“Am I?” He braced his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back against the rumpled blankets. “Seems to me I’m plenty willing to follow through.”
“So the unresolved sexual tension is my fault?” Playing around felt good, almost as good as having him lean over her with the promise of such heat in his eyes.
“Or we’re just both responsible adults in the middle of a crisis.” His fingers trailed down her body, teasing at her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. “Mostly responsible, anyway.”
Cindy moaned, feeling less responsible by the second. She needed his hands on her bare skin, so she dragged the thin cotton up and over her head. The fabric had barely cleared her hands when he rewarded her, cupping her flesh with warm, work-roughened hands.
There was no stifling the cry that rose in her throat. She wanted him too much, and denial had driven her almost to the point of pain. “Don’t stop touching me this time. Please.”
“We don’t have time for me to take you like I want.” His voice was as harsh as his fingers were gentle, a delicious contrast. “But I’m not leaving this bed until I see you come.”
Cindy trapped his hands against her skin. “Don’t jinx us like that. We have time, plenty of it.”
“Shh.” He lifted his hands, moving hers easily enough. They ended up trapped against the bed as he leaned down and let his breath feather over one tight nipple. “Stop thinking so much.”
She strained toward his mouth, caught between another whimper and a laugh. “It’s what I do.”
“Not anymore,” he whispered, then closed his lips around her.
Everything in her zeroed in on that single touch, focused on the hot pull of his mouth and the way he slicked his tongue, rough and wet, over her nipple. She forgot to think, forgot everything except how to moan his name.
He groaned and lifted his head, eyes blazing. “My name sounds good on your lips.”
She yanked her hands free and pulled his mouth to hers. There was no finesse in it, no careful caresses specifically crafted to make him want her more. All she could manage was need, and she poured it into every second of the kiss.
What she got back was passion, pure and simple. He tilted his head and pressed closer, his deliberation fading. Pain lanced through the pleasure as her tongue snagged on the tip of a fang, and Adam stiffened at the hint of coppery blood.
He lifted his head, breathing ragged. “Sorry, that wasn’t—not on purpose.”
“I know.” Cindy rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth until she felt the tiny wound close.
“I’m not in control. I’m not—” He laughed and shook his head before leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “I know you don’t want blood and sex to get confused. I’ll try harder.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She gripped the front of his shirt and kissed him firmly. “As long as you want the sex more, I mean. Of course you want my—my blood.” It felt odd to say, and even odder to be fine with it.
“No.” Adam caught her hands again, this time pressing them to the bed on either side of her head. “I want you. The blood is a means to an end, Cindy. Sometimes it’s to give me strength, and sometimes…”
He nipped h
er lower lip and she felt the tiniest prick before his tongue slid over the spot. Magic roared to life and heat crashed into her as he kissed her again, and this time she felt each hard thrust of his tongue as a hot, tugging pull deep inside her.
Cindy had already come to associate it with him, the dizzying combination of too much and not enough, and she bucked under him. His grip on her wrists held, somehow soothing the most primitive, animal part of her. Adam was strong, commanding, and she wanted him.
She relaxed without thinking then, pulled her mouth from his and bared her throat.
A wolf might have taken that invitation and bitten her, leaving a very human mark that served an instinctive purpose. Instead Adam licked her pulse and settled his body over hers, his hips cradled between her thighs so his first rocking grind let her feel the hard length of his erection through their jeans.
The sensation wrenched a cry and a shudder from her. “Adam.” She needed him closer, his skin against hers. Him inside her.
“Don’t move your hands,” he whispered, then slipped away, leaving a blazing trail of hot, wet kisses along her body as he went. Down, down until his breath blew hot against the skin just above her jeans and his fingers tugged at the button.
When it comes down to love or duty, pick a side—and pray your heart survives.
Death, the Vamp and his Brother
© 2009 Lexxie Couper
Death exists for one purpose and one purpose only: to sever the life-threads of the living. She does her job with pride and an unwavering commitment. Nothing ruffles her. Until she encounters Patrick Watkins. The Australian lifeguard pushes all her buttons—and makes her tailbone itch like crazy. And when her tailbone itches, it means trouble is brewing. Big trouble.