The Fangover (The Fangover #1)(22)
Author: Erin McCarthy

He wasn’t sure that he had ever experienced a moment with greater anticipation in his life. Torn between wanting to draw out their mutual ache and satisfying it, Wyatt gripped her waist and flicked his tongue across her nipple.

“Please, Wyatt.” Stella squirmed in his lap, trying to raise herself up so she could join their bodies.

But he wasn’t quite ready. “Bite me again,” he demanded. He wasn’t sure why, other than he wanted to give her as much pleasure as possible. He wanted to connect them, to feel the pull of her fangs inside him while he was inside her. To be something more.

So maybe he did know why. He was in love with Stella. That was why.

He was trying to bind her to him.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. But she never hesitated. Her eyes widened, yet she leaned forward, straight for his neck this time, and licked his flesh before sinking her fangs right into his jugular.

Holy hell. Wyatt groaned at the pleasure her drawing on his blood created inside him. Shifting her hips, he dropped her down onto his c**k at the same time he thrust up.

“Oh!” Stella drew back, blood pooling on her lips. “Wyatt!”

Then she went back to sucking him so that every muscle, every ligament, every tendon in his body felt like it was being drawn up on a string by Stella, an erotic tug that pulled him all up and into her. Her mouth was warm, her sex was warm, and he felt like he was floating in a vat of honey, kicking toward an orgasm. He didn’t want to get there before her but he couldn’t stop himself from pumping hard, taking it deep, enjoying the way she broke contact with his neck to cry out, lips cherry red, back arching. Reaching down between their bodies, Wyatt strummed over her clitoris.

Her eyes widened and she paused before silently exploding. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He was overwhelmed with desire and passion and the realization that he did in fact love her and wanted to be with her forever. It was on that thought that he came, hard, holding her tight, his blood on her mouth.

Her gaze caught his and they shared the moment, each riding the wave of their simultaneous orgasm. Stella’s emerald eyes darkened and he was surprised how long they stayed locked on his before she let out a sigh and dropped her head back.

Holy hell. Wyatt sucked in a deep breath and let up his death grip on Stella. That was unreal. The way they came together was just sexy beyond belief. He’d never experienced anything like he had with her.

“Baby, that was incredible,” he said, knowing it was trite, but not having any other words to describe it. He really wanted to tell her the words that were burning in his heart, but he’d already done that and made an ass out of himself. And he hadn’t even meant it then the way he would mean it now.

So he left it at that.

She pushed her hair back off her forehead and gave a soft laugh. “It most definitely was. I could get addicted to this.”

Wyatt fought a grin. He liked the sound of that.

But then she frowned and the moment passed. Before he could say another word, she was off him and back in her jeans.

“So we heading to Johnny’s?” she asked, pulling on her shirt. Like nothing had happened. Nothing whatsoever.

Wyatt stared at her, naked, his lap sadly empty after smoking-hot sex. He ran his fingers through his hair. Reminded himself he was patient. And that the timing was wrong.

“Whatever you want to do.” He wasn’t going to push, but he wasn’t going to roll over and play dead either.

Standing up, Wyatt strode right up to her and took her in his arms without bothering with his clothes. Then he gave her a slow, leisurely kiss, placing her hands straight onto his bare ass. She tasted delicious. “Next time you can do the spanking.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, yeah? Why, are you going to be bad?”

“If driving you nuts is bad, then yeah. But if you’re looking for a bad boy, that’s not me. I don’t believe in treating women like shit.” He kissed the corner of her full mouth. “Just so you know.”

Her fingers flexed on his ass cheeks and he knew he’d driven his point home.

Chapter Eight

NOT-SO-FREE BIRD

“OKAY, the only chapel I know that will do quickie weddings is down this way,” Cort said, pointing down Burgundy.

Katie looked in that direction, suddenly filled with reluctance again. He started down the street, not seeming to notice that she was lagging behind, at least not until he got to the corner of Burgundy and Dumaine.

“It’s just right up here,” he said as soon as he realized she’d slowed down. Then he frowned, studying her nervous expression.

“Katie?”

She stopped a few feet away from him, glancing down Burgundy and the place just ahead, which could reveal a part of their night that was darned overwhelming. Would she be relieved if she found out they weren’t really married? Or disappointed? She honestly didn’t know.

You are just confused in general, she assured herself. Because of your new state of being.

After all, a drunken elopement wasn’t a big deal when compared with vampirism. Once she sorted out what to expect from her new . . . existence, the possible marriage would seem a whole lot less troubling.

“Could we try for that drink again?” she asked. “We’re near Lafitte’s, aren’t we?”

Cort looked down the street as if he was debating whether to press her to continue on, but then he nodded. “We are.”

He was reluctant to find out, too. Even though he was feeling exactly like she was, his obvious reluctance to go to the chapel as well bothered her.

Babe, you have bigger problems than possibly being married to a man who doesn’t want you, she told herself. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Flat, no sharp points. But she knew that wouldn’t last.

“Lafitte’s?” Cort said, jerking his head in the direction of the bar.

“Yes.”

* * *

LAFITTE’S BLACKSMITH SHOP was the oldest bar in the United States, and it smelled like it. Katie supposed she’d always been aware that the place was stinky, but this was crazy. She could smell decades of wood smoke and cigarettes and booze. But she could also smell the people. Sweat and soaps and perfumes and, under that, something that wasn’t foul in the least. Something she suspected should be foul, but instead made her run her tongue over her teeth expectantly.

Still flat. Thank God, she told herself. If she went spontaneously fangy, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. Not at the moment.