“Good. Then let us be together first and then we shall talk.” Easing upright even farther, she replaced her fingers with her mouth, kissing him deep and long. “Mmmm . . . yes, much better than speech, I should think.”
“Are you sure you want—” That was as far as he got before her tongue robbed him of thought.
Groaning, he got up on the bed, holding himself above her. And then meeting her eyes, he slowly lowered his body on top of hers . . . with the last contact being his erection between her legs.
“No going back if I kiss you now.” Shit, his voice was so guttural, he was practically growling at her. But he meant the words. There was some other force driving him—this was not about sex, although the mechanics of the act were involved. In taking her virginity, he was marking her in a way he didn’t understand, but didn’t question.
“I want you thus,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for centuries for what only you can give to me.”
Mine, he thought.
Before he kissed her again, he turned to the side and released her hair from its braid. Spreading the dark waves out over the satin bedspread, he ran his fingers through the length.
Then he curled his hips into her core, pushing and retreating, and repeating the move . . . as his hand swept up to below her breast and gripped the fragile fabric of the robing.
Frankly, he was shocked at what he wanted to do.
“I wish to be naked before you,” she commanded. “Make it so, Manuel.”
That frickin’ robe didn’t stand a chance. Jacking up, he grabbed onto both the lapels and split it right down the front, ripping the material clean apart, baring her breasts to his hot eyes and the cool air. In response, she arched and moaned—and that was it: He was on her tightening nipples with his mouth and down to her core with his hands. He was all over her, driving her to an orgasm by sucking on her and rubbing her carefully, and when her fast, desperate release came, he swallowed her cry.
He wanted to give her more—and he had every intention of doing so—but his body wasn’t going to wait. His hands fumbled with his pants, cracking his belt and downing his zipper to spring his cock.
She was ready for him, slick and open—and aching, given the way her legs sawed against him.
“I’ll go slow,” he said against her mouth.
“I am not afraid of pain. Not with you.”
Shit, so maybe in this they worked physically as human women did. Which meant the first time was not going to be easy on his woman.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Do not worry. Take me.”
Reaching down, he positioned himself, and—oh, fuck . . . he nearly came. She was hot and wet and—
She moved so fast, he couldn’t have stopped her if he’d wanted to. Her hands reached down and clamped on his ass, her nails digging into him and then—
Payne thrust up with her hips and at the same time pulled him down and he went in all the way to the hilt, the penetration utterly and irrevocably complete. As he cursed, she went rigid and hissed from the strike—which was just too damn unfair, because, fucking hell, she felt good. But he wasn’t moving—not until she recovered from the invasion.
And then it dawned on him.
Snaking a hand around the back of her neck, he drew her lips close to his throat. “Take me.”
The sound she made had him orgasming inside of her—it was too fucking hot for him to hold back. And as his cock spasmed, her fangs struck deep into his vein.
The sex went wild. She moved against him, her tight core fisting him up and milking him as he came again . . . and then he started to pump his hips hard. The drinking and the crazy rhythm swept them both away into a heady pounding of bodies that he knew they were each going to feel in the morning: There was nothing civilized to this; it was male and female distilled down to the most primal core.
And it was the very best of anything he had ever had.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Thomas DelVecchio knew exactly where his killer was going next.
There was no question in his mind. Even as Detective de la Cruz was back at HQ, working with the other boys on theories and leads—all of which were smart enough—Veck knew where to go.
And as he approached the parking lot of the Monroe Motel & Suites with his lights off and his motorcycle in an idle, he thought it was probably a good idea to call de la Cruz and let the guy know where he was.
Ultimately, however, he left his phone where it was in his pocket.