He looks up and to the side as if searching his mind for the lie I'm speaking of.
"You didn't tell me you could read minds."
A slight blush colors his cheeks, "It isn't quite like that."
"What is it like?"
"Like a phone call," he kisses my lips again. "I can make the call, but I can't force you to pick it up. Most people don't realize how wide open their minds are at any given time. It's fairly easy to implant a thought or traverse through their surface musings. But not you."
"No?"
"You, my love, are a fortress. Your mind is almost always closed, and yet, I can feel it reach for me. Whether you're awake or deeply sleeping, your psyche always searches for me." Pride shows through in his voice as he tells me, his mouth only an inch from mine, waiting for this conversation to be done so he can show mejusthow much he missed me.
But a thought tickles at the edge of my mind. Not quite a memory or a dream, but something that is both of those things andalsoneither. "In my sleep?"
He freezes, knowing he's caught. With a nervous laugh, he removes his hands from the couch,taking a stepback. "Listen. I know what you're thinking."
"Yes, we've established that," I laugh in disbelief at the secret he's just accidentally confessed to.
"No," he closes his eyes briefly before opening them witha huff oflaughter. "It was... I was... Look, I know it was stupid. But it was just a little oral. And it wasso fucking good."
"Eamon!" I don't know whether to shout at him or just laugh. He's fucking crazy, obviously. But making me come in my sleep is hardly the worst thing he's done.I stand to walk away, stillnot sureif I'm angryor not.I probably should be, but like everythingelsehe's done, he's somehow known what I want even before I was willing to admit it to myself. "In. My. Sleep?"
He catches me before I geteventwo steps away, fire in his eyes as he stares down at me, licking his lips. "Yes. In your sleep. And even in your sleep you begged me for more, trying to ride my tongue and mewling in pleasure."
"I don't believe you." I do. I just can't help but play this game with him. I'll never get sick of this push and pull, and he knows it.
His eyes narrow, "Oh? Do you need a demonstration? I haven't had my mouth on you in nearly two months so if you're issuing a challenge, Ipromiseyou I'll make you regret it. I'm thinking maybe an orgasm for every week you were gone."
"Only four orgasms? Have you lost your touch?"
A wicked laugh rumbles in his chest. "Try again. You've been away from home now for nearly eight."
My bravado dies immediately. Four I can handle. Eight sounds like torture. "Okay, wait, wait." I escape his grip, taking another step back, and he matches me, keeping me within reach. "Maybe we just— Ahh!"
Within seconds, the world spins, and I'm heaved over Eamon's large shoulder, one of his palms landing with a slap on my ass, the other locking me into place.
Hislargesteps carry us into the kitchen, and he places me on the counter, the cold steel seeping through my pants. Without hesitation, he rips my shirt up over my head, using one hand onmy chest to push until I'm flat on my back, forced to comply with his rough treatment.
Eamon looks down at me, eyes hooded, drunk on lust as he pins me in place. "I'm gonna make you into a fucking mess, my sweet little hunter."
"Yeah?" I'm already a mess. Already panting and squirming just from the promise in his words.
He leans forward, dragging his lips across my collarbone, up my neck, groaning at the taste as his free hand inches towards my jeans and unbuttons them.
"Mhmm," he gently bites my neck, soothing the ache with his tongue. "That's why you're all splayed out for me right here instead of in a bed. I'm going to feast on every part of you. Your blood, every inch of your flesh, and when you're a wriggling, wanton,patheticlittle mess, only then will I make this pretty cunt flood my face with come."
"My blood?" I raise a brow. "All the blood theyjusthad to give me back?"
His face loses all color for a moment beforehe regains hismomentum, "All the blood that has smelled utterlywrongsince then up until yesterday." He drags his nose along my neck, inhaling my scent deeply.
I knew he could smell my blood, but I didn't realize how different each person might differ from another in scent.
His fingers grip the waistband of my pants; I lift my hips, letting him rip them from mybodyin one swift motion, the sound of them hitting the floor echoing. Those deft digits drift along the lacy strings on my hips, sinking under one side and snapping the material against me.
"These are pretty," he comments with a smirk. "And they even match your bra. What are the chances?"
A blush works across my face. Yes, I did coordinate the black lace set, hoping today would finally be the day he touchesme again. The last couple weeks have beentorture.Whether because I was healing or, I guess, because of the blood thing, he's kept all of our interactions sweet and affectionate.Chaste, even. And I'm fucking dying to have him again.
