Hunger Aroused (9 page)

“Come into my service, and I promise you a life you have never imagined.”

He didn't bother to get his hopes up. “My life is forfeit. There isn't anything you can offer my dominus to change his mind.”

“Do not be so sure.” His steps were slow and confident. He made his way around Titus without physically touching him as he feared, but he could feel the weight of his gaze on his backside. Relief filled him when the man walked into his sightline again. Damn the chains for leaving him so exposed.

“If you have me freed, what would you want from me in return?” Titus hissed as the man made a single step forward and cupped his cock in his hand. He tried to jerk himself free, but the man kept a firm grip on his member.

To his horror, the man began to stroke on his length. And true to form, his cock stirred to life.

“I am no boy lover,” Titus barked.

The man stroked faster, his touch as sensual as a woman's. Titus gritted his teeth, holding his hips still against the pleasure. His mouth went dry, and he swore he'd bite his tongue in half before allowing a moan to break past his lips. By the time he was fully erect, his testicles heavy and aching, sweat peppered his brow and he tasted blood.

The man bent over him and licked a pebbled nipple before gazing into his face again. Titus's heart plummeted when the man said, “Fortunately for you, I am.”

Corin's thrashing yanked Jasmine right out of sleep. It took precious seconds for her to reorient herself to the strange surroundings, to the feel of a warm body against her back. Moonlight spilled into the room through an open window, providing just enough light to see.

Their fingers were threaded like lovers—only she remembered now that as intimate as they'd been,
lovers
wasn't quite the word that fit.

She twisted to look at Corin. He didn't awaken despite her movement, and that made her eyebrows furrow. His eyelids fluttered, his jaw audibly grinding as something in his sleep distressed him. When he groaned, a long mournful sound, his fingers tightened around hers.

“Corin?” she whispered. Something told her that if she pulled him out of his dream too quickly, there'd be hell to pay. She repeated his name a little louder when he flung his head back, missing the headboard by a scant inch. “Corin!”

His eyelids flew open, his gaze unseeing as his lip curled back, baring awesome incisors at her. He growled low as he stared, causing the hair to rise on the back of her arms. Jasmine dared to use her tongue to moisten her lips, and he tracked the motion. “You awake, sleepy head?” she asked slowly.

Her heart skipped a few beats, but she didn't risk pulling away from him or showing any sign of fear. He struggled to come fully alert, and his initial confusion seemed wrong somehow. As if he otherwise awoke clear-headed and ready to face the day. What she saw now was the final grasp of sleep holding on to him, struggling to keep him caught between the place of subconciousness and awareness.

When at last his lip lowered, she saw the recognition come into his softened gaze.

“Nightmare?”

He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “Memories.”

“They must have been something else.”

“It doesn't matter. That time is past.”

“Your breathing—”

“Vampires don't need to breathe. It's habit from my old life.”

“But are you okay?”

“Did I talk in my sleep?”

“No. You just—”

“Good. Then I'm not as thoughtless as others.” He stifled a yawn.

“Hey wait—what is that supposed to mean?” Jasmine shoved his shoulder.

“Don't blame me if you talk in your sleep.”

“I do not!”

“If you say so.” His skeptical tone implied otherwise.

“Bite me.”

He laughed then, a deep, dark chuckle that made her stomach flutter. How could a single sound be so incredibly sexy? Perhaps going back to the original problem at hand was in order. “So the memories were bad?”

“Perhaps.”

“Arrogant butthead. You're so close-lipped.”

He wasn't paying attention, instead studying the outline of her breast. When his gaze moved lower, almost palpable enough to pry her legs apart, a flush crept over her skin. “How's your heat?” he murmured before dropping a kiss on her shoulder.

She snorted in startled laughter. “I don't think it's
my
heat we have to worry about here.”

“Are you sure?” He nuzzled her neck, his lips sweeping against her skin. Each caress resulted in her nipples hardening. “My gods, Jasmine, I would take you again if we had the time.”

“What's the hurry?” She kept her voice husky.

“Don't tempt me, woman.” His erection thumped against her thigh.

“I'd say it's too late for mere temptation.”

Corin blew out a breath. “If you'll be okay for a little while, we really do have to go. There are questions I need answers to.”

Questions about her, she assumed. A clear image formed in her mind that in two days this would all end. The reality of it slapped her, a painful blow and reminder that despite all outward appearances, she lived in a nightmare.

