One of my hands curved around his taut backside, the other circled warm satin, as the smooth solidity of him slid against my tongue. He was firm and slightly resistant, warm, with faint traces of salt and Louis-Cesare. Delicious.
My tongue slowly circled the tip, caressing him softly, letting him squirm. I flicked the sweet spot once, twice with the end of my tongue, then ran it up the side. My hand wandered backward, tracing a featherlight path to the velvet globes contracted high against his body. I teased and tormented, stroked and fondled, while my tongue swirled languidly around him.
Flashes of intense sensation seared up his spine and coiled in his belly, regular as clockwork and then deliberately arrhythmic as she modified her stroke to torture him anew. He shivered at the slight, purposeful rake of teeth, the edge of danger driving his need higher. Dieu, a man could die from this, die and not care. . . .
His thoughts leaked through in pieces, and I wasn’t worried about them being memories, not anymore. They were too in tune with the expressions flitting across that changeable face. We’d shared something like this before, some emotional connection I didn’t understand, almost like the mind-speak of the vampires. Only I’d never been able to do that with anyone else.
Normally it would have intrigued me, but right now I wasn’t too concerned.
I swallowed, abruptly taking him deep, my lips stretched tight around the width of him. His hips jerked up reflexively, trying not to thrust, trying to stay in control when he so clearly wasn’t. I hummed deliberately, wanting to see how crazy I could drive him, and I was rewarded with a groan that sent my own pulse racing.
Pulling back, I let him go with maddening slowness, allowing him to feel the drag of my tongue along his whole length. I paused for a long moment, with just the tip of him under my lips, reveling in the feel of the tremors that rippled under my hands. I let the anticipation build, caressing him softly with just the tip of my tongue.
“Dorina, please—” It sounded strangely like a prayer.
I let him squirm for a few moments longer. It felt so damn good to hear him begging in whispers and moans when I was the one getting what I wanted. And then, with no warning, I suddenly slid all the way back down.
The sound he made that time was really quite satisfying.
My head bobbed a few times, until I found a dreamy sort of rhythm, drinking in the soft sounds he made. And everything seemed to affect him. The soft brush of my hair against his thigh brought on a shudder, the feel of my teeth, scraping oh so carefully along his length, made him groan, the sight of me completely embracing him turned his eyes wild.
And then I wasn’t able to think anymore, my own need spiraling up to envelop me. I heard when he finally broke, when he cried out my name, when he gripped the bed frame hard enough to crack it. But it was distant.
I looked up to find his eyes closed, his head thrown back, his face more vulnerable than I’d ever seen it. I stared for a long moment, wanting to memorize that expression. For once, it wasn’t something gleaned from a tumbled mass of memories, a stolen glimpse into someone else’s pleasure. It was something we’d made together, something new and uniquely mine.
A moment later I was down the fire escape with Ray and running flat out for the car, my heart thundering in my ears.
Chapter Eighteen
I didn’t intend to end up drunk in a seedy dive. It was pretty cliché, after all, but there are times when the only response to life’s little jokes is to get hammered. And if this wasn’t the greatest joke ever, I didn’t know what was.
There’s a bar downtown that’s so well-known to the regulars that it doesn’t need a sign. Just as well, since it’s named after the owner and there was no way that many syllables would fit. I left Ray’s body in the back of the car, because if Cheung found it here, good luck to him. The garage was guarded by a couple of demons who really loved thieves—preferably seared with a shot of tequila.
I took the duffel in with me. After everything I’d been through to get it, there was no way it was leaving my sight. Possibly ever.
I grabbed my usual booth in the back, under a suspended TV that flickered blue light across the tabletop. It was showing one of the telenovelas the bartender loved. He wandered over after a minute and put down my usual, beer. “Nice dress.”
“The reserve, Leo,” I told him, scowling. There was nothing on the regular menu that was going to give me the burn I needed.
The shaggy eyebrows went up, but he didn’t say anything, just took the bottle away and shambled into the back.
Claire was going to be worried. It was going on sixteen hours since I’d left the house, and I needed to call her. I also needed to get the ball rolling with Elyas, or at least make the attempt. But I didn’t want to do either. I didn’t want to think at all. I wanted to keep drinking until I was so staggeringly smashed that I couldn’t remember how stupid I’d been.