Fangs for Nothing (The Fangover #2)(41)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Good point. So you need to make it up to me.” She leaned on the counter, the front of her blouse gaping a little, her tongue slipping across her lush lower lip.

Holy hell, she was flirting with him. He liked it.

“I can forward your vibrator to you when it arrives.” Johnny grinned, pouring rum into two glasses while Lizette blushed. “But that’s for next week. Tonight, I can think of even better ways I can make it up to you.”

“Is that so?” She propped her chin up with her hand and gazed out at him from under her thick lashes. “You will need to prove it to me.”

She had no idea who she was challenging. Johnny may not have been well educated or rich, but there were three things he prided himself on—his boxing, his drumming, and his sexual skill. Since he had no intention of punching Lizette and he was off work for the next three nights, he would have to make sure the final one counted. “I can do that.” He lifted the drink to her mouth. “Take a taste.”

Most women would insist on taking the glass from him, but she didn’t. She let him tilt the glass and she opened her mouth willingly, tilting her head to let the drink easily slide back down her throat. Johnny waited for her to hold her hand up or move her head away, but she didn’t, so when the glass was half empty he pulled it back, impressed. She licked the moisture off her lips.

“Mmm,” she said. “That’s tasty.”

“Let me see.” Johnny reached out and flicked his tongue across her bottom lip, the sweetness of the juice and the tang of the rum light notes to the heavy syrup of the blood he had added. It was delicious. Just like her.

He took a swallow straight from the glass, then offered her the rest. She willingly drank it.

“It’s making me warm,” she told him.

Her cheeks had gained color instantly, going from the smooth marble of her vampire complexion to a more human peachy cream. She was still alabaster and unflawed, but with a hint of color to her cheeks and her neck. The tops of her br**sts, which were revealed when her blouse shifted with her movements, looked warm and healthy, a vein visible and pumping her sweet blood with hypnotic vigor.

“Where are you warm?” he asked her, taking his finger and tracing it across that blue trail beneath her flesh.

“It seems to be settling in my hands and between my thighs.”

Again, he had to say he loved her honesty. Johnny’s c**k tightened in his jeans. “Not a bad place to feel warm.”

“Not at all.”

Johnny kissed her, still letting her rest on her hand while he took her mouth, his eyes drifting closed. She sighed against his lips. When he pulled back, she stood up and dropped her hands from her chin.

“Is this going to be a challenge with these handcuffs on?”

“No.” In fact, he found it arousing.

“I suppose I cannot remove my blouse.”

Oh, no. He was not about to settle for Lizette half-dressed. He wanted to see every inch of her bared out for him. “I can fix that.” Reaching back, he pulled a knife out of a drawer. He didn’t use it for cooking, but the apartment had come furnished and sometimes it came in handy. Like right now.

Her eyes widened. “You cannot be serious. It will ruin my blouse.”

“Your blouse is already ruined. There is no way you’ll be able to dry-clean the blood out of it.”

“But what will I wear after?” But then Lizette shook her head. “Never mind. I did not say that. I’m going to be spontaneous. I am going to enjoy the moment and not worry about the consequences. It will be good for my soul, yes?”

She looked so earnest, so nervous, that Johnny leaned down and kissed her gently, his own emotional response a little puzzling to him. How was it that he could want to protect Lizette and pound the hell out of her with his c**k all at the same time? It seemed weird to want to have rough sex with someone and yet cuddle with her before and after. But that was how he felt, and she was clearly experiencing her own sense of mixed feelings and anxiety.

“Yes,” he told her. “It will be good for your soul and your body.” He brushed her hair back off her forehead. “It’s going to be good for mine, too, you know. You make me want to be less of an idiot. More respectable. That’s no small feat.”

She gave a soft laugh. “You make me want to relax.”

“Win-win, baby. Now hold still so I don’t cut you.” It was just a matter of slicing down the one sleeve, then letting her slip out of the other, and Lizette was free of the bloodied fabric, her black lace bra displaying her small br**sts damn well. She had a slender body, and the skirt she was wearing accentuated her narrow waist. Johnny had never thought he had a particular type with women—if he did, it was for big-breasted, ballsy blondes. But Lizette was nothing like that, and yet, there was something so intensely feminine about her that he decided she was definitely the most beautiful woman he had ever met. The delicacy of the bra, the hourglass waist, the smooth pale arms, and the red nails that matched her red lips, it was all turning him on a whole hell of a lot.

Time seemed to be standing still, and there were no distractions, no noises from outside, no light to take away his focus from her. There was just a moonlit room and a beautiful woman who was crazy enough to get it on with him. One who was not wearing panties, if he remembered correctly.

As they kissed again, he let his hands wander, up her soft back, over her shoulder, to where he peeled her bra strap off, then back down to her waist. The hands that were still cuffed together were clasped, fingers interwoven for ease, and her free hand splayed across his chest. She seemed as intrigued about exploring his body as he was about hers, though neither of them was in a particular rush. Johnny didn’t want to wham-bam her. He wanted to take his time, ensure she was enjoying herself, stretch it out as long as possible so that he would really have something to remember her by.

Once Lizette went back to Paris, he most likely would never see her again, and he wanted to savor the moment. He stripped his T-shirt off as much as their cuffs would allow and let it dangle, wanting his skin on hers, wanting to be as close to her as possible.

It felt like they were dancing, Lizette thought. Like they were engaged in a sensual tango in a dank basement a hundred years ago. Though she would have never done something like that. Since the death of Jean-Baptiste, she may have had sex rarely, but she had never been intimate. She had never taken the physical and the emotional exploration of a man and blended them together the way she had Johnny were doing here. His eyes were glassy in the moonlight, and he looked at her like he thought she was beautiful. She felt beautiful. She felt not reckless, but confident in her capitulation. Maybe it was lack of quality sleep, or having been drugged and the knowledge that she had already slept with Johnny even if she didn’t remember it, but she didn’t feel nervous. She didn’t feel tense or awkward.