Even Vampires Get the Blues: A Deadly Angels Book (14 page)

But Harek had moved on to something else. “Take off the garment, sweetling. Slowly.” Meanwhile he was running his fingertips up the backs of her legs, from her ankles to her butt, then back again. If she hadn’t just shaved her legs that day, she would have guessed that every hair follicle was standing on end, waving,
Me, me, me!
Her pubic hairs definitely were.

“Sweetling? That’s a new one,” she said with horny irrelevance. “Well, since you ask you so nicely . . .” She crisscrossed her arms and tugged at the hem by her waist, raising it higher. And higher. And higher. Then over her head, tossing it to the floor.

He studied her body in infuriating silence. “You’ve been hiding a lot, Camille,” he told her then. “A lot.”

She did have a good body. A healthy metabolism and hard exercise guaranteed that. Her breasts weren’t big, but they were proportional to the rest of her body, and, since she’d never had children, the nipples were pink and smallish.

He touched her nipples, lightly, and smiled when her lower body jolted in reaction. Her dampness was becoming a flood.

“We are going to have such fun,” he promised then, and put both hands on her waist, lifted and tossed her onto the middle of the bed, following after her. With a sensual hum of approval he arranged himself over her with his hard part pressed into the V of her widespread thighs. If she was the violin and he was the bow (
She’d moved on from rockets to musical instruments. So, sue her!
), they were already making sweet music,
down there
. In the pit (
Don’t have a dirty mind!
) . . . the orchestra pit.

Holy frickin’ cow! I didn’t know I could move from inside out, without actually trying.

Move over Beethoven. Mama’s got a brand-new song,
she thought, then giggled at the idiocy of her musing.

“You think my agony is funny, do you, wench?”

She opened her eyes, which she hadn’t realized were scrunched tightly closed. Harek was arched over her on braced arms, and he actually did appear to be in agony. The best possible kind. Good! Welcome to the club. Even knowing, she asked with mock innocence, “What’s wrong?”

“I want you so bloody damn much, I’m having trouble controlling my enthusiasm, that is what is wrong.”

“Enthusiasm?”

He shrugged. “Viking for arousal.”

She smiled.

“You are enjoying my discomfort!”

“No. I like that you’re attracted to me.”

“Attracted! Any more attracted and I will be plowing a furrow in this mattress.”

“You have a charming way with words.” She put a hand to his chest, just to see if his skin was as warm as it appeared. It was. “Do you know that your eyes have turned silvery, and you have blue wispy wings coming out of your shoulders?”

“Not wings. No wings! Not when I am feeling so unangelic.”

“They sure look like wings.”

“ ’Tis probably smoke coming out of my ears from all the heat you are stoking in me.”

“Are we going to make love?”

“I do not know about making love, but I intend to sate my lust on you fifty ways to Valhalla.”

“You believe in Valhalla?”

“No, but I didn’t want to say that other word.”

“Heaven?”

“Hell.”

“You think you’re going to Hell for making love.”

“No, but I will be punished.”

“I don’t underst—”

He put his fingertips to her lips. “Enough talking.” Then he replaced his fingertips with his mouth, and she felt herself melting into a kiss so chocolaty sweet and sexually explicit that she was drowning in sensuality. Every erotic spot on her body was connected by thin threads of sensitivity to her lips. She vibrated with each brush of his lips, each lick of his tongue, each nip of his teeth. When she tasted him with her own tongue, brushing against his pointed incisors, he groaned low and deep in his throat.

A sudden alarming thought occurred to her. “Do you fang during sex?”

“I can, but I won’t, unless you want me to.” He was still braced over her body, but he was rubbing his silky chest hairs over her nipples, causing them to be engorged and aching for more. She arched up and did her own abrading, harder.

He chuckled.

“Why would I want that? Fanging?” she gasped out.

“It enhances the sexual pleasure for the woman a hundredfold, I have heard.”

“And for the man?”

He grinned. “A thousandfold.”

Of course, the idea was planted in her fool head now. “I don’t want to,” she lied.

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “There are plenty of other things we can do. Like . . .” He proceeded to do the most incredible things to her ears, first one, then the other. Using his lips and wet tongue and teeth and warm breaths, he aroused every nerve ending in her body, just by making love to her ears. And in between, he whispered words of encouragement to her, some of them wicked, not usually spoken aloud.

