Fangs for Nothing (14 page)

Because he was drawing on her blood, sucking with enough intensity for her to feel the tug and pull, but not enough to cause pain, he didn’t reply. Instead, his thumb moved over her clitoris and stroked the swollen nub. The stimulation both above and below the waist had her clinging to him, her body tight and hot and ready to explode. An orgasm was imminent if she didn’t stop him, and she did not want to come. Not yet.

“Please.” She grabbed his wrist and tried to move her hips away.

For a second he didn’t respond, but then he stepped back, breathing hard, his hand still on her thigh, his mouth red with her blood, a trickle running down his lower lip onto his chin.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Even as he spoke, his eyes drifted closed. “Did I hurt you?” His tongue came out to stroke from one corner of his lower lip to the other, lapping up her blood.

He looked so aroused, so intense, so clearly enjoying her taste, that Lizette forgot what she was going to say. She just watched him, goose bumps racing along her skin as she realized that it didn’t matter that he had removed his finger from inside her. Her inner muscles were quivering, her hips rocking forward, her breast aching from his point of entry as she watched him taste the very essence of her. It was overwhelming, and she reached for him, wanting her own taste.

Lizette gave him a long, deep kiss, capturing his mouth roughly, plunging her tongue inside to taste her own blood mingled with the rum. His hands gripped her hard about the waist and he was making a deep, barely audible sound of approval in the back of his throat. When she broke the kiss, she tilted her head and smiled at him, her eyelids heavy, handcuff jangling.

Then she bit his neck, letting her fangs drop in like steel into butter, the skin giving way with ease. When the first drops of his blood flooded over her, she almost fell backwards from the pure intensity of pleasure. It was intoxicating, and she sucked harder, feeling him tense against her, his grip tightening, his moans rising in volume and frequency.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he told her.

Afraid to stay too long, take too much, lose control, she pulled back. Her intention to lick the remaining sweet drops off her lips was thwarted by Johnny descending on her mouth with an urgency that sent her falling backwards into the kitchen counter. She grappled to hold on to his waist, then realized she was in the perfect position to undo his jeans. Yanking harder than was strictly necessary, she had them unbuttoned and the zipper down while they kissed, his hand popping her bra clasp on her back. Then he bit her other breast.

Oh dear. Lizette tried to hold on, tried to keep herself cognizant, but she was losing herself to some strange, desperate, urgent desire to have Johnny everywhere on her body, inside her and sucking her dry. When he pulled back, she shoved his jeans down and bent over, dropping her fangs into his hip, along that mysteriously sexy muscle that men had which seemed to act as a directional to where their erection was. His jeans were caught, but she could feel his bulge pressing against her shoulder and breast as she let the tangy sweetness of his blood rush past her.

Her body felt hot and hyperaware, her hand shaking a little as she further freed him of his jeans and his briefs. When she broke away this time, he lifted her up, completely off the ground, his vampiric strength in evidence.

As he held her there, eyes racing over her breasts, he said, “Take your skirt off so I can fuck you.”

She wouldn’t have expected such brazen words to do anything but make her either offended or uncomfortable, or both. But instead, they only served to make her more desperate to have him do just that. She tossed her hair out of her way, and reached back to unzip her skirt. One small shove at the hips and it fell to the floor. It felt perfectly bizarre and perfectly arousing to be a foot or two off the ground, naked save for a lace bra, which was sliding down off her shoulders, her moisture stroked to the forefront by his touch glistening on her thighs.

“What now?” she asked him, lifting her leg to wrap it around his hip. She repeated the process with the other leg.

“Now I do this.” He shifted slightly, then suddenly he was thrusting deep inside her.

“
Merde alors
!” she swore, which should have embarrassed her, but didn’t, because she was beyond caring about anything but how goddamn good he made her feel.

Digging her fingernails into his shoulders and holding on, she threw her head back and accepted his hard cock into her body. There was no way he was suffering from any sort of Irish curse. She may not have been around the block more than once or twice, but she was informed enough to understand that he was in possession of that which would be the envy of many a man. She was certainly feeling most appreciative.

