Any Way You Want It (20 page)

She was surprised that she even remembered the notes of the song she was playing. She was surprised her fingers could move now. His caress was too wonderful, too exciting.

He brushed her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck, nibbling kisses that sent coiled heat straight to the core of her. She dropped her head forward, offering him better access. A violent shudder rippled through her as his tongue darted out, tasting her.

Her fingers grew still on the keys, the music replaced by the ragged sound of her breathing.

She turned on the bench, looping her arms around his neck, finding his mouth. He responded in kind to her passion, his lips holding hers.

Then she felt her world shift as he picked her up from the bench. She expected him to carry her back to the bed. Instead he moved around the piano, setting her on top of it.

Then she looked at him, standing before her, totally and utterly comfortable in his nudity. Her eyes roamed over his broad chest; she loved the smattering of dark hair there. His strong, muscled arms. Long legs narrowing down to feet with high arches and narrow toes—even they were works of masculine beauty.

Her eyes again rose upward, stopping at his groin. And then there was that part of him that she’d not yet allowed herself to study quite this openly. But now, maybe with Peter out in the open, maybe because she’d played for him, she felt more confident looking at him.

His erection was large and thick, as powerful and breathtaking as the rest of him. She knew that from the way he’d felt in her hand and when he was deep inside her, but she quite enjoyed getting to see it. Heavy and thrillingly imposing.

She felt her own sex pulse in response to the sight. She’d never seen a man so sexy, so perfect.

“I love the way you look at me,” he said, his own eyes intent on her.

She smiled at that. “I love looking at you.”

“The feeling is very mutual. In fact, let’s lose the sheet.”

He stepped toward her, her first reaction still to hold on to the white cotton shielding her from his gaze. But then she let him slowly unwrap her. He wanted her—she knew that, and she wasn’t going to let insecurities stop her from losing herself in this amazing moment.

He dropped the sheet, allowing it to pool around her on the top of the piano.

“I’d like a painting of you just like this.”

Maggie blushed, even as she found that sentiment a little strange. Why a painting?

But she only had a fraction of a second to wonder about that, because then he was kissing her And she was thinking of nothing but the feeling of his mouth on hers, his soft hair and hot skin rubbing against her electrified skin.

His hands played over her thighs, parting them as he moved between them. Cool air hit the moist, heated flesh of her sex, making her moan and instinctively move toward him.

His lips left hers, moving down her body, leaving a burning trail in their wake. Then he placed a spread hand on her stomach, gently pressing her back against the piano.

“What—” she started, confused by what he wanted.

But he hushed her, nudging her again, until she went back on her elbows, watching him between her legs.

He kissed the curve of her belly, stopping at the small triangle of curls. Then he pressed kisses to her thighs, moving inward until he was positioned right at the core of her. Strong hands at her waist slid her a little further onto the piano, so that his mouth was positioned directly over her sex.

Her pulse pounded, her breath hitched, watching him there. Then he lowered his head, running the tip of his tongue through her curls, the tip just breaching the ultrasensitive flesh beyond.

She gasped, her hips lifting at the fleeting touch.

He smiled, a supremely masculine and utterly sexy smile. Then he repeated the action, except this time his tongue went deeper, bringing pure bliss.

She made a noise deep in her throat. There was nothing more arousing than this man, positioned where he was, doing what he was doing to her.

He smiled at her, then flipped back his long hair. He pressed his tongue directly to the flesh that ached for his touch.

She cried out. Dear God—she’d died and gone to heaven.

R en watched Maggie’s expression as he tasted her. Her eyes were half shut, her lips parted. She was the picture of ecstasy—and he was damned proud that he was the one making her feel that way, and fully aroused at the thought.

His tongue swirled around her clitoris, the taste of her desire like honey. Warm, slick, and sweet.

He could taste her energy, just as sweet, but he didn’t want to take that from her. Her passion was more than enough; the only thing she needed to share with him.

In fact, he wanted to breathe his life force into her. His fingers squeezed her thighs when he realized what he wanted to do to her. Being a vampire, and especially a lampir, he never willingly parted with the energy he collected. It was his sustenance, his air.

Not to mention that it wasn’t in his nature to share anything that he so desperately needed. Yet he wanted to give it to her. Of course, he knew that if he passed his energy into her, she would experience pleasure as he did. The added life force would intensify all of her sensations, her reactions.

He wanted that. He wanted to give her mind-blowing sex. Sex she would never experience with anyone else, ever. Sex only he could give her. Sex she would remember long after he was gone from her life.

Then he realized there was something else behind his desire to share his essence with her. He wanted to obliterate any memory of Peter. Any satisfaction the mortal had given her would be insignificant in comparison to the gratification Ren could give her.

So truly, his reasons were selfish. He supposed there was some security in that. To know she hadn’t changed him in that way.

His tongue began to move again, flicking over her, circling her until she was bucking under him, straining to gain her release.

He could give her the climax she begged for, but he enjoyed the way her body felt under him, the taste of her on his tongue, the noises she made, small moans pleading for him to satisfy her.

And he would. He was simply having too much fun.

Then her fingers sank into his hair. It was his turn to groan. Damn, he loved when she did that, the feeling of her hands tangled in his hair. Hell, whenever she touched him, period.

Suddenly his body was as desperate for release as hers was. He centered all his attention on that small nubbin that made her writhe and scream.

Quickly, he felt her orgasm building, and just as she tensed under him, her body arching with the power of her climax, he simply kissed her, pressing his lips to the moist flesh between her legs, and let his energy flow into her.

She screamed out his name, her fingers knotting in his hair. Her body arched again, this time higher and harder against his mouth.

And as she took his energy, he felt his own orgasm slam through him, his own muscles contracting, nearly seizing up with the ferocity of it.