She used her hands to explore his shoulders and back and buttocks, but she couldn’t move her lower body, as she wanted to, because he had her pinioned to the bed with his hips. “I’m ready,” she finally said with exasperation.

“For what?”

“You.”

“Where?”

“Inside me.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Screw soon. I want you. Now. There are condoms in the bedside drawer in my bedroom. Oh damn, I wasn’t planning this when I came to your room.”

He arched a brow at her. “Condoms? You have condoms?”

“I wasn’t anticipating this. But the Navy makes us WEALS put protection in our toiletry kits. Just in case.”

“I don’t need a condom. Vangels are sterile.”

“Your brother . . .”

“Except for Ivak.”

In a momentary lapse from talking, Harek had raised himself slightly and Camille managed one quick thrust of her hips, causing him to slide inside her, to his surprise. It was always good to surprise a man in bed. But, truth to tell,
slide
wasn’t the right word. Because he was big, and she hadn’t had sex in a while, her slick channel was welcoming him with fierce spasms that moved him higher, inch by blissful inch.
Holy frickin’ sex machine!
A wave of orgasms swept over her, so intense she might have blacked out for a moment. Her eyes were probably rolling back in her head.

When she was able to glance up—he was still embedded in her, unmoving—she saw that his teeth were gritted and sweat beaded his forehead. He was clearly fighting his own climax. A strange haze seemed to surround them, like a cocoon, and it smelled, surprise, surprise, like chocolate roses. She was going to bottle the scent and make a million dollars, if she ever survived this awful/wonderful sexual experience.

Harek seemed to be watching her, waiting for something. “Are you ready?”

She tried to laugh, but it came out as a gasp.

“I take that for yes,” he said with a smile, and began to slowly, very sloooooooowly, draw himself out of her body until only the head of his penis was inside her. The friction was pleasure and torture so intense that she let out a long moan and raised her knees, spreading herself even wider.

He took his time going back in again, too. She wanted to beat his back with her fists and scream,
Faster!
But her tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth as she panted for breath. She did put her hands on his hard butt cheeks, though, trying to encourage him.

The stubborn man took his slow good time.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Innnnnnn.

Ouuuuuut.

She was dying and having dozens of mini orgasms while he stroked her inner walls with frustrating slowness. Once he stopped when he was in her fully and rubbed his pubic bone against her clitoris, back and forth, back and forth, ’til she exploded in a full-blown climax of shuddering spasms.

“Are you done now?” she asked, though she couldn’t see for the exploding stars that blinded her. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but not by much. Down below, she was one shattering mess of sensations. Hard to tell what was going on in sex central, too many things at one time.

He laughed. “I’ve barely begun.”

That cleared her vision fast.

“Hold on to the headboard, sweetling,” he advised then. “This is going to be a rough ride.”

What a corny cliché
, she thought as she grabbed for the wood spindles. Almost immediately, she revised her thinking to
Go, cowboy, go!

He slammed into her, over and over and over. And each time he hit her clitoris, just so, only for a brief second, but more arousing because it was so brief. In and out, he stroked her, long and hard. ’Til she barely stifled a scream.

Looping her legs over his shoulders, he hit her from a different angle, and the inner convulsions started all over again. She was grasping and ungrasping him in a rhythmic dance as old as time, but unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

She almost screamed again, and this time he reared his head back and gritted out his own climax before falling heavily onto her body. Only belatedly, she worried that her parents might have heard her, but there appeared to be silence in the house. Thank God she hadn’t actually screamed. But a loud whimper could be heard in the quiet, couldn’t it? She listened some more. Just silence, except for the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs. Whew!

Like a rag doll, she lay splayed out, with him still semisoft inside her body, his face resting against her neck. She could feel his fangs pressing against her skin, but he made no move to bite her. Thank God! She wouldn’t have the strength to fight him off. Nor would she want to.

“Sorry I am, Camille,” he said against her ear.

“Why?”

“I did not spend nearly enough time in foreplay. Next time I will do better.”

“Next time?” she choked out.

“Did I not mention that I am a greedy man?”

