A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark 2)

"Easy," he said, continuing to work out the knots in her shoulders with an expert touch. As he drew her to him once more, the only struggle she could manage was internal, and she was glad no one could see that stumbling, pitiful attempt. Finally he forced her to relax against him completely, body gone limp.

What no one knew about Emma was that she loved to be touched. Adored it. Even the more because it was utterly rare.

While her family was affectionate in a spartan way, they wanted to toughen her up. Only one of her aunts, Daniela the Ice Maiden, seemed to understand her yearning, because she herself couldn't touch or have her freezing skin touched without extreme pain. She understood it, but for some reason Daniela didn't miss it, didn't feel the same need, while Emma thought she'd slowly die without it.

Creatures from the Lore who would be acceptable lovers for her, like good demons, were scarce in N.O.L.A., and most of those had been hanging around the manor since she'd been young. She saw them as nothing more than big brothers. With horns.

The infrequent demons who were strangers didn't exactly line up to come calling at the coven. Even they found Val Hall, their fog-enshrouded home in the bayou, terrifying, with the shrieks echoing within and the constant lightning hovering.

A few years ago, Emma had finally grasped that she would be alone when yet another cute, perfectly doable human male in one of her night classes had asked her out - for coffee the next afternoon. Emma loathed Starbucks for its very existence.

She'd realized then that she could never be with a man who was of her own kind, and could never be with most who weren't. Sooner or later they would discover what she was. The reasons she hadn't found someone in her life - A matinee...? Dinner and drinks...? A picnic...? - weren't changing, ergo...

Later she'd "accidentally" bumped into the human just to know what she was missing. Warm touch, appealing masculine scent. She'd realized she was missing a lot.

And it had hurt.

Now Emma had a cruel but divinely handsome Lykae who couldn't seem to keep his hands off her. She feared she'd be a sponge for his touch even as she hated him.

She feared he could make her a beggar for it.

"What if I fall asleep?" she asked, her voice soft, her lightly drawling accent more pronounced.

"Fall asleep. Doona care," Lachlain said, as he kneaded her neck and her slim shoulders.

She moaned again and her head sank back against his chest. She sounded as if she'd never been touched like this. The utter surrender wasn't sexual, but he thought she'd give anything for him to continue. She seemed starved for it.

He remembered days in his clan. Everyone roughhoused, men always found an excuse to touch their women, and if you did something well, you received literally a hundred slaps on the back. Lachlain had spent most hours with his family with a child perched on his shoulders and two bairns dragging on his legs.

He pictured Emma as a timid little girl growing up in Helvita, the vampire stronghold in Russia. Though gilded with gold, Helvita was damp and dark - he should know, since he'd spent time enough in the dungeon. In fact, she might have been there when he was imprisoned, if she hadn't already journeyed to New Orleans.

The vampires who lived there were as cold as their home. They would not touch her with affection - he'd never seen a vampire display affection. If she needed it like this, how had she gone without it?

He'd suspected she'd been long without a man, but now Lachlain knew that if she had had someone, the man didn't touch her nearly enough and she was well rid of him. He recalled how when they'd been in the shower, her tightness and her reactions had made him wonder if she'd ever had a man. But now, as then, he thought it unlikely she was virgin, since not many immortals made it through centuries abstaining. She was just small and, as she'd said, shy.

Remembering her tight sheath made his c**k go painfully hard for it. He lifted her into his lap, turning her side to his chest. She stiffened, no doubt from his shaft throbbing under her arse.

Urges wracked him. She was wearing the silk that was little more than a string, and the sight of it was even better than his imaginings. He opened his mouth to simply inform her that he was about to stroke his fingers between her legs and then settle her down on his shaft. But before he could, her delicate hands lighted upon his chest, their paleness standing out against his skin. She waited a moment as if testing the waters. When he did nothing about her hands, she rested her face against him, settling in to sleep.

He drew back his head and frowned down at her, bewildered by this. Was this...did she trust him? Trust him not to take her while she slept? Damn it, why would she do that?

With a foul curse, he lifted her from the water. Her hands were still against his chest, clutching a little. He toweled her off, then laid her on the bed, her blond hair fanning out, the ends damp. The exquisite scent of it swept him up. Shaking, he peeled her wicked undergarments from her. He inwardly groaned at her body, about to spread her legs and set upon it with a vengeance.

Barely awake, she murmured, "Can I sleep in one of your shirts?"

He stood back, clenching his fists, brows drawn. Why would she want to be dressed in his clothing? Why did he want it as well? He ached, he needed to be inside her so badly, and yet he was stalking to his bag. At this rate, he'd be returning to the shower and bringing himself release. How else could he make it through the day with her?

He dressed her in one of his new undershirts though it swallowed her, then put her under the cover. Just as he'd drawn it up to her chin, she woke and sat up. She squinted at him, turned to regard the window, then gathered the cover and the pillow and bedded down on the floor, tucking herself into the side of the bed.