So much so, that she had an orgasm.

Johnny felt Lizette’s muscles tightening around him, her head thrown back, hair tumbling freely into the air, and he pumped harder, enjoying the view of her pure pleasure.

He didn’t think that he had ever been so turned on, so completely lost in the moment of sex with a woman. Her face was very expressive, her eyes doelike, her sounds unchecked and raw. He hadn’t expected the elegant curtain to be pulled back quite so easily, yet all it had taken was one bite and she was gone, as far into the rush of lust as he was.

Now she was squeezing him everywhere, nails digging into his flesh, muscles clamping onto his cock in a way that had his mouth hot with saliva and his balls tight. She felt so fucking good and he was losing control.

Not wanting to come so soon himself, the minute she quieted down, he carried her a few feet to the area rug in his living room and laid her down on it. The bedroom was too far, but he didn’t expect her to take it on the kitchen tiles. She gave a soft moan of protest when he pulled back out of her entirely. Like she thought he wasn’t going to come back. The irony of course was that he couldn’t leave her.

But he didn’t want to think about that. He just wanted to think about sinking back inside the warmth of her body and making her come a second time. Three was his current record with her, according to his fictionalized version of what had happened, so he wanted to best himself. What guy wouldn’t?

“Lizette, open your eyes,” he commanded as he plunged into her again. He wanted to see those expressive inky pools, wanted to see how good he made her feel. It mattered to him.

She did, but it clearly took effort, her arms slack, thighs sinking farther apart. She was enjoying herself, but in a slower, slumberous way, and taking it nice and pretty was not what he had in mind at the moment. Since he had so thoroughly enjoying biting her and she had so obviously liked it, too, he dipped down and sank into her shoulder, enjoying the hiss of approval from her right along with the first taste of tangy fluid rushing past his lips.

But she surprised him by raising her head and biting him right back on the opposite shoulder.

Holy shit. Johnny paused to close his eyes and just enjoy the ecstasy, the connection, the intimate and primal joining. It felt base and elevated all at the same time. Lizette bit him harder, her heels kicking into the backs of his thighs like she wanted him harder, deeper.

Still with his teeth in her skin, Johnny rolled her so she was on top, and while he’d intended her to stop there, she continued to roll until they were across the room, crashing into the coffee table with his hip and shoulder. They were both on their sides, him still thrusting inside her, Lizette pulling her fangs out to give a satisfied cry as she exploded in another orgasm. Her chin, her chest, her teeth, were all saturated with both of their blood, and he licked his lip, gritting his teeth. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, all that red against the pale, smooth white of her vampire flesh, her normally red lips stained even darker, a gruesome eroticism that only a vampire would understand. Biting was more intense than oral sex for mortals, and looking down at her, his puncture marks in her shoulder, her cries of anguished passion, he couldn’t resist his own body anymore.

Leaning down and taking her mouth, blending her blood with his, her tongue with his, her body with his, Johnny exploded in the most intense orgasm he’d ever had.

Stunned, they both lay there intertwined for a good two minutes, blinking at each other. Finally Johnny reached out and wiped some of the blood off her lip and licked it. “That. Was. Amazing.” There were actually no words to describe how off-the-charts awesome that had been.

“Indeed.”

It was such an understated, typical-Lizette response, he gave a choked laugh. “I think I found the most authentically French thing in the Quarter,” he told her.

“What? Me?” She brushed her hair back off her forehead, her breasts still rising rapidly from their vigorous encounter.

“Your vagina.” He grinned and waited for the reaction.

It was immediate.

“Ah!” She gasped in indignation and smacked him on the shoulder. “How dare you!”

“Or as I like to call it ‘La Pussy.’”

“I like to call you ‘L’Asshole.’ Note the liaison due to the vowel sound.”

That made Johnny laugh even harder and he shifted, pulling out of her. “You’re killing me.”

“No, I am going to kill
you
. You are outrageous and inappropriate.”

