OmegaMine (7 page)

Although she knew he could smell her desire, Diskant didn’t
say a word, behaving like an utter gentleman and leaving the kitchen to
retrieve the wine as promised. She watched as his body rippled beneath his
tight black turtleneck, the muscles in his shoulders contorting and stretching
as walked from the room and vanished past the entranceway.

She sagged onto the counter and laid her head on her folded
arms, forcing herself to breathe through her nose rather than pant like a bitch
in heat. The fragrant aroma of chicken parmesan would have beckoned if her body
weren’t so damn hot and achy. Once upon a time she’d yearned for this kind of
sexual tension. However, back then the man she’d wanted it from hadn’t
frightened her or made her entire body burn. Whereas Martin had been quiet,
intellectual and nonthreatening, Diskant was brash, masculine and powerful.
They were polar opposites and, for a split second, she wondered how in the holy
hell she’d ever been attracted to her one-time fiancé in the first place.

While mentally stimulating, Martin had never been able to
satisfy her sexually. The more she’d tried to initiate play in the bedroom, the
more he’d rebelled against the notion. He was a missionary man through and
through, which was why she’d finally ended their engagement altogether. Being
in control of her life, her brother’s screw-ups, and dealing with the
increasing annoyances of the Villati drained her. She needed one place she
could relinquish the weight of responsibility, allowing her to simply
be
for a while.

Diskant would give her that. There was no way he would allow
her to boss him around or dictate how they wrangled sexually in the bedroom.
What would it be like to have him tell her what to do? To grant him the
authority to take his pleasure as he pleased and, in turn, nourish her own? As
a shifter, he would be disease free and safe. What would it be like to have a
night of sex without any worries or repercussions?

Her already drenched panties got another thorough dousing at
the prospect.

Damn, damn, damn!

Stop it already and pull it together. Focus on the food,
the room, the atmosphere. Think about anything but Diskant’s body, mouth and
the impressive size of his cock…

“Just wonderful,” she muttered. “I’m officially on the
ballot for slut of the year.”

She ripped the Styrofoam containers from the paper bag in
careless jerks and tugs. Diskant would be back at any moment and at this rate
she wouldn’t have to beg him to do squat. His impeccable sense of smell would
tell him all he needed to know the minute he took a seat at the table, poured
the wine and smelled the air.

By the time he returned she’d managed to calm down, place
the now-prepared dishes on the table and take her own seat. She intentionally
put as much space between them as possible, situating her plate on the other
side of the circular table. Sometimes the only thing a woman could do was play
defense and hope for the best. If he sat next to her she’d be too tempted to
hop up on the wooden surface, drop trou and ask him if he wanted dessert before
his meal.

A dark brow arched over one of his luminous gold eyes and
she knew he’d picked up on her childish scheme. Instead of voicing disapproval,
he placed the wine on the table, retrieved his plate and plopped it down on the
empty space beside her. Then he snatched the bottle, walked to the ivory
counter that ran along the side of the wall and opened a drawer.

“I scent your arousal, which tells me you’re as attracted to
me as you’re supposed to be, but I also scent your fear,” he said as he
retrieved a bottle opener. “Do you mind telling me what has you rattled?”

Shit
.

He would know if she lied. Shifters always seemed to know
when she fibbed at the bar.

Fidgeting, she decided to go for broke and tell him the
truth. “One of the patrons at the club went into the women’s restroom with a
shifter a few months ago. She almost bled out in the sink after he ripped open
her jugular while he fucked her from behind. Since I’m being wined and dined by
someone just like him, and I think we’re both well aware of where this is
headed, I’m understandably concerned.”

He stilled, broad shoulders going taut as he absorbed and
contemplated. “This happened five months back?” He didn’t turn to face her when
he opened the bottle and returned the opener to the drawer.

“Yes.”

“Did you witness this yourself or hear about it?”

“I heard about it. By that time security had the bathroom
blocked off, no one could get inside. But I saw the mess that was left behind.
There was blood all over the place.”

