Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Kindred, Book 8.1) (2 page)

I am on her in a split second, my lips trailing down her neck and across her shoulder.
Mon Dieu
, I love this woman. My hands slip around her torso to find her breasts, making sure my touch is gentle. She feels so much more right now, I have to ease her into this. A moan escapes her lips as we come to stop in front of the oversized shower. I am thankful again for the premier suite in the hotel we have commandeered. The shower stall large enough to house several pregnant Lucindas, should the world turn into my most fervent dream.

"Now that's just whacked, Michel," she says, breaking into my thoughts of what more than one Lucinda could accomplish in the confines of a bathroom.

I can't help it, the laughter erupts before I am able to stop it. I have to agree with her, sometimes my dreams are most disturbing in an entirely erotic way.

"One of you is quite enough," I whisper into her ear, my teeth nipping at the lobe, making her body tremble.

I reach past her and press the buttons, on the electronic display, to a setting I had programmed into the device earlier. Four separate rain shower heads begin to pour soft waterfalls of heated water strategically in the stall. Pressure nozzles rotate to exactly the right angle to massage Lucinda where I know she needs it most. I gently slip her night clothes over her head and encourage her under the sprays.

A moan of impressed delight springs from her lips and she spins slowly to look at me with widened eyes.

"This is perfect," she exclaims, obviously feeling the jets of water over her lower back, massaging the ache I know has taken up residence there.

My eyes slide hungrily over her sun-kissed rounded form, watching the trickles of shower water roll over that smooth skin. I want to lick it all off. To trace the path the droplets take. Magenta bathes the stall momentarily. My vampyre wanting this as much as I.

"Are you getting in?" she asks, lips twitching. "Or just here for the show?"

Then the little minx sets my pulse racing as first one hand smooths over her right breast, and
then the other dips languidly down her stomach towards the dark treasure of curls between her thighs. I act quickly, because I know in her current state reaching her goal will be slightly awkward. I do not wish for her to lose her train of thought. It's too delicious.

My hand covers hers, then resolutely sweeps lower, leaving her to move both palms to her breasts. She sighs when my finger finds its goal. I watch her reaction as though the fate of the world lies in it. Her lids lower, her lips part on a breath of heated expelled air, and her head tips back, almost rolling on her shoulders. I move to support her weight, one arm around her back, hugging her hip into my groin, the other delving deeper into a moist channel of molten fire.

How can she not find her current shape sexy? Her responses, when she lets herself go, are completely awash with passion and fire. To bring her to orgasm like this is such a simple, but decadent task. I live for these moments. In a world that has changed beyond my wildest imaginings, Lucinda grounds me, yet conversely sets me free.

"Oh,
ma douce
," I murmur, my fangs aching to taste her
there
. "You are so beautiful."

"Michel," she sighs, then gasps as the orgasm claims her.

I have never seen anything in my very long life as exquisite as this. For a moment I can't breathe. I am locked in a vision even my dreams are unable to replicate. There is no word for how magnificent she is.

Then my vampyre-within rises. I do not fight him, he has every right to this beauty as I. When she relaxes against my frame, I lay a soft kiss on her temple and then turn her toward the tiled wall. We have had to become inventive as her waistline expands, but the challenge is part of the fun.

I lift her hands to the wall exactly where I want her, reaching over and pressing another series of buttons on the electronic controls for the shower. The rain shower heads become a gentle patter of water droplets across her shoulders and back, the jets manoeuvre themselves to stimulate her breasts and between her legs.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes and my vampyre growls his hunger, responding to the momentary crack in her armour. My Lucinda has always been so responsive, but right now she is lost to her desire, just like me.

"Spread your legs," I murmur in her ear. The heat arcing between us is an inferno. "Ride the jets of water as if you were riding me."

A sound full of lust escapes her lips making my organ jump in eager anticipation. Should I let her come again before I fill her aching void?

Yes.
The joy I get at seeing Lucinda let go is almost as good as the feeling of her sheathing my length in her hot, wet channel. I ache to bury myself inside, but the wait will be so much more exquisite if she comes again.

Her head falls forward as her breaths begin to saw out of her, her chest rising and falling in such rapid succession I fear for a moment I am pushing her and the babies too far. But then she moans. A sound that reaches right down through the centre of me and strokes the hardened length of my shaft. I moan with her, my fangs scraping the side of her neck, a trickle of blood on my tongue almost making me lose my load.

A whimper, followed by a crescendo of sound that even through the soundproofed walls of our chamber I am sure my vampyres will hear. The dragon-within approves.

She is ours
, he says.
Let them hear her cries of pleasure
.

I am lost. To her scream of release. To the glistening shine of her skin under the water. To the smell of her arousal. I pull her hips back, moving her from the stimulation of the shower jets and then palming my erection, I guide myself inside.

Oh, sweet heaven. A growl of possession fills the space we're in. My body expands with desire. Her grip so sure, so tight, so hot. I am lost for a moment, entirely unable to think or act or move. Just the heat of her. The feel of her. The sound of her begging for more. For a suspended second I savour it all, I wrap her around my senses, around my body, my heart, and then, as if I could delay this any longer, I let myself go.

I worship her with slow, purposeful thrusts, in and out, and out and in, over and over again. I could die the final death right now, and if not for the fact that she would die alongside me, I'd be a very
happy man indeed.

I am home. This woman who can level a battlefield with one blast of her Light, lights my world and guides me home.

I must taste her. I must feel the silky slide of her velvet blood as it rolls over my tongue and down my throat. I
need
to drink her in. Through my fingers. Through my touch. Through the physical connection where my body meets hers in carnal delight.