She began to laugh then. The man had that effect on her. Better? That was impossible. That was the best sex she’d ever had. The best sex anyone had ever had. With an angel, yet! She doubted Adam and Eve had had such good sex. Or Samson and Delilah. As for his vampire half—
and wasn’t that an interesting question, which part of Harek was vampirish?
—good ol’ Drac had nothing on him, Impaler or not!

Unfortunately, or fortunately, her laughter extended to all parts of her body. Even down below. And that semisoft part of his body was clearly enjoying the humor with growing—what was it Harek had called it?—enthusiasm.

Chapter 12

Vikings and cowboys, same thing! . . .

“Y
our vagina is laughing,” Harek grumbled, but he wasn’t really displeased.

“My lady parts are not laughing,” she asserted.

“I beg to differ, m’lady. But not to worry. Your happy lady parts are making my man parts happy, too.”

“I noticed,” she said, and gave a little wiggle to demonstrate that she was aware of his growing appreciation, still inside her.

It was true, though. He could feel the residual ripples of her humor throughout the muscles of her body. In her breasts, which were flattened against his chest; in her arms, which encircled his shoulders; in her thighs, which were wrapped around his hips; and, yes, those interior muscles surrounding his own Mr. Happy. It was the strangest aspect of the female anatomy he’d ever experienced, and he’d experienced some really strange ones, like the woman in Vestfold with labia so long she could tie a knot there, which her husband sometimes did when he had to be off a-Viking for months at a time. A chastity belt, you could say.

From the light streaming through the open bathroom door, he saw the sex flush that infused her face and neck and parts of her chest. Her lips were bruised by his earlier kisses. Her hair was bed mussed from flailing about. In essence, she looked like a well-sated woman. Gorgeous. Well, she was still plain, in a way, but gorgeous at the same time. And the scent of roses—and chocolate now, too—was almost overpowering. Like an aphrodisiac.

He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “That was wonderful. Spectacular.” Then he eased himself out of her, inch by torturously erotic inch, and rolled over onto his side, taking her with him so they were facing each other.

Blinking with surprise, she said, “Oh. I thought . . . you’re right. It’s late. We should go to sleep.”

He blinked back at her, not understanding, at first. Oh. She thought he’d withdrawn from her body because he was done. Hah! He ran a fingertip from the center of her neck, over her shoulder, and down one well-toned arm to her wrist, where he lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, where a pulse beat strongly.

She shivered, then faked a yawn.

“Nice try!” He was the one laughing now as he swatted her lightly on the rump.

“But you . . .” She waved a hand downward.

“I didn’t pull out because I’m done. I want to start all over again and enjoy every bit of the present you’ve handed me. Believe me, I’m going to savor every sexual, greedy moment until my chain gets yanked.”

“What present?”

“You.”

He could tell his answer pleased her. “What chain?”

“The one Mike is going to pull when he finds out what I’m doing.”

“Mike?”

“The archangel.”

“Oh, that again.”

“Always that, dearling. You still aren’t convinced, hmm?”

“Not even a little. Well, maybe a little. How can—”

He put a fingertip to her lips to stop further questions and eased her to her back. Leaning over her, he promised, “I’ll explain anything you want. Later. But for now, I want to taste your skin. Especially here.” He licked her lips. “And here.” He licked his way around and over a nipple. “And here.” He dipped his tongue into her navel. “And here.” He leaned toward her curly hairs.

But she took his face in her hands pulling him upward. “Not there. I need to go wash up first. I’m . . . messy.”

He shook his head. “I like you wet and messy from my climax and yours. We can bathe together afterward.”

For the next half hour, he did in fact check out every part of her body, front and back. He especially liked the way he could turn her pink nipples rosy red with flicks of his tongue and soft, then hard suckling that had her arching her back off the bed and ordering him not to stop, “Don’t you dare damn stop now!” She’d come to a peak just from his ministering to her breasts.

Then there were the backs of her knees, which were especially sensitive. When he licked her there, she nigh shot up off the bed and squealed like a pig . . . a cute pig. Maybe that wasn’t the best comparison; best he keep that thought to himself.

He tried sucking on one of her toes, but she kicked him in the groin. He decided to save that particular sex play for later. It was a well-honed taste that had to be developed.

He liked the curve of her buttocks and the sweet crease that separated them, and he told her so repeatedly. She was uncomfortable with his attentions there, like many women were. If he had more time, which he was almost certain he would not, he could teach her not to be so squeamish.

