Lothaire

23

She mulishly defies me while giving me a mind-scrambling smile.

What was she thinking? The idea that Lothaire would choose this ill-bred peasant over the goddess of vampires? Laughable.

But, oh, he looked forward to Elizabeth’s inexperienced campaign to sway him. “Do show me how you’re superior to a deity. Or are you losing your nerve?”

He’d quickly get bored with her game, and then he’d rip off that top and fondle those big, pert breasts of hers for the first time. I’ll tongue those nipples straining against the material.

“Maybe that’s not the only reason I want to be with you,” she said.

“Explain.”

“I’m going to die soon. Maybe I don’t want to die a virgin.”

“But I won’t fuck you. That I save for my Bride alone.”

She nibbled her pouty bottom lip. “Then I want to be with you because I’ve gone ages without a man’s touch.”

Her nipples were so hard he could almost believe she truly desired his hands on her. “I’m not a man.”

“No. You’re not. But you’ll do.” She reached up and unpinned her silky mane, letting it cascade over her shoulders. Curls bounced over her breasts, tickling the peaks, her tantalizing scent washing over him—

Wait. I’ll do?

Then she reached forward to undo the middle button of his shirt, spreading the opening as wide as it would go, baring the center of his torso.

With another smile, she eased in and pressed her mouth to his skin. His muscles tensed beneath her lips.

She gave a lick. He hissed out a curse. Another button opened, another accompanying kiss. Again and again she did this with the lightest kisses. Sweet but sexy.

By the time she’d drawn his shirt off his chest, she’d kissed from his collarbone to his navel and started upward again.

When she reached one nipple, she hovered just over it, letting him feel her warm breath before she grazed her lips over it. At the contact, his shaft pulsed in his pants.

As he gazed down at her, she flicked his nipple with her tongue, making his body go rigid. Then she sucked it.

Just as he was about to groan, she . . . bit it. His hips shot up uncontrollably.

“You like that?” she asked.

“I’ll do the same to you, girl. See if you like it.”

She gave his other nipple a lick, murmuring against it, “Promise?”

“Playing with me? I’ll pierce you, drink from you. Take off your shirt and watch me.”

She rose up and collected the hem of her shirt, lifting it slowly, baring inch after inch of her trim torso . . . then the beginning swell of her breasts.

Higher, higher, about to reveal her nipples—

She let the material drop. “I’m driving. Not ready to put the top down yet.”

He grabbed a length of her hair, wrapping it around his fist. “Understand me, Elizabeth,” he began, about to tell her that he was done playing her game. But the rána came over him. Can’t lie.

Apparently he . . . wasn’t done playing her game?

Might I even like it?

Not with her! He tugged sharply on her hair.

Instead of crying out with fear, she said, “Looks like you’re going to drive, then. It’s a shame you won’t be seeing the one thing I’m really, really good at.”

Damn her. Again she’d spurred his curiosity. He recalled the pleasure he’d felt merely from watching her dismantle his cable box. He certainly hadn’t expected her actions then; what other surprises did she have in store for him? “Hmm. How good?”

“I’m probably better at it than you are at killing.”

“You’ve got five minutes to impress me,” he said. “And know this, my killing skills are exceedingly well-honed. You had better have me yelling to the rafters.”

“Hell, Lothaire, I can do that in four. Now, if you’re done chattin’ me up, I’d love to show you my tits.”

He stifled a shocked cough. Mask your surprise. Show no reaction. Eyes narrowed, he released her so she could remove her top.

When she was bare to him, he hissed between his teeth.

The mortal’s breasts were . . . divine. High and full, with smooth, golden skin. Her rosy nipples were upturned.

As he stared transfixed, she lowered herself atop his shaft, wrenching a groan from him and a cry from her. “Damn, vampire, you came loaded for bear!”

“What does that mean?”

“Hunters in bear country have to go out armed to the teeth, even if they’re hunting small game. So what I’m saying is you’re hung, and very, very hard.”

“I’m superlative in every way.”

“Uh-huh.” She laid her hand flat on his chest, then leaned forward to press her breasts against him. With her hand fitted between their bodies, she stroked his nipple—and her own—as she tenderly kissed his cheek, then the corner of his lips, giving a little lick there. “I like the way you taste, Lothaire.”

When she was lustful like this, her accent grew thicker, the cadence more pleasing.

For some reason, he found it . . . sexy as hell.

“You taste all superlative.”

Was she making fun of him? Another stroke of his nipple. He couldn’t think.

And then she really began to talk. After sucking on his earlobe, she whispered to him how she felt—wet and aching—how he felt against her—hot, rigid like steel. How she imagined licking him from his knees to his neck and feasting in between. “Would you feed me my fill, vampire . . . ?”

Yes. Yes I would. All the while he struggled to resist the heat bearing down on him.

And Lothaire realized he might like her games indeed.

What had started as an exercise, a means of self-preservation for Ellie, soon burned out of control.

Just the way he was gazing at her aroused her like nothing in memory. He stared at her as if he wanted to devour her.

Would he really bite her breasts? At the idea, her nipples puckered even more, as if taunting him to do it.

His flawless skin called to her lips; the unyielding planes of his body made her breath shallow. And every intake of air brought his delicious scent into her—woodsy, masculine with a bite. “I love your scent too.”

“I know. I saw your reaction when you smelled my coat.”

She was too turned on to be embarrassed, her attention spellbound by the muscles of his torso, by the promise of that incredible strength in every sculpted inch of him. “Your muscles are hard, vampire. They feel so good.”

“My cock’s hard too,” he rasped. When his shaft surged beneath her, her sex throbbed in readiness for it. “Does that feel good, pet?”

His rough accent, his challenging tone . . . desire as she’d never known flooded her. “Just when I think it can’t get any harder, it does.”

She gazed at his lips while licking her own. She needed to kiss him. But would his fangs cut her?

Soon she’d be uncaring. . . .

Ellie was losing control. When she got turned on enough, her mind seemed to go blank until all she cared about was reaching her orgasm. There’d never been any communion with her partner, no meeting of their eyes and minds.

Just her working to get off.

She’d never set out to rock a boy’s world or anything like that. It was only a fortunate coincidence that the guy beneath her always got off, too.

And now the seam of her jeans and the top of Lothaire’s shaft had aligned against her aching clitoris. She was about to start moving on him, and then it’d be all over. She’d find a rhythm that would bring her to her end.

“I can feel your heat,” he grated. “Want these pants off you.”

Take away that perfection? She pressed her forefinger over his lips, giving him an indulgent smile. “Just let me do what I’m needin’ to.”