“And the person who found them inside the bathroom and came
screaming for help, was she a shifter?”

Frowning at the odd question, she thought about it for a
moment before she answered, “No.”

“Then how do you know the woman in the bathroom wasn’t a
shifter?”

“Because we all saw her when she exited the bathroom.”

He turned and leaned against the counter, glasses in one
hand and wine bottle in the other. “And?”

“And she looked like a corpse and was obviously in shock.”

“Shifters will display the same symptoms after a large blood
loss.”

“She wasn’t a shifter.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because, Mr. Can’t Be Wrong, her mind was—” She snapped her
mouth closed and cursed her short temper.

Oh crap
.

She was revealing things she’d sworn not to without a second
thought. If she didn’t watch it, he would know anything and everything about
her.

He moved away from the counter and prowled across the distance,
each step accentuating the long, sinewy lines of his thighs. As her gaze
drifted up, she encountered the outline of his cock and testicles through the
black leather, the bulge prominent and shifting to the right. Lust surged
through her blood at the sight, causing her entire body to heat from the
inside, and a deep craving and intense desire worked their way through the
remaining erogenous zones of her body.

“Her mind was what?”

The absolute domination and control he exuded was compacted
into those five short words. It was as if she knew better than to answer but
couldn’t seem to find a way not to. The cadence of his speech, the alluring dip
in that baritone tenor, encouraged her to jump haphazardly into the sky and
trust in his ability and readiness to catch her.

“Her mind was a mess.”

He hesitated. “You could hear her thoughts?”

Don’t tell him, don’t tell him, don’t tell him…

“Yes.”

“You’re telepathic, Ava mine?”

She closed her eyes as the endearment sent unexpected
ripples of fire scorching through the nerve endings beneath the surface of her
skin.

“Yes.”

“Can you read my mind?”

She shook her head nervously and whispered, “No.”

“Good girl,” he purred in approval, as if he sensed her
desire to please, and she felt her insides wilt and curve.

A simple form of praise and she was reduced to putty and a
mash of quivering parts. She wanted him to tell her how proud he was of her, to
hear the adoration in his voice as he rewarded her with nothing more than
verbal accolades. If he spoke to her like this during sex, she’d do anything he
told her to.

Anything at all.

God, if he didn’t get her blood pumping. Her clit felt as if
it were being chafed by her lace panties, the swollen nub throbbing
relentlessly against the agonizingly stiff material. She considered shifting in
her seat but worried a new angle might make things worse. She had never wanted
to climax so badly—her entire body was keyed up and ready to go over—and
couldn’t decide if achieving orgasm by excitement alone would be exhilarating
or mortifying.

Mortifying, most definitely,
she concluded dismally.
It might feel like heaven as she came but when all the wondrous sensations
disappeared she’d be left gasping for air and facing one horny shifter.

Resigned to her sexed state, she tried to refrain from squirming
like a fish on a hook.

After placing the glasses between them, Diskant poured the
wine and took a seat. He kept a respectable distance, but distance was the last
thing she wanted. Her body was shaking, her skin was flushed and the dampness
between her legs was becoming ridiculous. The room was stifling too, the air so
thick it was impossible to breathe.

Was it possible to suffocate on sex?

Damn, was that a hot flash
?

The questions swarming through her mind stopped without
preamble when he started eating. She sat in silence, confused by this strange
yearning within, and watched as he cut strips of steak before he brought a
piece to his mouth. His tongue darted out, lush upper and lower lips parting
and then closing oh so slowly over the four-pronged fork. Millimeter by
millimeter, she watched the lucky-ass piece of metal as it exited the confines
of his mouth.

Expertly, he cut another piece, only this time he guided the
fork and a small portion of the still-red meat toward her. Her focus shifted
from the fork, locking on to pools of shimmering gold. Her breath lodged in her
throat, sexual hunger simmering within her stomach, causing the walls of her
womb to spasm.