“So you keep telling me. But I actually think you kind of like that about me.” He winked at her. He did think she liked it. It was like he said all the things she might think in her head but didn’t allow herself to say out loud.

“I think you are arrogant and insufferable.” Then she gave a smile. “But you are also right. I cannot exactly explain why I like you, but I do.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t suffer from low self-esteem.” Johnny stroked her arm lightly and reveled in her smile. This felt good. “Maybe you like me for my stellar penis.”

“It is adequate.”

That was a ringing endorsement from Lizette. He’d take it. This felt amazing, all of it. The sex, the teasing, the comfortableness of lying next to her.

If it had been like this last night, no wonder he had handcuffed himself to her.

She was the bomb in bed. Or in this case, on the floor.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked, because they both looked like a crime scene. There was drying blood smeared all over.

“That would be wonderful.”

Johnny sat up and waited for her to follow, then he stood. It was then she seemed to remember that they were handcuffed, which meant they would be showering together, because she said, “I would prefer to shower alone.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “I’ve already seen you naked. In fact, you happen to be naked right now.” He put his free hand on her smooth ass to further prove his point.

“I know, but sometimes a woman requires privacy.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s not like you’re taking a crap, you’re in the shower. With soap and water and a sponge. That is sexy. What’s the big deal?”

Her tongue clucked. When her tongue clucked, Johnny was starting to realize there was no point in arguing with Lizette. She had made her mind up about some moral piece of whatever and she wasn’t going to back down. But she didn’t say anything. Maybe because she was realizing that it was a fortunate thing they were vampires, because neither one of them was ever going to need to use the toilet like a mortal would. Even he had to admit that would have been awkward.

And now he had officially killed the mood. Johnny mentally kicked himself. They’d been on such a sex high and he had fucked it up by pushing the point and mentioning
crap
. He was L’Asshole. So he lightly kissed her. “Never mind. Of course you can shower by yourself if you want. I’ll just sit outside the shower curtain, okay? We can take turns.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Even if it was completely stupid, in his opinion. But he was willing to do it for her.

Which was how he found himself sitting on the cold porcelain tub, freezing his ass off, chin in hand. While his other arm dangled behind him getting hit by the warm spray and flopping around at Lizette’s will as she jerked him to and fro, washing her body. Washing her body. Damn. He really wanted to be a party to that process. He wanted to squeeze gel soap into his hands and slide them all over her, from head to toe. He wanted to lick between her thighs and listen to that catch in her breath she gave.

Now he was sitting naked on the edge of the cold tub with a boner.

Lame. That’s what this was. And honestly, he was pretty damn sure he would have just ignored her protestations and jumped in anyway with any other woman because they had already had sex. That entitled him to shower sharing. But for whatever stupid reason he just perched like a naked bird feeling bitter while his arm went numb from hanging there in the cuffs.

“Finished. May I have a towel?” She popped her head out from behind the curtain.

Damn it, she was beautiful. It was making him grouchy. But he stood up without hesitation and grabbed her a towel. “Need help drying off?”

“No, thank you.”

Of course she didn’t. Because that would be fun for him. “I’m coming in,” he told her, the dried blood on his shoulder and neck starting to pull at his skin. He was just about out of patience.

But she was quick, emerging from the shower wrapped in the towel. “It’s all yours.”

They traded positions, and she managed to avoid any contact with him whatsoever in the transition.

Funny how when he was the one standing in there, his arm was still stretched to capacity and he was hunched over. She had half of his arm out of the shower as she toweled her hair dry, while he felt like a chimpanzee trying to learn to use tools. He was all bent over and bouncing around on the balls of his feet trying to get some shampoo onto his head one-handed.

What the fuck.

Her French pussy had clearly whipped him.

Because he wasn’t complaining. He was just one-handed washing while his arm went completely numb and water slapped him in the face.

Lizette didn’t offer to dry him off. Not that he expected her to, but it would have been a nice gesture.

“Our clothes are in the kitchen,” she told him, still burrito-wrapped in her towel, her damp hair falling over her shoulders in waves.