Disheartened, she wondered what he could possibly need to know now. Instead of asking though, Jasmine scooted herself to the edge of the bed and sat up. She wanted to talk to him, to find out more—if maybe he'd had a change of heart—but knew better. If he would give up the rest of the night of extraordinary sex in order to tend to “business,” she was certain of his determination to complete his task.

Her stomach now burned as if she'd swallowed a bottle of battery acid. “I need a shower, unless you want me walking around smelling like Eau de Corin,” she replied bitterly.

“Jas?”

She couldn't look at him. Refused to.

They shared only sex. Mind-blowing, toe-curling, deity-calling sex, but at the end of the day, that's all it was. More of that fucking physiology Corin had told her about from the very first time. An orgasm or five wasn't enough to make her forget he promised to kill her. If he'd just give her some sign he'd changed his mind…

“That's the bathroom there, right?” She vaulted herself off the bed and strode toward it. “Do you mind?”

“Spare towels are in the closet.” His voice had returned to the emotionless timbre of their early hours together. She realized there had been a spark in his tone until now, starting sometime around when he'd promised to spank her. They'd moved from wary strangers to intimates in those hours. From stiff conversation to relaxed almost-friends.

But for every step forward they traveled together, they'd ultimately taken two steps back. And now having been intimate with him, accepting him inside her as her lover, those two steps back were worse. So much worse.

It didn't take long to gather the necessary supplies in the small room, tidy like every place else in the house. She used the time to keep her mind moving, recalling lines of poems once committed to memory in her high-school years. When she failed there, she started next with lyrics to songs from her youth. Anything to stop thinking about the man in the next room. The one who helped her through one of her most trying days. The one in whom she'd started to place her trust.

The light in there illuminated the stark white walls of the bathroom, and the stunning white tiles of the floor reflected it with a fine sheen. Unadorned, utilitarian white towels hung from the rods, and similar laundry filled the ordered closet in neat stacks. When she walked to the tub and pulled back the simple plastic curtain, she was certain she'd find…yep, a plain old bar of Ivory soap sitting on the stand. The apple-and-cinnamon scent he managed to conjure was uniquely Corin.

She stepped under the warm spray of the shower a few minutes after turning it on, luxuriating in the feel against her skin. The water massaged her scalp, sliding down her body to the tiled floor below. If it were physically possible, she would have wrapped her arms around the falling spray and embrace a hug she so desperately needed right now.

The shower curtain moved, and a slight draft of air-conditioned air wafted into the tiled stall. It was soon replaced by the very male presence of Corin as he stepped inside. For some reason, she expected him to fondle her breasts or slide his hand between her thighs, but he kept his distance. Shyly, she ran the soap over her body, following behind it with the washcloth to wipe away the excess. When she'd almost finished, he reached past her to remove the bar of soap she'd replaced. Still unwilling to look at him, she made a move to exit. His hand shot out, blocking her retreat.

“Wait,” he said gruffly.

Jasmine turned, about to tell him off. She was so sick of this game of waiting he put her through. Sure, the sex was intense. Beyond amazing. But if he kept touching her, she feared what might happen. Tugs on heartstrings that hadn't been moved in so long would become addictive. Kisses that blazed with fiery abandon would become as necessary as air. She could not—would not—allow that to happen.

“Would you get my back, please?” he asked. There was a strange quality to his voice that she couldn't place.

Without thinking, she replied, “Sure.” Unsteady hands took the soap from him. She had to take a deep breath before tackling the task, a word of thanks whisking through her mind that he faced away from her as she worked.

This was the problem with their time together. She acted without thinking, without bothering to consider the consequences. Bathing together, washing his back, rivaled kissing in its simple intimacy. So used to him now, she just
did.
If she had any sense at all, she'd think first. Perhaps weigh whether or not she wanted to live with the consequences of her actions. When had she stopped being the rational, hard-nosed nurse who brooked no foolishness?

Probably sometime around the time she'd let Corin touch her sexually.

He drew in a deep breath, bringing her out of reverie. “I've been here once before, Jasmine. This situation…what's happening will not end well for either of us.”

She wanted to turn him around and make him face her, but on the other hand, not having to stare into his soulful eyes bolstered her courage. “It's already going to end shitty for me. How much worse can it get?”