Through my fangs in her throat, a penetration as basic as the motion of making love.

My tongue laps at the vein in her neck and she tips her head in a way that extends the line, invites my bite, pleads for me to take what I need from her body. If I am not careful I will take all of her. Not because I want to, but because she is my one weakness, as well as my greatest strength.

"Lucinda," I breathe, just before my fangs pierce her skin and the world explodes in delicious, mind altering sensations.

Her blood has changed again. From yesterday to now it has matured. Or maybe I have grown accustomed to this new taste, this hybrid I feel is part her and part the babies. The thought I am drinking from my children as I drink from my wife momentarily gives me pause. But the knowledge that they are
ours
, made up of both of us, reassures me that this is natural, this is necessary. A bond forming between us all even before they are born.

I give back equally. I give them love; unconditional, unequivocal, and true. I coat Lucinda and the babes she holds in her womb with blissful, pure love. My love for them. They are my world and they should know it.

My fangs withdraw, my tongue automatically sealing the wound and the instant the almost innocent-like connection with her blood has passed, the carnal connection with her body takes over.

I can't hold off the release that approaches with mind-numbing accuracy. My hands stroke over feverish flesh, my fingers find her nipples, and with a thrust of my hips I have her exactly where she needs to be. Teetering on the edge. Impaled by my arousal, stimulated by the jets of water at her apex, and slipping over the side of erotic bliss as my fingers squeeze, eliciting a cry of surprise, followed by a moan of carnal need from her lips.

Oh, good God she lights my fire. I pour myself into her, lost in the moment, floating on clouds of pure ecstasy, as she joins me under the soft spray of the shower, our moans and whimpers and near screams of release mingling together and rising as one.

Panting for breath, the world spinning in a way it only ever does when I'm with Lucinda, I cradle her in my arms. Aware that I have most of her weight, her legs turned to jelly and unable to hold her.

"Je t'aime, ma douce,"
I murmur against her skin.

"Je t'aime, Michel,"
she replies, her French pronunciation improving with every attempt.

I allow myself to slide out of her, feeling her body shudder against my hold. I turn her in my arms and realise the kiss I am about to bestow is the first of the day. What is wrong with me?

Ah, that's right, a silver stake to the back in the middle of my sleep.

My lips press into hers, as my tongue devours her mouth. My hand fisted in the wet strands of her hair, angling her head exactly where I want it.

I think I am ready for round two, but my Lucinda is not.

I slow the kiss down until it's a languid exploration of her lips, teeth, and tongue. Then with infinite care I lower her to the bench seat in the shower, allowing her to finally get her equilibrium. She leans back and closes her eyes, a smile stretched wide across her cheeks.

Oh, she is divine, this vision sitting before me. I would give up my kingdom to see that smile on her face every day.

As I begin to wash her hair, making sure the soap avoids her eyes, I feel the pressure of said kingdom pressing in on my mind. I would have liked a little longer to ensure Lucinda has climbed the hurdle of self doubt for the day, but the urgency with which Alain calls leaves me in no doubt that our moment of solitude is at an end.

I answer my Second's mental query as I wash the shampoo from Lucinda's beautiful hair.

Five minutes
, I say, not expanding on the reason why I should need longer to prepare for the night than usual.

I may enjoy a little public display of affection, but some things, such as tending to my kindred's needs, are entirely private.

You may wish to ensure Lucinda is occupied
, is the ominous reply I receive from the vampyre I consider a close friend, not just part of my line.

I grit my teeth as the conditioner sluices out of Lucinda's hair.

What is it?
I ask, unsure if I am ready to hear what has put that edge in Alain's mental voice.

The hesitation of his reply chills me, I battle not to show my discomfort in front of Lucinda. She's still floating in post-coital bliss. For a moment longer I will protect her from the outside world, knowing as I do that it is futile. Lucinda faces my battles alongside me and always will.

Petra Corvus has turned up in the foyer, demanding to visit with her blood-brother
.

I cannot hide my shock. My vampyre-within equally appalled. Magenta washes the walls, reflects off the droplets of water and slices right through the quiet seclusion we'd been sharing.

I immediately sense Lucinda at my mental walls, attempting to get inside and discover what has made me a statue before her. Her gentle probing becoming more insistent as I refuse her entry into my thoughts.

She cannot see what I see. She cannot hear what I hear inside my memories. Oh,
mon Dieu
, she cannot witness what my mind is forcing me to replay.

I had feared this day would come, but when I killed him,
finally
killed him, and she never showed her face, I had naively thought she too had moved on.

I glance down at my kindred, noting the hue of violet that is cast over her delicate features from the magenta that still shines from my eyes. Worry and yes, a little fear, shadows her intuitive gaze.

Ah,
merde
. This is going to be decidedly awkward.

And possibly quite painful, once Lucinda realises who the woman in the foyer actually is.

I wonder if I have time to hide her stakes. Probably not, and let's not forget Lucinda can do a hell of a lot with her Light.

Ah,
merde!

I offer a smile, aware that it is probably predatory. An enemy has entered my territory, my vampyre-within is pacing, ready to defend what is ours.

"Petra, this is a surprise," I say, bowing my head slightly, my hand fisted over my chest in vampyre greeting. I do not wait for her reply before I stand upright. I am the Champion of
all
vampyre.

The blonde haired woman before me bows low, offering a deep show of respect. It is warranted, but not necessarily expected. The last time I saw Petra she tried to sever my head from my neck. My fangs itch to descend at the memory.