She told him, “Move on!”

Of course, her nether hairs and woman’s channel merited much savoring. Her unhooded clitoris was standing at full attention by the time he was done with her. Not that he was done by any means, but she was keening with need and he had pushed himself beyond the limits of his own self-control.

“Do it,” she demanded finally, “or I’m going to lop off that tree between your legs.”

Camille had a way with compliments betimes.

He rolled onto his back and arranged her on top of him. “Do you want me, Camille?” he asked.

“You know I do,” she snapped, rather dazed with overarousal.

“Do you ride?”

She smiled, the kind of smile Eve invented and Mona Lisa perfected. “Do I ever!”

“Show me.”

And she did.

Holy clouds! Did she ever!

Then Brad and Angelina walked in . . .

C
amille slept late the next morning. Well, eight o’clock. Which was not surprising because Harek, who snored beside her, hadn’t let her rest until close to dawn.

The man had been insatiable.

Who was she kidding? She’d been insatiable.

She slid quietly off the bed and looked down at Harek, who was splayed out on his back, arms above his head, legs spread, sleeping the deep sleep of the well-satisfied male. His limp penis, which looked darn good even at half-mast, lay spent on his balls. She went into the adjoining bathroom and splashed water on her face. She wasn’t about to take a shower, not right now here in the guest bathroom, lest she awaken the monster in the bed, who would no doubt be ready to go another round, limp willy or not. She’d heard what they said about Navy SEALs and their staying power, but whoever said that had never shaken the sheets with a Viking.

She pulled her Snoopy shirt over her head and went back to her bedroom, where she donned a belted, pink candy-striped cotton robe, another legacy from her teen years. She could smell fresh coffee brewing before she even got to the kitchen, which was empty except for Tenecia, their longtime cook.

After exchanging some warm hugs and inquiries about her family—Tenecia had a son who owned an auto body shop and a daughter who worked as a special ed teacher—Camille asked, “Mom and Dad not down yet?”

“Oh, they be down, all right. Went fer a walk, they did.”

“Together?”

Tenecia laughed, putting both hands over her apron-covered belly. “Yep. Holdin’ hands ’n everythin’.” Tenecia rolled her eyes meaningfully.

Could Harek have really worked his magic on her father? He’d certainly worked some kind of magic on her.

Tenecia handed her a steaming cup of coffee, and Camille took a welcoming swallow. There was nothing anywhere else in the world like strong Creole coffee, the chicory mellowed by Tenecia’s own secret of crushed eggshells and a pinch of salt in the water.

Camille glanced around the large, sunny kitchen. Every one of the six burners on the commercial gas stove had pots or frying pans bubbling away with a wonderful-smelling concoction, and both ovens were lit up with baked goods. Caterers were outside setting up tables and tents for the brunch to be held here early this afternoon. Household staff could be seen in the dining room polishing silver.

“What’s on the menu for today?”

“Three kinds of quiche, smoked ham, thick sliced bacon, eggs Benedict, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit salad, Waldorf salad, banana puddin’, sweet rolls, lazy bread, biscuits, okra jelly, my grandma’s special relish with watermelon pickles, beignets, of course, cain’t have no meal in Loo-zee-anna without beignets.” She took a deep breath and continued, “Boudin sausage, crawfish and shrimp omelettes, an’ that’s jist fer starters.”

“Good Lord! You must have been working for weeks on this.”

“I have, though some of it’s gonna be made, on the spot, by that fancy-pancy chef out in the yard,” Tenecia told her with disapproval in her voice. “I coulda done it myself with a helper ’r two. Don’t know why yer mama had to hire no fancy chef who cooked for Emeril one time. If he says ‘Bam!’ jist one time, I’m gonna show him, ‘Bam!’ ”

Camille smiled and helped herself to a beignet that had not only been sprinkled with sugar but drizzled with chocolate. The first bite was like an explosion of taste in her mouth, and she moaned her appreciation. You’d think after all the “chocolate” last night, she’d be stall fed with the taste. Instead, her appetite had increased.

“Not again,” she heard a male voice say behind her.

