Immortal Desire (7 page)

Arms around his waist, she rested her head against his chest. “Give me a second.”

He wrapped her in his embrace with a tentativeness that translated through unsure hands, trembling touches and an overwhelming sense of trepidation.

“I won’t bite.”

“You sure about that?” His voice rumbled beneath her ear.

She nodded, cheek to smooth chest.

They held each other so carefully, their silence acknowledging that whatever had passed between them was as fragile as spun sugar. Time moved around them like the rush and retreat of the ocean to the shore—unyielding when facing the magnitude that came with self-realization.

Pain drove into Bailey’s pelvis with extreme prejudice, ripping her out of Griff’s hold. Mouth gaping as she fought for air, she clutched her belly. A second assault doubled her over.

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders. “Bailey?”

She couldn’t manage more than a single shake of her head. Her vision wavered. It hadn’t ever hurt this bad. Surviving the Change would be impossible if this got much worse. She couldn’t take much more. A tear rolled down her nose. Hung there. Seeing it fail to hold on and fall felt so permanent. She closed her eyes.

“Time to feed, sweetheart.” Capable arms scooped her up.

Cold air whispered over her skin. Goose bumps rose. “I don’t know how.”

“Trust me.”

Could she bridge the last of the distance that existed between self-preservation and true trust? The answer she needed didn’t present itself before the next influx of pain.

Silky sheets scraped over-stimulated skin as he settled her on his bed. She rolled onto her side as she writhed, driven half by insanity and half by clear choice. The affirmation the external pain afforded meant she was alive.

“You ready to give this a try?”

“Please.” The breathy answer hardly passed through her lips before Griff slid in behind her.

He nudged her top leg forward, curling his hand under her knee and lifting. The blunt head of his cock stroked the swollen seam of her sex.

She groaned and tried to push down.

“Uh-uh. Let go. Feel. Trust me.” Hooking her leg over his hips, he rocked forward at the same time he stroked two fingers down either side of her clit.

“Please.”
Had she spoken aloud
,
or was it all in her head?
The width of his thick erection stretching her walls was absolute agony. She wanted it fast and hard. Craved near violence. Release had to happen. Soon. No doubt her mind was fracturing under pain’s relentless onslaught. This position didn’t give her the freedom to move, though. She had to rely on Griff to give her what she needed. “Bastard.”

He fed his length into her with studied control until the very end. Then he thrust forward, hard. “You undo me.” Pulling out, he eased back in, repeating the motion again and again until her walls relaxed. The rhythm he set began with long, slow strokes that fanned the flames of her hunger like well-placed bellows. He pulled his fingers away from her clit. Dug fingers into her thigh. Lifting her leg higher limited her movement even more.

She was at his mercy. Forced to cede control. The idea caused her heart to skip a thunderous beat.
Cede control.
The idea of being so bare to him terrified her. A lifetime spent fighting to survive had taught her to hide, maintain control. And above all? Trust no one.

“Stop...thinking,” he grunted. A hard thrust ground their pelvis bones together and wiped her mind clear of anything but the now. “That’s my girl.”

The luscious tightening of her sheath said she’d find release.

Griff hooked his arm under her leg and reached for her wrist. His grip gave him more leverage.

She arched her back to give him better access.

He pounded into her, unleashing the violence she craved.

Then her heart skipped another beat. Eyes unnaturally heavy, she forced them open and tried to focus. The sounds of sex become as one-dimensional as her sight. She tried to draw a deep breath but only managed a short, hard gasp. The orgasm that had been imminent rolled over her, soft and soothing. Her body tightened around Griff’s cock. Her womb pulsed. His shout resonated against her back. The normally hard pulse of his orgasm didn’t register. She tried to smell Griff’s arousal.
Nothing.

Her heart skipped twice.
Boom.
Skipped three times.
Boom.
She never would have imagined an absent heartbeat would be so loud.

Drifting, Bailey realized she didn’t hurt. Had she fed? Somehow she didn’t think so. This felt much bigger than anything she’d ever experienced before. She closed her eyes.

When her breath shuddered out and she didn’t feel the need to draw another, she knew.

She knew.

Chapter Eight

Griff’s arms tightened around Bailey when she went boneless against him. It wasn’t lost on him that he was walking the very fine line of letting this get too personal. He rested his forehead against her neck. Breaking things off wouldn’t be easy, but “The Talk” probably needed to happen now, before either of them went too far down this road. Emotional complications aside, they couldn’t feed from one another every night without destroying both themselves and each other.

He absently pressed his lips to her shoulder, jerking back when he realized what he’d done. Maybe somebody needed to have “The Talk” with
him.
What a joke.
He untangled himself before rolling onto his back. If he gave her his whole spiel now it might stop her from feeding. Not happening.
Though it was possible she already had.
One way to find out. He rested a hand on her hip and gave a gentle shake. “Did you feed?”

