Lord of the Vampires (Royal House of Shadows #1)(22)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Well.” She chewed at her lip until a tiny bead of blood formed. “I’ve been thinking.”

“I have already mentioned that you do that far too much.” Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out, collected the blood with the tip of his finger and licked it away. Her flavor, as sweet as her scent, fizzed and crackled over his taste buds, and he moaned. Dark Abyss, nothing had ever tasted that good. The need for more grew…grew…until he was sweating, panting, fighting for control.

He would not fall on her. He would not.

He had known she would delight him in this way, but he had not expected this.

“I could return home at any second,” she said, unaware of the change in him. “I mean, you’re free now and isn’t that the reason you summoned me? So it stands to reason that the magic that brought me here will soon begin to fade, whether you want it to or not.”

“No,” he practically roared, his hunger forgotten in the face of his sudden terror of losing her.

Her eyes widened. “No?”

“I will not allow it.” Not now, not ever.

Ever? Yes, he would keep her forever. Would never let her go.

“Just like that?” She snapped her fingers. “You won’t allow it, so it won’t happen?”

Sweat beaded on his brow as he sat back on his thighs. “I am not safe yet. Therefore, you have not fulfilled all of your duties.” He would remain in perpetual danger, if need be. He’d lost so many loved ones already. He could not bear…the pain. The damned pain, wiping his thoughts. “That subject is now closed.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Are you always this grouchy in the semimorning?”

Only when you talk of leaving me. “Would a grouchy vampire tell you that you are the most beautiful female he’s ever met?” he asked, determined to soothe them both.

A luscious softening of her eyes, her mouth. “No.”

“Then I am not grouchy. Now close your eyes and relax.” If that ocher gaze met his, he would forget his purpose, lean down, kiss the breath right out of her, then work his way to her vein. And if his teeth sank inside her, his c**k would expect equal measure. “I’m going to ease your hurts.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL FEMALE he’d ever seen? He must be seeing Odette, then, Jane thought. Thin might be in, at least where she was from, but there was such a thing as too thin and Jane was it. After the accident, she’d been bed bound and tube fed. When she’d finally woken up, able to feed herself, she’d learned of her family’s demise and hadn’t had an appetite.

Now that her appetite had reasserted itself, she’d been forced to exist on only fruits and nuts.

Fruits…nuts…hmm… In that moment, she realized she was starving. For a juicy steak and a side of fries—on top of another steak. The food could wait, though. She was also starving for a man’s touch. A touch Nicolai gave her. Liberally. His strong fingers massaged her calves, deep and hard, hitting her just right. Moaning, she sagged against the moss beneath her.

“Too much?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

“Perfect,” she managed to gasp out. She kept her eyes closed, as he’d demanded. Not because of his order, but because his fangs were still out. There was a slight slur to his words.

Those fangs scared her as much as they aroused her. She’d seen the harm they could do, ripping through flesh and bone, but also wondered about the pleasure they could bring. Every time she wondered, she shivered.

Hell, even now she shivered. If he was hungry, she was going to feed him, she decided. After this massage, she would owe him a kidney, anyway. Because, oh, sweet mercy, nothing had ever felt this good. Not even grinding on top of him—in her fantasy and in reality—and that had felt like heaven.

Okay, so, maybe the grinding had felt just as good.

He worked on her calves for over an hour, and by the time he moved up to her thighs, she stopped trying to conceal her br**sts and scars. Why should she? He’d already seen them and had claimed to find them exquisite. Her arms slid to the ground, useless. God, the man’s hands were magic.

Magic. Yes. Somehow, he was using magic. Warmth flowed from his skin and into hers, an unnatural warmth, a drugging warmth, intoxicating her, stealing into her muscles, her bones, until every part of her was tingling—and his property. Oh, yes. Whatever he touched instantly became his, existing for him and only him.

When his knuckles brushed the edge of her panties, every nerve ending she possessed roared to sudden life, reaching for him. Soon she was panting, groaning, trying to anticipate his next move. At her knee, he rubbed, then stroked up, gliding along her thigh, sweeping over—yes, there, please there, almost, almost—only to pause, not quite stroking where she most needed, before reaching for her other thigh. She had to bite her lip to cut off her plaintive cries for more.

If he would prolong the contact, angle it just a little, she could climax. Oh, God. If she climaxed from this…it would be embarrassing.

The massage continued. And really, who cared about being embarrassed? She didn’t. When would he brush across her panties again? She tensed, waiting, hoping, so damn eager. Her entire body vibrated. Even the air in her lungs began to heat. But time ticked by, and his motions became a little jerky as he kneaded the knots, never offering such wantonness again.

“Distract me,” she said. Otherwise, she just might beg him for a happy ending. Something she couldn’t allow herself to do. He said they would mate soon. Which meant, now was not the time. Or was she supposed to beg? Before, in the bedroom, he’d said, Not until you beg me. Was that what he wanted now? What he expected? To work her into a frenzy and hear her plead? Well, she would—

“Distract you how?” he asked, surprising her.

Okay, so begging wasn’t on the menu. Astonished with herself, she fought a wave of disappointment. “Tell me a story.”

He stilled. “A story?”

“Yes.” She cracked open her eyelids and added, “Whatever you do, don’t stop massaging!”

His lips twitched despite the tension radiating from him, something she found endearing. Most likely amusement had not been a part of his life for a while, yet he seemed to enjoy her. As she enjoyed him.

“A story about what?” he asked. He remained between her splayed legs, with her knees bent and framing him.

“I don’t know. Your family, maybe.” The second she said the words, she wanted to snatch them back. She remembered the passage from the book. He did not recall his past. His memory—