“Open.”

A fresh gush of wetness soaked her underwear at his order
and she did as instructed, opening wide and accepting the steak. He removed the
fork from her lips just as slowly as he had from his own, and as he did she
tried to taste not only the steak but the essence that remained from his mouth.
As she chewed he studied her, watching as she slowly worked the tender meat
between her teeth. When she swallowed, he already had another piece waiting,
and she accepted it before he asked her to.

“I want you to listen to me as you eat,” he said, taking the
fork away.

Collecting another sliver of the steak from the plate, he
looked at her before lifting the fork to her lips. She nodded and took the
small morsel, taking her time and savoring the rich seasonings that burst on
her tongue, the succulent flavors exploding in her mouth. Chavez was one of the
most sought-after chefs in the city, and there was a damn good reason for it.

“I wasn’t there the night that you’re speaking of, but I
know everything that happened. The girl you saw at the club was indeed human.
Her name is Katie, and she only just bloodbonded to her mate. That would be
Zack, the male you saw carrying her from the bathroom.” He fed her another
piece before he continued, “What the woman who barged into the bathroom failed
to tell everyone is that she believed she walked in on a girl being raped
against a sink. I suppose it’s understandable, as Zach had Katie pinned at the
time and she was screaming.”

“That doesn’t explain anything. This wasn’t about rough or
kinky sex. He nearly ripped her throat out.”

Diskant narrowed his eyes in a clear command to remain
silent. “When the woman decided to play would-be rescuer and hit Zack in the
head with her purse his teeth tore through the artery in Katie’s neck. The
little screecher ran for help while Zack staunched the flow and sealed the
wound. By the time Brett arrived everything was under control.”

“But he bit her—”

“We would never hurt our mates,” he interrupted. “The reason
Katie was so ‘messed up’ is because she feared the repercussions of her
actions. The bloodbonding ramped her libido and she took a stupid risk by
begging Zack to fuck her in a public restroom. She knows the danger that exists
if humans become aware of us and she worried about the punishment Zack would
receive for what she’d done.”

“After what she’d done?” she snapped. “He was the one who
ripped into her throat.”

She expected another look ordering her to zip her lips and
listen but saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“During sex, it’s not uncommon for things to get rough. We
are known to bite from time to time and enjoy a bit of pain with our pleasure.
But Zack never would have harmed Katie. Not intentionally. As for what she did,
it’s rare that we punish a mated female. When the shit hits the fan the male is
usually held responsible. Ultimately, it’s his job to keep his better half in
line.”

“What?” Offended by the implication, she swatted at the
oncoming fork with the pads of her fingers. “Keep them in line? Are you
serious?”

“Not entirely.” He grinned mischievously. “But mostly, yes.”

“And this bloodbonding thing? What is that?”

All pretense of playfulness evaporated.

He turned from her, put the fork down and stared at the
plate in front of him for several agonizing seconds. After a moment he reached
for her untouched glass of wine and handed it over.

“Drink this.”

“I don’t—”

“Trust me. I don’t want you inebriated, but you’ll want to
take the edge off.”

Reluctantly, she accepted the glass, grazing his oven-warm
fingers in the process. She wanted the caress to linger but he moved away
before she could bask in the warmth.

“Do you know how vampires are made?”

She couldn’t mask a snide grin at his question. Who did he
think he was talking to? She was born and raised on eighties cult classics that
told you everything you needed to know about the supernatural. The Villati
acted all big and bad but from what she’d seen movies were spot-on when it came
to the ways to create and destroy the creatures of the night.
The Monster
Squad
wasn’t only a must-have on the DVD shelf, it was also the most
valuable weapon a person could have in their ass-kicking arsenal.

“They bite you and drain your blood. Then they force you to
drink their blood. It’s some weird vampire blood transfusion via the mouth kind
of thing.”

“A bite is what it takes,” he corrected, suddenly
canary-yellow irises shining brightly.

Her triumphant smile waned. “What?”