No answer.

He shook her harder. “Bailey?”

Nothing.

Had she passed out?
Griff rose on his elbow and leaned forward. Her eyes were closed, long lashes brushing her skin.

“Angels’ kisses,” he whispered.

The way her lips were parted gave her a lush, well-loved look. Except...

His brows winged down. The slight blue tinge around her mouth rocketed his heart into his throat. “Bailey!” He scrambled to his knees and rolled her over with jerky motions.

Her limbs moved with a fluid otherworldliness.

“No. No, no, no.” Hauling her into his arms, he laid her out on the floor and reached for the phone. “She’s coded,” he shouted when Seth answered. “Help me.” He tossed the receiver. “Think.” But he couldn’t. Panic flooded his mind with infinite, fast-moving snapshots of her over the past three years—the kid she’d been when she applied, the woman she’d become, the stubborn jut of her chin when angered, the sultry way she moved, her lopsided smile, the way she’d looked at him in the shower. Thousands of things he might have said choked him. “Don’t you fucking die.” The hoarse command was the best he could do.

Seth materialized at Griff’s side. “How long?”

“A couple minutes at the most.”

“Shit.” He tossed the bag away. “Compressions or breaths?”

Griff just looked at him.

“Compression or breaths!”

“Breaths.”

“Then do it.”

Griff tilted her head back and hesitated.

“Do it,” Seth snarled.

The cold from her lips was a shock. A riot of emotion threatened to drown Griff as he tilted her head back and checked her airway. Sealed his mouth over hers. Pinched her nose and exhaled. He counted the rise and fall of each breath by rote. Then he broke away and hovered, ready to begin again.

Seth took up swift chest compressions.

Air brushed Griff’s lips, a result of Seth’s efforts. Nothing more. His fingers drifted down her throat to rest over her carotid artery. Each compression resulted in a faint bump against his fingertips. He closed his eyes. This wasn’t happening. Not really. Couldn’t be.

“Get ready to breathe,” Seth ordered. “Now.”

Griff silently willed everything he had into each exhale.
Come back to me.
Counting down to the last breath, he broke the connection.

Seth numbered every hand-to-heart compression he made. “Go.”

Again, Griff breathed. He stroked her pulse point and ignored the invisible vice tightening around his chest. It had been more than three minutes. They were running out of time.

A small, telltale beat thrummed beneath her skin, faint and sporadic but undeniably there.

Griff jerked back, eyes wide. “I’ve got a pulse.”

Seth’s shoulders sagged. “We need to get her to a hospital.”

“She’ll die.” He couldn’t look away from her.

“Man, she just di—”

“She hasn’t fed.”

Seth whistled low. “How long’s she got?”

“Not long.” Demons he knew he couldn’t quell lurked in his eyes. “Her best chance is here.”

“Do what you can, brother.” Seth stood, brushing at his pants. “Call me and, uh, let me know if...”

“Yeah.”

Seth disappeared. No theatrics, no flames, no Disney dance moves. Just a wisp of smoke where the genie had been standing.

Griff gathered Bailey in his arms, focused solely on the pulse that beat in her throat. He nearly dropped her when she spoke.

“Hey.” She looked up at him through slit lids, eyes not quite tracking.

“Hey, yourself,” he said on little more than a whisper.

She raised a shaky hand to her chest, her brow wrinkling. “I think I feel worse.”

“You should. Seth just spent the last few minutes coaxing your heart back online.” He looked away, jaw clenched.

“I died.” A statement, not a question.

Griff didn’t respond, instead settling her on the bed and kneeling at her side. He would have had better luck changing Earth’s polarity than preventing himself from running his hands over her.
Proof she’s right there.

Stretching out beside her, he rested a hand between her breasts and openly stared. Her heart beat slow and steady. Sentiment he’d learned to mercilessly suppress crept in. But here he laid, staring at the only woman ever to make him falter, hesitate, wonder. He closed his eyes on a heavy sigh. This had crossed the line into way too complicated.

The faint touch made his eyes flash wide.

Hand over his, Bailey watched him with the most curious expression. Then he recognized it. She was looking through the bullshit walls he put up and seeing
him.

The urge to hide, to cover himself, to make excuses for what she might see, made him crazed. He said the only thing he could think of in the face of that brutal awareness. “You’ll feed, Bailey. Understand me?” In direct opposition to his tone, Griff tenderly stroked her hair away from her forehead. “Understand?” While softer this time, the command was no less intense.

She nodded and opened her arms.

Drowning in a sea of long-forsaken sensations, he sank into her embrace.

