Accidental Sire (Half-Moon Hollow #6)

I woke up with a solid weight on top of me. Eyes still closed, I patted up that weight’s back, running my hands through silky, soft hair. Ben was still on top of me, and it was, indeed, very awkward having his face tucked into my right breast and his hand curled possessively around my left breast. He looked very content. And I had to snort. Men did not change, from the cradle to after the grave.

Hesitantly, I took my fingertips and traced the curve of his cheek, his strong, square jaw. He really was adorable, even with those big green eyes closed. His full mouth was relaxed and soft. He lifted his head and blinked at me.

I grinned at him, fully prepared to make a joke about his boob-burrowing, but before I could speak, he bent his head to kiss me. He drew back, those eyes sweeping over my face, as if he was gauging my reaction, so I leaned up and kissed him back.

I giggled silently against the skin of his jaw. His feet were so cold against my legs, but I didn’t dare make a noise. Jane and Gabriel had superhearing.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, throwing my head back as my own wet, willing flesh came into contact with his hard length. He was ready underneath those basketball shorts. His hands drifted lazily down my sides and squeezed at my hip bones, a reassuring little touch. I liked that he didn’t push. That he seemed to enjoy every step as much as I did. He wasn’t rushing to the finish line.

This felt right. Not because I was his sire or because we were the only two super-rare vampires in this tiny little weirdo boat but because his lips were the only ones I wanted to be kissing. Everything about our relationship was complicated except for this. I wanted him, and he wanted me. This was the moment I’d wanted, that night in front of my dorm. This was where I’d hoped that flirting and fun would lead before everything went awry and I went into foster survival mode, and hmm, what was that thing he was doing with his tongue?

Ben climbed up the mattress to stretch completely over me. His hips cradled into mine as his hands spanned my waist, sliding under my butt and arching me up as he pressed between my thighs. I rolled my hips, chasing the sensation of feeling him against me. I moaned into his mouth, which seemed to spur him on, making his kisses more urgent. I tugged at his hair, breaking from his lips to kiss along the curve of his jaw.

He flicked his tongue against the skin behind my ear. I threaded my fingers through his hair, scratching my nails along his neck. My feet stroked his legs. I couldn’t seem to touch enough of him. I wanted it all, every inch of skin. I wanted to touch it, to taste it, to make him feel all the things he was making me feel.

His mouth tasted like cinnamon and sin. It was want, pure and simple.

We didn’t have much time before sunset. And that meant he was going to be in my bed when the others got up.

I rolled, pinning him down with my hips. My fangs sneaked out of my mouth, scraping against his nipple. He hissed but gripped at my shoulder, keeping me in place. I pressed those sharp points against his skin, testing and teasing until he was panting.

Panting myself, I slipped my own hand into the elastic of his shorts, pulling at them. He pulled back, watching me as I tugged at his clothes, his lips wet and parted. He nodded, pressing his forehead against mine and lifting his hips so I could pull his shorts all the way off. I’d just managed to get his underwear below his ass when something thumped against my door.

We both froze.

Fitz whimpered from the hall, scratching at my door. I could hear Jane’s voice, just outside, saying, “Is she not awake yet, buddy? Why don’t you give her a few more minutes? She had a rough one last night.”

My eyes locked with Ben’s, and I mouthed, Don’t think anything.

Fitz whimpered again, and I could hear his paws crawling up the door.

Jane sighed. “Aw, OK, buddy, but let her sleep. No chewing on her blankets.”

The doorknob turned, and Ben scrambled out from under me. He landed noiselessly on my floor and rolled under my bed. Jane opened the door just enough for Fitz to wriggle through and shut it behind him. The gray-brown blur of dog sprang across the room and landed on my bed with a flump, nearly dislodging me from the sheets.

“No, Fitz, off the bed,” I whispered as he attempted to cover my face in slobber. “Off.”

Fitz rolled to the floor, sniffing and searching until he found Ben. He yapped happily when Ben crawled out from under my bed. All traces of sexy times had disappeared. Ben looked ashamed and a little panicked.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “This was a bad idea. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s OK,” I told him. “I wanted to.”

“I shouldn’t have,” he said. “Let’s just, uh, let’s just forget this happened, OK?”

Somewhere inside me, there was a witty retort that demanded to know what exactly Ben meant by that and required him to act more like a damn grown-up and less like my dad had just caught him rifling through my panty drawer. But what my brain came up with was “Uh . . .”

And with that, Ben stuck his head out into the hallway and checked for our housemates. I guessed the coast was clear, because he slipped past the door without another word and closed it quietly behind him. I flopped back onto the bed. Fitz propped his head on the mattress, huffing at me, trying to get my attention.

I rolled toward him, rubbing the top of his massive head. “What the hell just happened?”

Because dogs could not shrug, Fitz settled for licking my face.



Ben didn’t withdraw from my life. He didn’t avoid me. He did exactly what he’d asked me to do, which was pretend that the whole making-out-after-sleeping-on-top-of-me thing didn’t happen. He was perfectly friendly. He let me have the last Hemo Pop for breakfast when we ran out. He let me ride shotgun in Jane’s car on the way to work. He even held doors open for me. But he didn’t make eye contact. Our conversation was stilted and weird, like the sort of small talk you would make during a job interview.

I spent most of my time trying not to think about what had happened, because Jane did not need those visuals in her head. Also, I didn’t want to be grounded for having a boy in my room.

To avoid this mental pitfall when I was sitting just a few feet outside my psychic foster mom’s office door, I threw myself into work. I’d managed to tame my laundry cart of files. But more paperwork crossed my desk every night, and some of it was pretty damned interesting.

It was enough to keep me distracted and thinking of something besides Ben’s thrusty hardness, especially when a bright red—as in alarmingly red—folder with Ophelia’s name in bold block printing was delivered while I was on my lunch break.