It was his own cry that broke the kiss and ended the transfer between them. Still, it didn’t seem to end immediately, as energy snapped in the air around them.

He collapsed on top of her, his head on her belly, her hands still tangled in her hair. The life force slowly dissipated from the air, like the aftereffects of their mutual climaxes.

Finally, he managed to lift his head, still stunned that sharing his life force with her had had that effect on him.

“Are you okay?”

She raised her head enough to look down her body at him. A dazed, adorable smile curved her bow lips. “That was amazing.”

He had to agree. He’d wanted to give her the best sex of her life, and instead had been hit with an orgasm unlike any he’d ever experienced. And he hadn’t even been inside her tight little body.

Oh, he was so going to do that again, but when he was deep enough inside her to feel every shudder of her body around him.

He rested his head on her stomach again, loving the silky softness of her skin under his cheek.

He nuzzled her and she stroked his hair in response.

Damn, this was so good. So right.

As soon as the thought registered in his mind, he pushed himself upright, putting space between himself and Maggie.

“Where are you going?” she murmured, her lids half closed, her voice low with the beginnings of sleep. Even though he’d given her his energy, the extra had been used up in intensifying her response to him. She looked like a sleepy kitten, trying to focus on him.

“I think you need to get to bed.”

She made a noise of disappointment, but then she yawned. “I think you are right.”

She struggled to raise herself up, and he didn’t touch her to help. He was too freaked out by how much he truly liked her. Liked her simply being here with him.

He’d shared his life force with her, for Christ’s sake. This was all getting a little too dangerous.

She slipped down off the piano, using the edge of it to steady herself. She gave him another sleepy smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from slipping his arm around her, leading her to the bed.

Once she was settled in under the covers, he left her to go into the bathroom. Not because of any physical need, of course, but to try to figure out what the hell he was doing.

After all, hadn’t he been the one to lay down all the rules for this affair? Yet he was the one sharing a part of himself with her, a part of his vampire self, at that. He had never done so before.

And wasn’t he the one enjoying her being here altogether too much? It wasn’t wise. Yet, when he looked at her, wisdom tended to fly right off into space.

He paced the small room, his bare feet silent on the cold tiles.

In truth, it wasn’t exactly uncharacteristic of him. He tended to be selfish, and he tended to want more than he could realistically have—traits he inherited from both of his parents. He shouldn’t be surprised he was pushing the boundaries with Maggie. But he had to stop.

Or if he didn’t stop—because, man, he really wanted to do the energy thing with her when he was inside her—he needed to keep this all in perspective.

He just got a little caught up tonight; the revelation about Peter brought his machismo out in full force.

Okay, he shouldn’t be so freaked. Everything was good.

He stepped back into the bedroom and walked over to the bed. Maggie lay curled on her side, her breathing even and low. He touched her hair, pushing back a stray wave.

Realizing he was doing it again—“it” being something remarkably like mooning—he wandered over to the piano. The sheet was still crumpled on the top, a rather artistic-looking reminder of what had just happened there.

He stared at the instrument for a moment, then sat down on the piano bench. The hard wood felt oddly foreign underneath him. Strange, since he’d spent hours upon hours on that very bench—

though he supposed it was so long ago now that the feeling had faded from memory.

He stared down at the black and white keys, his hands folded loosely on his lap. Then slowly, he reached out and laid a finger on one of the keys. He remained that way for a long time. Then he positioned all his fingers over keys, and pressed down lightly. The soft notes filled the room.

He played for a moment, not even concentrating on what he was playing. He just enjoyed the smoothness of the keys, the soft melody surrounding him.

Suddenly he stopped, the lovely tune abruptly ending as if he had lost his place, or the song just stopped because it had no ending. But it wasn’t the abrupt finality that struck him as strange—it was the fact that he’d even wanted to play in the first place. He never felt the urge to play, as he once had. In fact, that desire was so distant now, he could barely recall what it felt like.

He preferred being the front man of the Impalers, staying away from the instruments altogether, if possible. He didn’t even play his own pieces. Except for the other night, and just now.

He turned on his bench, studying Maggie, even though he could only make out the curve of her form under the velvet of his duvet.

What were the chances he’d play one of his compositions that night? And what were the chances she’d seem to recognize it?

He frowned. Something was very strange here—he just didn’t know what.

Maggie woke, and again it was as dark as it had been the previous morning. Only this time she knew the darkness was created by the drapes surrounding the bed. She reached out, brushing her fingers against the soft material. Finding the spot where they met, she pushed it back enough for dim light to filter in, illuminating the bed just a little.

She could make out Ren, lying on his back, perfectly still, his features sculpted and beautiful.

Especially with the white lashes facing her, he looked like a statue.

She settled back onto the pillow, her head resting on her arm. Last night had been beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She hadn’t believed the sex they were having could get any better, but it had.

Sex with Peter had been enjoyable—which sounded so pallid and dull when compared to the words swirling through her mind now: thrilling, delicious, toe-curling, mind-blowing. Perfect.

She touched Ren’s face gently, careful not to wake him. His skin was warm, his cheek and chin raspy with stubble. Gently, she touched his white lashes. His eye was unique, just like everything else about him.

Her fingers lingered for a moment longer. Then she drew back, as if she needed to restrain herself from waking him. She was comfortable enough lying next to him, basking in the warmth and her satisfaction.

She’d slept so deeply, as she had the night before. That seemed strange to her. She’d never been a deep sleeper; she always got up several times a night. But not since meeting Ren. Not that she should be that surprised—he’d certainly worn her out.

She smiled. And very nicely too.

Still, she could have sworn that she started to awaken at one point, her mind in that place between waking and dreaming. She’d heard the most beautiful music. It was over quickly, and she’d sunk right back into deep sleep, but she vaguely remembered piano notes swirling around her.