* * *

Bailey languidly ran her hands over Griff’s body, shifting as he settled between her thighs. Warm sunlight tipped over the windowsills. She turned and watched as it spilled across the room, gilding the man in her arms.
Morning.
For better or worse, her Change was almost over.

Griff’s large hand turned her face back to his. “You look at me, Bailey. Only me.” She tried to rest her cheek in his palm, but he gently grasped her chin and forced her gaze back to his. “Only me. Understand?”

“Yeah.” It would cost her, though whether she would pay out in the currency of joy or tears wasn’t clear. It didn’t matter. The things that mattered most came with the highest costs and, consequently, the highest risks. This mattered most. “Love me, Griff.”

“I...” He looked away. “Find a way to let go, Bailey. If you don’t, I’m going to kill you.” He snorted, the look on his face nearly panicked. “Again.”

She pressed her fingers to his lips and shook her head. “If this doesn’t work—”

He jerked his chin away. “Don’t.” What should have been an authoritative command came out broken.

“Hey.” The first wave of nausea rolled through her. “I need you, Griff.”

“Yeah.” He shifted his gaze back to hers. “Stick with me.”

She reached between them, stroking his semi-hard erection with strong fingers. He gently rocked into her touch.

His eyes grew languid.

Sex hung heavy on the air.

Heavy and turgid, his cock kicked in her hand. She rubbed her thumb through the bead of moisture that slicked the broad head. Dragging her fingers down to the root, she reached low to cup his balls. They drew up tight at her caress. His abs clenched when she gripped his shaft again, thrilling her. Thick cords of muscle stood out in arms that trembled beneath her touch.

He looked down at her, eyes wide, pupils dilated. “I want you.”

Bailey leaned forward and gently took his nipple between her teeth, flicking her tongue over the hard point. His hiss of pleasure snaked around her.

Pain lanced through her middle. She fell back and fought not to fold in on herself. The empty ache in her womb burned. Her sex throbbed.

Griff kissed the tiny divot beneath her ear. “Let me in, Bailey.”

Her sob was saturated with everything she couldn’t say.
Take me.
Stop the pain.
Help me.
Don’t let me die.
Love me.

He answered wordlessly, guiding his thick erection to her opening.

She pushed her hips toward him as he worked his way in. Arousal spread from her center. Her nipples pearled. Sensual hunger masked the pain.

He bent low and bit the soft area between neck and shoulder.

Her throaty, wordless approval was interrupted by pain’s renewed assault.

Cupping the back of her head, he buried his face in her neck when she arched off the bed and cried out.

Agony.
This was what it felt like to be courted by Death.
She wanted Griff to push her, to break down the walls that held her back, force her to totally let go and give him all of her. Hell, she needed him to make this happen.

He undulated his hips in a way that started somewhere below the knees and ended around his shoulders.

She gasped and dug her nails into his back.

He did it again. Then he rose up and looked at her.

The unfiltered depth in his gaze drew her in, pulled her under, held her there until she couldn’t breathe.

Griff dipped his chin and looked away.

She cradled his face in her hands.

Slipping a hand between them, he stroked her clit with his thumb.

The heavy veil of pleasure didn’t lessen the sting of his withdrawal. “Griff.” Still cradling his face, she watched him. The way the light played across his body. His unrepentant joy in giving and receiving pleasure. How he closed his eyes to try and rein in the fundamental truths in his stare. That, no matter how hard he had tried to hide, she’d seen him.

Something huge rose in her.

Griff’s eyes widened.

A near-brutal storm of base desire crashed into them. He pounded into her, driving her into the mattress with every down stroke, slave to a sybaritic response neither of them could control.

She clung to him, met his every thrust with violence of her own. Her nails scored his arms.

He pulled out and flipped her over, hauling her hips off the bed before she could protest. “Let me hear you, baby.” Teeth sank into her shoulder when he covered her.

She shouted, rocked forward when he buried his cock to the hilt in one hard move. Heat roared through her, intense and primal. Her sheath clamped down on Griff’s cock as she charged toward release. All she could think was that she was going to come apart if she couldn’t find an anchor. She blindly reached for him.

He met her halfway, grasping her hand and twining their fingers together.

That simple connection blew the walls off whatever prison had trapped her instinct. It rushed out, seeking what she needed to survive. The impact with Griff’s essence was so violent it should have, in her estimation, set off regional seismographs.

His grip tightened with bone-crushing force. He faltered. Then he buried his shaft to the hilt and cried out.

She’d been on the cusp of coming apart at the seams. His orgasm sent her careening over the edge. It was what he’d shouted out that sent her heart into the most unbelievable free-fall, though.

Lost in the moment, Griff had called her name.