Harek had come in wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and athletic shoes. His usually meticulous hair was rumpled, and not designer rumpled. More like I’ve-just-had-some-badass-sex rumpled. He grinned at her and kissed her cheek.

“Not again what?” she asked.

“The moaning. I don’t think I could survive any more of your moaning.”

Tenecia giggled, and Camille gave Harek an admonishing frown.

He said hello to Tenecia, whose acquaintance he’d apparently made the day before, as evidenced by his saying, “You made beignets again, Tenecia. A woman after a man’s heart. Your husband is a lucky man.”

“I got no husband.”

“Will you marry me?”

Tenecia giggled, again, and Harek helped himself to a beignet and a cup of coffee. When Tenecia bustled off to speak to the caterers about some mistake they were making with the placement of steam tureens, Harek sat down at the table next to Camille. Real close. “Hi,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Don’t ‘hi’ me. The last time you said hi to me, I ended up with my face in a pillow and my rear in the air.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“I wasn’t thanking you.”

“You did at the time. As I recall, you kept saying—”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Don’t go all morning-after-ish on me, Camille. Last night . . . this morning was too good. Don’t spoil it with regrets.”

“It was good for me, too,” she admitted.

They smiled at each other, and the warmest feeling suffused her. It wasn’t sexual, more like loving.

Whoa! Nobody said anything about love. Before you know it, she’d be planning another wedding and then having a fourth ex-fiancé to contend with.

Another Whoa! That was some leap. From good sex to bad breakup all in one breath.

Just then, her mother and father walked in, and, yes, they were holding hands and grinning at each other like teenagers who’d just discovered French kissing. Camille would bet her WEALS medallion that they’d made love last night. Yeech! Not a picture she wanted in her head.

Her mother wore white sneakers and neatly pressed capris topped by a lightweight aqua sweater set and Great-Aunt Effie’s opal and diamond earrings. Her father wore white deck shoes and Bermuda shorts, also neatly pressed, topped with an aqua Bayou DeSiard Country Club golf shirt. They looked like senior citizen dress-alikes. Wannabe twins. Camille didn’t think her father had played golf a day in his life. These clothes must have been packed away from when they were lots younger. In fact, the two of them looked lots younger this morning. Amazing what good sex could do for appearance, like a shot of Botox to the libido.
No, no, no, I am not thinking that. Otherwise, I’d have to admit to being ten years younger myself after last night.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” her father said, leaning down to give her a kiss on the top of her head and a pat on the shoulder.

“It’s a beautiful day,” her mother added, actually hugging Camille from behind. A real hug, not one of those fly-by hugs Camille had become accustomed to. “Are you sure you can’t stay another day, dear? With all the wedding madness, we haven’t had a chance to catch up.”

Catch up on what?
Camille almost asked. Since when was her mother interested in Camille’s life?

“No, sorry, I have to be back at the base this afternoon.”

“I could call that commander person and ask for a special excuse for you to stay over,” her father suggested.

“Good idea, Emile,” her mother said, and the two of them exchanged more sappy grins.

But what had her father said? Special excuse? Did he think the military was like grade school where all he had to do was send a note excusing her from class for the day because she had a tummy ache?

“And you, too?” her father said to Harek. “I could request a dispensation for you, as well.”

A dispensation now? Here’s a news flash, Papa, the CO is not like a pope.

“Uh, no thanks,” Harek said. “I actually have a different commander.”

Does he mean God? Or St. Michael? Oh Lord!

“Well, give me his name and number and I’ll make the call,” her father offered magnanimously, while her mother beamed at him with pride.

“Uh, my boss has an unlisted number,” Harek mumbled, looking to Camille for help.

Forget that. He was the one who’d turned her parents into a bleepin’ newlywed couple. A regular Brad and Angelina. If they started adopting kids from third world countries, Camille was going to puke, or throttle someone’s neck. That someone was concentrating on his coffee now like the secrets of the universe were hidden in its black depths.

“What is that delicious smell in here?” her mother asked.

“Tenecia has been cooking up a storm,” Camille said, as if her mother didn’t already know that.

Her mother was checking the various pots to make sure all her directions had been followed. Camille was sure the menu had been put together by her mother, who had many years’ experience as a hostess for faculty parties.

“No, it’s chocolate I smell, and not just that itty-bitty drizzle over the beignets.”