The Fangover (The Fangover 1)

“But you nag because you care, don’t you? Not because you want to be right or want to drive everyone crazy.”

No, it wasn’t a drive she had to make her friends and family insane. She just wanted things to run smoothly. Everyone to be safe and healthy. If Dr. Phil were there he would probably tell her she was displacing her unfulfilled desire to be a mother or some shit like that. Hell, maybe she was. She had wanted to have kids but she and Johnny—okay, mostly Johnny—had fallen into a bad crowd back in their mortal days. Growing up piss-poor in Ireland, the riches to be had in Chicago in the Roaring Twenties had been enticing.

Unfortunately, they’d mostly been illegal, too. Johnny had found himself in the rough crowd and at the wrong end of a mobster’s bullet spray. He had woken up a vampire and before she could say “all that jazz,” he’d turned her, too. Twenty-two and her mortal life was over.

“I honestly don’t mean to nag. I just want things to . . .” How did she describe it? She went for humor. “I just want everyone to live long and prosper.”

Wyatt grinned. “No one can fault you for that.”

“I care about all of you guys in the band, even when you drive me nuts. Though you personally don’t really drive me nuts.” She thought about the way he kissed her. “Well, actually you do drive me nuts but in a, you know, good way. A sexual way.”

She probably didn’t need to be that specific, but once she started babbling, she couldn’t seem to stop. Going for another sip of her blood, she banged her teeth with the rim of the wineglass. She sighed. She was such a dork. It was a fact.

Wyatt gave her a low, slow grin that did strange things to her insides. “I drive you nuts? Sexually?”

Duh. “Yes.”

“That’s good to know. Because you drive me nuts. Sexually.”

He was leaning closer to her. That was good. “Oh,” was her brilliant response.

“Want to drive each other nuts right now?”

There were probably mysteries that needed solving and Johnny’s possessions needed cataloging, but what was another thirty minutes? Wyatt’s hand landed on her knee. Or an hour.

“We could do that,” she said breathlessly. Who the hell did that voice belong to? She’d never heard herself sound like that before. Next she’d be giggling and getting a purse pooch.

“Where should we start?” Wyatt’s thumb moved in a circle on her knee, over and over, a slow, steady touch that made goose bumps raise on her skin underneath the denim of her jeans.

The problem with not having had sex in three decades (before the other night, that is) was that she didn’t really know how to play the seduction game. Then again, she’d coughed up that weird girly voice, so maybe she needed to stop thinking and just go with it. “You’re definitely heading in the right direction,” she told him.

“Should I go north?” His hand started to slide up her thigh.

“That works.” Stella studied his lips, so close to hers. She wanted to be kissing him again. She honestly had forgotten how lovely making out with someone could be until twenty minutes ago.

Instead of waiting for him to kiss her, Stella decided to take matters into her own hands and move in on Wyatt. Going with her impulse, she buried her fingers in his thick, wavy hair. It felt as good as it looked. A man shouldn’t have hair that sexy. It was just criminal. His eyes darkened as he realized her intent, his feathery touch moving closer and closer to her inner thighs.

Stella let her eyes drift closed as she dropped her lips onto his. It was amazing how easy it was to kiss him, how naturally their mouths fit together, how comfortable she was taking the lead and teasing her tongue inside him. Within seconds, their kisses heated up, an urgency entering their movements as their tongues dueled with each other. Stella’s ni**les thrust forward against her bra, and she felt a warmth spreading throughout her body and coalescing in her most intimate spot. Remembering the thrust of him into her against the counter, Stella gave a soft moan. Her body was aching to repeat that particular pleasure.

Wyatt’s thumb finally reached the apex of her thighs and rubbed over her jeans right where her clitoris was. She lifted her right leg onto his to bring herself closer to his touch, wanting more of the delicious sensation. He took the obvious invitation and cupped his hand so that he was touching her from the seat of her backside to the zipper of her jeans. It was a simple touch, but intimate and dominating, one that heightened her arousal. Instinctively, she started rocking onto his hand, wanting harder contact.

“Stella,” he murmured, nipping at her bottom lip.

Oh, that was such a mistake if he wanted to take this slow. It sent her desire into overdrive, but maybe that had been his intention. Going onto her knees, she yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor so that when she kissed him again, her br**sts were up against his rock-solid chest. Good, but not quite good enough. Reaching back, she undid her bra and sent that sailing. She wanted her flesh against him, her tight ni**les brushing on the cotton of his T-shirt while his tongue plunged into her with hard, possessive kisses.

Chapter Seven

ROLL WITH IT, BABY

WYATT hadn’t seen the night going down this way, but he was going to roll with it. As Stella stripped off her bra, he stared at the smooth, creamy perfection of her small br**sts, her ni**les tight little dusky buds just begging to be sucked. Stella was a tiny woman, and Wyatt knew she’d been raised in poverty and malnutrition in Ireland at the turn of the last century, so everything about her was petite. He was glad she wasn’t mortal because he’d be worried about gripping too hard, pumping too fast, hurting her in some way. But he didn’t have to worry about bruising or hurting her, and she was acting like she wanted it hard and fast.

Hallelujah.

He took one nipple into his mouth and suckled it, tweaking the other one with his fingers. Her response was to rock down onto him, her legs on either side of his. Part of him wondered if she would pull away as fast as she had the first time, but he wasn’t going to worry about that enough to halt what they were doing. He hadn’t expected to be in this position again without a lot of time, finessing, and alcohol. But here they were and he was going to take full advantage. Holding on to her tiny waist, he continued to suck and nip at her, loving the way she gave him such clear signals that she was enjoying his touch. When he tugged her nipple forward, she gasped in delight, her fingers digging into his skin. She didn’t seem to have any worry about hurting him. That was a serious grip she had going on.