The Vampire Narcise (Regency Draculia 3)

Chapter 8

Now let me have you.

Cale's words rang in Narcise's head, and now that the agonizing feather had been removed from the back of her dress, she could actually feel. And breathe. Her strength came rushing back, the numbness deserted her.

She wanted him to have her. Her fingers shook, her belly fluttered and leaped, she wanted him so badly.

He directed her out of the parlor, the door closing behind them and shutting off the voices and revelry-and Cezar's watchful eyes. They were walking rapidly down a corridor furnished with an occasional painting, as well as several tables with statuary, vases and other items. Cale led her past several closed doors, and she was certain he meant to take her to his bedchamber. Once you're in my bed, my chamber, you'll never leave it.

Her heart slammed behind her ribs, and she nearly pushed it all away: Cezar, the worries, the children...and gave in. For she knew he was right. Once she was in his bed, safe and sated, loved, she would never be able to make herself leave.

So she must not go there.

She stumbled purposely and when he paused to see to her distress, Narcise wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her, backing herself against one of the doors. Before he could speak, or even react, she sank her fangs into the side of his neck.

Cale went rigid, and she felt his body jolt in a great shudder as the hot blood coursed into her mouth. He swore, in some low, dark curse that she couldn't hear. For a moment, she nearly forgot her purpose...the pleasure was so intense, so long awaited. And they were in this together, as equals. Equals.

The realization surged through her, strong and powerful, and she dragged deep, pulling him into her mouth, all the hot, coppery flavor of him.

He groaned deep and low, the cords of his neck swelling in response beneath her mouth. She pressed herself all along his body, feeling the welcome ridge behind the crotch of his breeches, the heat and strength she desired and no longer feared.

"Narcise," he managed to gasp, but his hands had covered her br**sts, finding her tight ni**les through the rough lace, and he seemed unable to finish. Molding her curves, sliding a thumb over her br**sts, he had her flat against the door, his head tilted back, baring full, throbbing veins as she drank. His pulse pounded, sending little surges of his lifeblood into her mouth, and she sucked and licked, using her lips and tongue to taste him. He was rich and sweet, strong and yet comforting. Familiar.

She felt for the doorknob she knew was behind her, and uncaring what sort of room they would stumble into, managed to twist it. The door gave away behind her as she withdrew from the hot, soft skin at his neck and backed inside, pulling him by his lapels into the warm, dimly lit chamber.

"Out," she heard him say roughly over her shoulder. As she tore at his coat, yanking it from his shoulders, she was aware of some sort of skittering movement, quick and clumsy, and then the stirring of the air as the chamber's previous occupants quickly vacated.

Cale muttered something unintelligible, whipping the coat to the ground as she fumbled with the tie at the throat of his shirt, aware that his rich red blood had stained the white cotton. She tore it away and there was his bare chest beneath her hands again, as warm and solid as she remembered it.

He was pulling at the pins in her hair, yanking haphazardly and dropping them to the wooden floor with little scattering sounds. "So beautiful," he murmured, sliding his hands into her hair, lifting its weight from where it rested at the back of her neck, untangling the mass of coils and braids and twists, spreading it wide and full so that it shimmered down her back. She felt it through the thin lace, heavy and warm, and then he lifted the whole of it to one side, baring her neck.

"Narcise?" he asked, his voice rough in her ear, his other hand firmly on her arm.

"Yes-" She'd barely breathed the syllable when he slammed his fangs into her at that soft, sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder. She gave a little shriek of pain and pleasure, and he stilled for a moment, one hand cupping her shoulder, and the other curved around the back of her head, holding her steady when she would have sagged weakly.

The release of pressure inside her, fairly exploding into his hot mouth, combined with the sting of pain and the sensual tracing of his lips made Narcise weak and dizzy in the most pleasurable sort of way. Her lips moved in a smile, taut with need but real nevertheless.

It had been so long...so long since this pleasure hadn't been taken from her, forced from her. So long since it had been good, pure pleasure instead of terrible and dark.

But her knees were buckling and she grasped at the remnants of his shirt, holding on as he drank deeply. One of his hands slipped down to drag her bottom close, her torso sharply against the c**k raging behind his tight breeches. She arched low, pressing against the tempting bulge, rubbing her own swollen self against him in the rhythm they both craved. Their breathing matched and mingled, hard and rough and heated, spreading over her skin where he latched on to her shoulder, his tongue caressing her behind his fangs.

There was a clink, and a jolt, and she realized they'd bumped into a table or something, and the next thing she knew, something was behind her legs. The arm of a sofa.

"Let's do it horizontally this time," he murmured, releasing his fangs and then sliding hot, slick lips over her wound, tenderly, gently, to close it up. She shivered at the sensation over her taut, sensitive skin, closing her eyes as her body seemed to turn to liquid, hot and pounding inside. Her br**sts strained behind their lace confines, the rough material erotic and irritating to her thrusting ni**les. But the pleasure rolling from belly to quim, undulating through her limbs, was delicious and unbearable, and Narcise found herself sighing and moaning in delirium, needing more.

Then he was easing her to the floor, pulling her down with him onto a thick rug. The glow of a fire spilled in a golden pool on the red wool. "The sofa...too narrow," he murmured, pulling at the laces that bound her into the sleevelike dress, opening it along the side of her torso, pulling it with gentle hands, her skin freed from the rough lace, open to the heat of the fire, and then-

Oh.

He bit her there, in the soft side of her belly, just above her hip, and Narcise jolted as pleasure shot to her quim in a hot, soft swell, then burst into a spiral of release. Her breathing went out of control and her world turned dark and red, pounding and rising, her center throbbing and pulsing as warmth and release surged through her.

"So you like that?" he said, his voice deep and filled with delight.

Then he-Giordan-was over her, one hand moving up under the lace to cover the top of her breast, smoothing his palm rhythmically over the needy tip of her nipple, and the other sliding up beneath her skirt, behind the black satin triangle between her legs.