I smiled slightly, my mouth still bruised and tender. “Mmmhmm.”
He rolled over in the shadows, propping his head onto an elbow so he could see me. “No woman, in all my long life, has ever come to me”—he tipped his head forward and quickly licked my breast, his tongue leaving the nipple to grow cool and tight. Laughter and satisfaction filled his voice—“wearing jeans and a bacon T-shirt, and nothing else.” I tilted my head to see him better. The widow’s peak on his forehead was a pointed darkness on his pale skin, picked out by the streetlights coming through the open balcony doors, and into the bedroom.
“Everything’s better with bacon,” I whispered. He rolled over and collapsed against me, his laughter so exhausted it was little more than a rough breath.
CHAPTER 16
The Plink of Blood Slowed and Stopped
We returned to the cold feast near nine. At some point in the long afternoon and evening, Bruiser had put the oysters and meat in the refrigerator. Nothing smelled spoiled and we were ravenous, and so we sat on a blanket and pillows he tossed on the couch, which he pulled away from the wall to face the balcony. In the flickering shadows of a single candle, we ate wilted salad and drank room-temperature wine and fed each other oysters and Andouille sausage with our fingers. Nothing in my entire life had ever tasted so good.
While we ate, I told him about Satan’s Three and the arcenciel attacking me. Unlike a human man, he didn’t get all protective or worried after the fact. He just listened while I talked, stroked my hair when I described the attack and the distinct scent patterns of the arcenciels. He agreed with me that there must have been two arcenciels at the warehouse, one that was there when the vamps were, and then, later, Soul. He was a man who let me be me. It was different. And nice. And sooo . . . Bruiser.
We made love again, slowly, our bodies crushed together on the couch. This time, his hands were gentle, scarcely touching, his fingertips suspended at the instant where flesh met flesh. Soft caresses, leisurely and deliberate, our pleasure withheld, rising and ebbing. When we were done, I lay beside him, limp and fulfilled, every inch of me. And every inch of him.
Out front I heard a car pull up and a door open and close. I flew from the couch so fast I was a smudged replication in the mirror near one of the balcony doors. Almost as fast, Bruiser rose up on the couch. “What?”
“Leo,” I whispered. “Leo is here.” Bruiser’s scent changed, a smell like burned stone. “Bruiser?” Faster than a human could ever hope to move, yet seeming to glide, Bruiser rolled to his feet and disappeared into his bedroom.
He answered, his voice little more than a murmur. “The last words between my former master and I were not totally clear regarding you.” From the doorway, my jeans came flying; I yanked them out of the air and onto me, careful of the killer zipper this time. A moment later Bruiser emerged wearing the thin pants and T-shirt from the afternoon.
“Not totally clear,” I replied softly. “He told you to stay away from me.”
“Yes. But he did not tell you to stay away from me.” Bruiser sounded smug, vigilant, and meticulous. Cautious. He slid one of his dress shirts off of a hanger and over my head. As if I were a child, he rolled up the cuffs. “What? No bacon shirt for Leo?”
“No.” Bruiser placed the back of his hand against my cheek for a moment, watching my face to read my reaction. “I’m having it framed to hang on the wall over my bed.”
I spluttered with laughter. “Very artsy. Are we in trouble? You know he’ll know what we’ve been up to.”
“Perhaps I am in trouble. He already knows, I’m sure,” Bruiser said, turning away. “The apartment reeks of sex. With the balcony doors open, he knew everything the moment he opened his car door. He’s being excessively polite, allowing us time to get presentable.” Bruiser’s eyes pierced up at me. “I will attempt to control the situation.”
I chuffed out a breath and picked up my silver stakes, twining my hair into a messy bun and securing it with them, easy to hand. “This should be fun,” I muttered. “Not.” But he had a point. Neither of us had showered since sometime in midafternoon and we’d been busy since then. Several times.