He’d studied sex. He’d had centuries to research the subject, every possible position and way to pleasure a partner or have her pleasure him. He’d gotten into the mind of men and women just to experience the sensation, but over the centuries, he’d forgotten the memory of the actual feeling. Now he knew this was a thousand times more potent. Already his balls were drawing up tight, his seed boiling and ready to erupt like the most violent of volcanoes. He loved what she was doing, but he wanted to be inside of her.
“Enough,” he said softly. “Crawl up my body. I want you right now.”
He watched her eyes as he gave the order. The softness there. The way she reluctantly slid her mouth one more time over him, taking him deep, holding him there while her tongue did amazing things to him, and then slid back off. She kissed the broad head and slowly crawled up his body, a sensual, sinful creature, craving, hungering just as deeply for him as he did for her.
He caught her hips and lifted them. “Fist my cock.”
She obeyed him, just as he knew she would. She liked pleasing him, and she wanted him in her as much as he wanted to be there. Slowly, he slid her body down over his, so that he filled her sheath. She was so tight. So hot. Going slow was an exquisite torture because her inner muscles gave way reluctantly to his invasion, making him feel as if he might not actually make it inside her.
All the while he watched her face, needing to see her expression. The absolute pleasure, the curve of her mouth, the way the tip of her tongue teased at her lower lip. Her breasts swayed, drawing his attention, and all at once, along with the craving for a slow burn, he wanted her blood. He needed it.
“Ride me slow, Charlotte. Move up and down like you were on a carousel horse. Slowly. Very slowly.”
He caught a handful of her hair and drew her down toward him. His mouth settled on her breast, suckling hard, teeth and mouth leaving marks. His marks. His brand. She did as he ordered, lifting her body to the very head of his cock and then slowly beginning the descent. Each time she did it, he felt that same exquisite torture of tightness, her silky sheath strangling him, the friction incredible.
His mouth wandered back up to the swell of her breast and he kissed along that tempting curve. Very deliberately, his eyes holding hers, he let his teeth lengthen and opened his mouth, just enough to reveal the twin, sharp daggers. He bit down hard and she climaxed, her body instantly clamping down on his, milking him with such strength there was no resisting her.
He took her blood, using the rhythm of the pulsing of their bodies while she cradled his head to her. Over and over, their orgasms raged, refusing to let up while he took her blood for the second exchange. It was hot. It was sexy. It was the most sinful, wonderful, perfect moment he had experienced.
When he finally forced himself to stop, she slumped down over him, her body still rippling around his. The strong quakes began to ease and he soothed her with his hands, stroking her back and her firm bottom. Holding her in his arms. Murmuring to her in his language. Exhausted, she fell asleep on him, just like that, his cock still buried deep, her legs straddling his hips, and her head on his shoulder. He loved that just as much.
6
Charlotte opened her eyes reluctantly. The bed was moving just enough to make her a little anxious. This was California and there were earthquakes. She turned her head to find Lourdes pushing back the covers and tugging on her arm.
“Auntie, I have to go to the bathroom.”
Charlotte groaned. Lourdes was very self-sufficient when it came to the bathroom. She went all by herself until it came to the wiping part. She needed a little help with that and washing her hands. “All right, honey. Give me a minute.” Usually, there wasn’t a minute to be had, but she needed to orient herself.
Before anything else, she did the most important thing. She grabbed Lourdes, swung her back down and pressed kisses all over her face. Lourdes hadn’t even protested waking up in a new environment – a testimony to how many times they’d moved to stay ahead of danger.
Lourdes wrapped her arms around Charlotte’s neck and kissed her back, making growling noises and acting menacing. “I’m going to eat your face, Auntie. I’m a snow monster.” She proceeded to kiss Charlotte all over her chin and eyes and cheeks until both of them were laughing. Lourdes pulled away first to jump on the bed, clearly wanting her aunt to move.
Forcing herself into a sitting position, Charlotte groaned again as her body protested the slightest movement. She looked around the room. It was large, with a wide bed, a dresser and an armoire rather than a closet. Heavy drapes at the window blocked any semblance of daylight. Someone had thoughtfully put in a night-light for Lourdes and it hadn’t been her. She hadn’t thought of anything but going to bed…
Her eyes went wide and she threw back the covers and looked down at herself. Thankfully she was fully clothed. Well, they weren’t her clothes, but she was dressed in a long white Victorian-type nightgown. It was beautiful and looked hand stitched. Thank God, her dream was just that, a dream. She’d never had a dream so detailed. Or sexual. Or graphic.
“Auntie,” Lourdes insisted. “Hurry.”
That meant they had to move. Charlotte didn’t know where the bathroom was, but she was fairly certain Lourdes wouldn’t have been put in the bedroom if it hadn’t been close to a bathroom. She stood up and felt soreness in muscles she hadn’t known existed. Too much soreness. Real. Every step she took there was a stretch and burn deep inside. Along her thighs. Her breasts were a little sore.
Charlotte pulled open the door, took Lourdes’s hand and walked down the hall to the nearest room. Pushing open the door, she was relieved to find a good-sized bathroom with golden faucets and a deep claw-foot tub. Lourdes raced across the tiled floor to hop on the toilet while Charlie forced each foot forward, a woman going to the gallows, until she stood in front of the ornate gold-framed full-length mirror and stared at herself.
To her absolute horror, there were three rather large strawberries, one on each side of her neck and one low at the base of her throat. She closed her eyes briefly on a groan of despair. She looked like a teenager. She had circles under her eyes, but her skin was glowing. Her hair, always thick, looked shiny and, even to her, beautiful, with waves that fell down her back. She was acutely aware of smells. The scent of roses permeated the room, and she turned away from the mirror to find the source. On the long sink was a dish with beads in it and the scent was coming from there. The dish was hand painted and looked like an antique.