it feel like, Jean-Pierre? Tell me.”

He met her gaze. “A terrible burn. A wonderful burn. An ache that goes deeper and deeper.” He took her hand and used her fingers to rub him.

She leaned down and without warning, sank her fangs into his right pec, just above the nipple. He started panting and his eyes glazed over. She shifted away from him and saw that his cock was rigid. He was close.

That he was so close again made her own back arch. Her fangs now throbbed, begging for more. She threw a leg over his hip and eased her body down on him. Using her fingers, she guided him to her opening and inch by inch swallowed him.