He stiffened and jerked suddenly up off me. Holding himself up by his arms, hovering above. His head twisted to the side. “Don’t move,” he snapped.
Shocked by his tone, I laid there, not moving.
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. I reached for his face, cupping my hand on the side of his jaw, pulling him to look at me. He turned his head slightly toward me. I saw the tips of his fangs, and a feral shaft of darkness in his eyes. He twisted his head and kept it away.
“Karson,” I said quietly, “look at me.”
“No.”
Then he was gone. Standing with his back to me, his chest rising and falling, staring at the door. I climbed to my feet and moved in front of him. The shaft was gone from his eyes, now they were as earthy as the forest floor. His fangs were nowhere to be seen. I reached for his hands.
“I know what you are. I trust you, whatever you do, I know you won’t hurt me.”
He stepped back like I’d just pricked him. “You must be careful what you wish for, Amelia.” He sat on the bed, dropping his head.
The realization hit like a cold slap.
Mortified I asked, “Did you . . . can you read my mind?”
He drew in a breath, deep enough to power a wind station, and let it out slowly. His breath smelled like musk and honey, it coiled up my nose and sailed down my throat. “When we have sex, your guard is down, I can hear your thoughts.”
The news sent dismay curling through my spine and heat to my face. I scrambled to remember my thoughts. What did he hear?“Oh, I . . . that’s . . .” I couldn’t find the words amongst the dismay in my head. I picked at my fingernails and stared at the floor.
“I love it,” he said in a smooth voice. “It turns me on. I know what works for you.” He paused. “Except for when you are waiting for me to bite your neck.” He reached across, his thumb caressed my cheek. “It’s hard for me to resist you when I hear that . . . I almost bit you.” A flash of guilt made its way to his eyes.
I reached up and clasped his hand. “But you didn’t, and even if you did, I trust you enough to stop.”
He studied my face as if trying to read my mind again.
I moved his hand off my face, down to my thigh and held it on my leg. I studied his hands. He had elegant fingers. Fingerswhich stroked every inch of my body tenderly. Fingers I wanted to hold. “Are you reading my thoughts now?”
“No, I can’t read you right now, you’re not turned on.”
“Oh,” I smiled playfully. I got up and lowered myself on to his lap, straddling my legs either side of his. I positioned myself so the tip of his cock nudged against the edge of my vagina. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
His lips curled into a smile, which dropped from his face and was replaced with a hungry desire as I lowered myself down. I stared into his beautiful hazel eyes, as my hips rocked against him. With every movement my clit grazed back and forth against him. Each sublime movement heightened my senses and brought me closer to that sweet place. He wrapped his hands around my back. His lips caressed my neck. I tipped my head back and moaned. I pushed him back onto the bed. He reached up, squeezed and circled my breasts. I rocked back and forth faster, then slower, then faster again; deeper, and softer, and deeper.
“You are glorious,” he groaned.
As if his words turned up the erotic dial, I let out a breathy soft cry as my desire reached another exquisite peak. The inside of me twitched and spasmed around his penis. He clamped his hands over my hips, thrust me down in a few quick, hard movements, and he cried out as he found his release too.
I laid down, resting on his chest. His fingers swept softly through my hair. I listened to the impossibly slow beat of his heart, feeling a deep, satisfied, warm glow swelling over my body.
Chapter 59
Black Death
The fog was not wispy like a spider’s web, but thick. Hazed tentacles wrapped around tree trunks, giving the impression the treetops floated above the ground. It was the kind of fog that would cloak any flashlight beam.
Not that Black Death needed light to see. She’d always loved the fog, almost as much as she loved the night. She’d surprised many victims emerging from the layers of mist and darkness like a ghost. The sounds of their terrified screams sung a beautiful tune in her ears.
The house loomed out from the darkness and mist on top of a rolling hill. In the daylight, the front porch provided a spectacular view across the farmed ground. Out the front a security guard slept soundly in his car. His surveillance of the property was less than spectacular. There were cameras set up around the perimeter of the house. All motion censored, none of which were capable of catching the speed with which she moved. Even if by some miracle one caught a flash of her, she wore a black wig, brown contacts, and a few layers under a hooded top. All of which served to make her look larger framed than she was, and hid her face. From any stilled shot she would be unrecognisable.
This was the sixth house she’d searched. The second one tonight. It was 2 a.m., she needed to finish and get back before daybreak. As much as it pained her to admit, she’d made a mistake in one of her searches. When she had searched the Tolle’s, she’d trashed the house, taken a few jewels and thrown them in the river to give the appearance of a burglary. It’d seemed good in theory, but theory wasn’t an exact science, and it threw a microscope on the thing she was looking for—the grimoire. Since a few of the ancestors of founding families had been disposed of, every family with historic links that might have the grimoire hidden had updated their security.
Still, it was an inconvenience, rather than a problem.
