Lover Unbound (Black Dagger Brotherhood 5)

She ran the towel up his thigh to the cut juncture of his hips, then skirted away. "You being g*y? Not at all."

"Because it would make you feel safer, right?"

"And because I'm open-minded. As a physician, I have a pretty good grip on how no matter our preferences, we're all alike on the inside."

Well, the humans at least. She sat down on the bedside and pushed her hand up his leg again. As she got closer to his arousal, his breath caught and the hard length twitched. While his hips swiveled she looked up. He'd bitten down on his lower lip, his fangs cutting into the soft flesh.

Okay, that was really...

None of her business. But, man, he must be running a really hot fantasy about Red Sox right now.

Telling herself this was just a garden-variety sponge-bath situation, and not believing the lie for an instant, she drew her hand over his abdomen, up past the swollen head of him, and down the other side. As the very edge of the washcloth brushed up against his sex, he hissed.

So help her, God, she did it again, going slowly up and around him and letting the erection get stroked just a little.

His hands tightened on the sheets, and in a low rasp he said, "If you keep this up, you're going to find out just how much I have in common with a human man."

Good Christ, she wanted to see him - No, she didn't.

Yes, she did.

His voice dropped deeper. "Do you want me to orgasm?"

She cleared her throat. "Of course not. That would be - "

"Inappropriate? Who's going to know? Just you and me in here. And frankly, I could use some pleasure right about now."

She closed her eyes. She knew on his side none of this was about her. Plus it wasn't as if she was going to jump on the bed and take advantage of him. But did she really want to know how good he looked as he -

"Jane? Look at me." As if he controlled her eyes, they rose slowly to meet his. "Not my face, Jane. You're going to watch my hand. Now."

She complied, because it didn't occur to her not to. And as soon as she did, his gloved palm released its death grip on the bedcovers and fisted his thick arousal. In a rush, the patient's breath left him, and he ran his hand up and down his shaft, the black leather a stark contrast to the deep pink of his sex.

Oh... my ... God.

"You want to do this to me, don't you?" he said roughly. "Not because you want me. But because you wonder what it feels like and what I look like when I come."

As he kept up with the stroking, she numbed out completely.

"Don't you, Jane." His breathing started to quicken. "You want to know what I feel like. What kind of noises I make. What it smells like."

She wasn't nodding her head, was she? Shit. She was.

"Give me your hand, Jane, Let me put you on me. Even if you're only clinically curious, I want you to finish me off."

"I thought... I thought you don't like humans."

"I don't."

"So what do you think I am?"

"I want your hand, Jane. Now."

She didn't like being told what to do by anyone. Men, women, didn't matter. But when a husky command like that came out of a magnificent male animal like him... especially as he was lying sprawled before for her, fully aroused... it was pretty damn close to undeniable.

She'd resent the order later. But she would follow it now.

Jane put the washcloth in the bedpan and couldn't believe she extended her hand toward him. He took what she offered, took what he'd demanded she give to him, and pulled it forward to his mouth. In a slow, savoring draw, he licked up the center of her palm, his tongue a warm, wet drag. Then he took her flesh and put it to his erection.

They both gasped. He was rock hard and hot as flame and wider than her wrist. As he kicked in her grip, half of her wondered what the hell she was doing and the other half, the sexual part, came alive. Which made her panic. She clamped down on the feelings, using the displacement honed by years of being in medicine... and kept her hand right where it was.

She stroked him, feeling the soft, fine skin move over the stiff core. His mouth broke open as he undulated on the bed, and the arching of his body took her eyes on one hell of a ride. Shit . . . He was pure sex, totally undiluted by inhibitions or awkwardness, nothing but a gathering storm of orgasm.

She looked down at where she was working him. His gloved hand was so damned erotic as it lay right below where she handled him, the fingers lightly touching his base and covering the ridges of scar tissue.

"What do I feel like, Jane?" he said hoarsely. "Do I feel different than a man does to you?"

Yes. Better. "No. You're just the same." Her eyes went to his fangs as they cut into his full lower lip. The teeth looked as if they'd lengthened, and she had a feeling sex and feeding were linked. "Well, you don't look like them, of course."

Something flickered across his face, some kind of shadow, and his hand slipped farther down between his legs. At first she assumed he was rubbing what hung below, but then she realized he was shielding himself from her eyes.

A lick of pain went off in her chest like a match strike, but then he moaned low in his throat and his head kicked back, his blue-black hair feathering over the black pillow. As his hips flexed upward, his stomach muscles tightened in a sequential rush, the tattoos at his groin stretching and returning to position.

"Faster, Jane. You're going to do it faster for me now."

One of his legs shifted up and his ribs began to pump hard. Across his luscious, fluid skin, a flush of sweat gleamed in the dim lamplight. He was getting close... and the closer he got, the more she realized she was doing this because she wanted to. The clinical-curiosity thing was a lie: He fascinated her for different reasons.

She kept pumping him, focusing the friction at his plum-sized head.

"Don't stop... Fuck..." He drew the word out, his shoulders and neck straining, his pecs tightening as they threw sharp edges.

Suddenly, his eyes flipped open and glowed bright as stars.

Then he bared fangs that had fully dropped and shouted his release. As he came, he stared at her neck, and the orgasm went on and on until she wondered if he'd had two. Or more. God... he was spectacular, and in the midst of his pleasure that glorious scent of dark spice filled the room until she breathed it instead of air.

When he was still, she released him and used the hand towel to clean his belly and chest off. She didn't linger on him. Instead she got to her feet and wished she could have some time to herself.

He watched her through low lids. "See," he said gruffly, "just the same."

Not by a long shot. "Yes."

He pulled the duvet over his hips and closed his eyes. "Use the shower if you want."

In an uncoordinated rush, Jane took the bedpan and the washcloth to the bath. Propping her hands against the sink, she thought maybe some hot water and something other than scrubs on her back would clear her head - because right now all she could see was what he'd looked like coming all over her hand and himself.

Overwhelmed, she went back out into the bedroom, got some of her things from the smaller duffel, and reminded herself that this situation was not real, not part of her reality. It was a hiccup, a tangle in the thread of her life, like her destiny had the flu.

This was not real.

After he finished with class, Phury went back to his room and changed from his teaching clothes of a black silk shirt and cream cashmere trousers into his fighting leathers. Technically he was supposed to be off tonight, but with V flat on his back they needed an extra set of hands.

Which worked for him. Better to be out on the streets hunting than getting involved in that sitch with Z and Bella and the pregnancy.

He strapped on his chest holster, slid two daggers in, handles down, and popped a SIG Sauer on each hip. On his way to the door he pulled on his leather coat and patted the inner pocket, making sure he had a couple of blunts and a lighter with him.

As he hit the grand staircase at a fast clip, he prayed no one saw him... and got busted just before he made it out of the house. Bella called his name as he stepped into the vestibule, and the sound of her shoes crossing the foyer's mosaic floor meant he had to stop.

"You weren't at First Meal," she said.

"I was teaching." He glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see she looked good, her coloring bright, her eyes clear.

"Have you eaten at all?"

"Yes," he said, lying.

"Okay... well... shouldn't you wait for Rhage?"