“You have no idea,
mellita.
”

“No, I don't. And you won't tell me. You don't talk to me.” Everything between them was fast and furious. No talk. All action. “The only thing we ever do is touch and kiss and…”
Love.
“Fuck.”

This time he turned, fury spelled on his face. “Do you really not understand the dynamics of this so-called
relationship?
That I have a duty to end your life soon? For gods' sakes, I don't even know your last name, and you know why? Because it will be harder in the end. When it's time to…I can't get close to you, Jasmine.”

“It's George,” she spat. “Jasmine George. I'm thirty years old and a nurse. I have almost seven-thousand dollars in savings and nothing to spend it on. I have no family and no real friends. I'm too much of a loner to even bother to get laid every once in a while. There. How's that for your conscience? Stop telling me about what you can and can't do because you have every intention of killing me. Don't act as if what you're going to do is something that's slipped my mind.”

Despite the warm water still cascading around them, she shivered. He looked so forlorn, anger and helplessness etched into his fine features, Jasmine caressed his face with her hand. “I can't forget.”

“I won't make you a promise I can't keep,” he said, the biting edge to his voice gone. When he pulled her against his chest, she went willingly, all fight gone from her tired body. “But I swear to you, Jasmine, I'm working on it. Give me a chance to right this, because I am working on it.”

***

Jasmine would have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire. How absolutely clichéd that Corin took them to a vampire club in the middle of the night. He'd chosen to leave behind the duster and the stakes, she noted, to don more contemporary attire. His clothes hugged him perfectly, and once again she was struck by his beauty.

They descended stairs set in between two restaurants to eventually approach a simple black door. Outside of it, an elegantly dressed woman wearing a modest red dress and stylish silver stilettos waited behind a podium. She looked nonthreatening and perhaps even out of place with her straight brown hair and small dark eyes. As they approached, however, Jasmine had the unwavering thought that she was a vampire and could, without a doubt, handle herself against any dangers, imagined or real. Corin didn't attempt to hide the fifty he held out as they walked past. No words were exchanged and the woman took it, barely glancing up from her clipboard.

They entered the establishment and walked past a heavyset bald man standing vigil on the inside of the dark hallway, just inside the black door. Reinforcement for anything that might have gone down outside, she supposed. He too ignored Corin, but her lover chose that moment to put a possessive hand against the small of her back. His connection smoothed over nerves starting to hum in distress. He pulled her closer to his body, and his scent calmed her mind.

The soft sounds of jazz, music after her own heart, drifted toward them, and whatever tension might have remained vanished. Once again, all preconceived notions about vampires and their lifestyles had been proven false. As they entered an area of tall cocktail tables surrounded by two or four chairs, she had the insane thought she'd be sure to come back to this place. Although teeming with patrons, the atmosphere was relaxed.

Corin put his head next to hers and spoke quietly. “I need you to listen to me on this. Don't talk to anyone. Don't say anything. This world is not like yours.”

His command infuriated her, but she held her tongue. She had to trust him. Instead, she set her jaw and nodded.

“Thank you,” he replied before brushing a kiss on her temple.

“Titus Corinius, it has been entirely too long.”

Jasmine turned with Corin—Titus?—to find the gorgeous black man speaking to Corin. He stood behind the bar, his gaze fixed in adoration. He wore a white dress shirt and a simple electric-blue silk tie. Small diamond studs in his ears rivaled his stunning white smile. His soft British accent just about made Jasmine melt.

“Gregory.” Corin tensed beside her, despite his level reply. “Is he in?”

Gregory's expression dropped. “Yes. I'm sure once he realizes you're here, he'll be over.” His gaze swiveled to meet Jasmine's. “Who is your lovely companion here?”

She felt anything other than “lovely” wearing one of Corin's shirts, her worn-in jeans and sneakers. Still, she appreciated the compliment. “Hello—”

Corin's grip on her waist tightened.
Crap.
Already she'd screwed that up. “Jasmine, this is Gregory.”

“Jasmine. What a beautiful name.” Seriously, if she could get Corin to pick up an accent like his, he'd never get rid of her. “May I offer you something to drink?”

She hesitated, looking to Corin for guidance. “No,” he said, after studying Gregory's smile for a few seconds. “Thank you.”

She'd pay good money to find out the history between these two. Gregory was obviously smitten, but Corin's curt replies and body language proclaimed his polite detachment.