“We should… slow down,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound convinced, not even remotely. His voice was strained, low, and our tight embrace made me all too aware of how close to the brink he was. I might have reveled in that, just a bit. To see Luther lose his cool? So worth it, even if it came with a bit of insanity. “If we stay like this, I won’t want to let you go,” he growled, his voice deep and husky.
His cock—a hard, warm outline against my hip—twitched, and my nipples ached, a pulse throbbing between my thighs. I swallowed hard; he was not the only one hanging on by a thread. Perhaps it was the wine talking, or perhaps it was that reckless part of me that impulsively kicked bastards when angry. Whatever it was, I went with it: “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
For a moment, the world held still as if it held its breath while Luther let my bold dare sink in. Then he kissed me again, fiercer this time, and we stumbled together, tangled in the music, the dim light, the sheer pull between us. His hands framed my hips; mine curled around his shoulders as though they belonged there.
I wasn’t even sure when the dancing turned into something else. One moment we were swaying, the next, he had lifted me slightly, guiding me backward, our mouths never parting. My back brushed a wall. Then his lips trailed my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth, each touch sending little shocks through me.
“Jade,” he whispered, like a warning, like a plea. I answered him with another kiss. He groaned softly—God, that sound was so sexy—and the next thing I knew, he was guiding me through that tempting open doorway and into his bedroom. Everything blurred: the heat of his hand in mine, the way he pressed a lingering kiss to my wrist, the way he backed me gently into the doorway of his bedroom. The room smelled like cedar and old books and him.
We crossed the threshold together. The rest happened in a rush of need and unspoken understanding: his mouth finding mine, the soft drag of my fingers in his hair—so lush and silky—the world narrowing to warmth, breath, and aching closeness. I felt weightless, wanted, overwhelmed, alive.
When he lowered me into the bedding, the last coherent thought I had was that I’d never been looked at the way he was looking at me now—reverent, almost starved, as though he couldn’t believe I was real. He pulled my shirt over my head, and rather thanrush that moment, he lingered, eyes glowing like fiery diamonds as they caught the soft glow of light from the living room. His gaze traced the lace of my bra, only a slight edge along the otherwise serviceable cotton. I felt that look like a caress, as if he’d trailed his fingers over my skin.
“I want to see you in silk and lace, red like wine, or green like the jade of your name,” he groaned. Fingers slipped the straps from my shoulders, expertly undid the clasp, and then my upper half was bare to him. He dangled the simple cotton over my head with a daring look in his eyes. “This—this has to go.” His other hand came up, blurring, too fast to be human, and white scraps danced through the air, the fabric shredded to bits.
I gasped, shocked, aroused, and a little horrified all at once. Had he seriously just destroyed my most comfortable bra? I opened my mouth to tell him off, but he pressed a finger to my lips, then shimmied out of his own shirt like a dancer—smooth, elegant—the dark gray fabric floating away to reveal a deep, honey tan that reached everywhere. He was sleek, muscled, but not in that overt bodybuilder way; perfectly defined and perfectly proportioned.
Distracted by all that sleek male physique on display, I momentarily forgot about my destroyed bra, and that I was supposed to be mad about it. How could I stay mad when he leaned in to kiss me, hands sliding to stroke each inch of my newly exposed skin with maddening softness? A thumb traced the underside of my breast, the gently calloused tip of his finger touching the side of one nipple, then returning to do it again.
“I need to taste you,” he groaned roughly, as his finger brushed over my turgid nipple a third time. He did as he said, though mymind briefly whirled with images of his fangs sinking into my sensitive skin. I hadn’t even seen fangs, not really, just a hint of them once or twice. His mouth was hot and silky as it closed over the aching tip, his tongue flicking against my skin and making stars burst across my vision.
The brush of his hand along my ribs made me clutch at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin in reflex. I found myself arching against him, pleasure bursting along my nerves with each sensual tease of his tongue. I was so focused on the sensation of his mouth on my breast that I barely noticed how he slid my jeans from my hips.
My legs bare, I felt the soft texture of his slacks against my hip, the heat of his cock straining against the rich fabric. “Luther,” I heard myself breathlessly moan, uncertain what I was asking for, begging, perhaps. This was usually the part I was no good at: clumsy, insecure, and uncertain of what I wanted or needed. There was no space between us to wonder about what I should be doing with my hands, or whether I was being too shy or too brazen. We just were—a force of passion, colliding and exploding together.
As he rose again to kiss my mouth, I felt the sharp edge of a fang against my tongue, and it sizzled a shard of danger through my veins. This was real; he was real. I still couldn’t bring myself to say the word, couldn’t even think it. At least we were well past the talking stage. I didn’t even notice when he’d taken his own pants off, just that our bodies were suddenly skin to skin.
He was gorgeous, and each time I looked, it took my breath away. I definitely looked down to see the thick lance of his cock resting against a patch of dark curls and a row of tight abs. Ishuddered, but there was no backing down now, and that wasn’t in my nature anyway. It must have been inevitable that we’d tangle this way after we’d clashed with words and minds so often.
“Jade,” he said, drawing my eyes from his thick, beautiful cock to his sharp, gray eyes. They were so serious that I had to swallow roughly, my lust-hazed mind screeching to a surprised halt to focus on him. “There’s no going back from this,” he warned, the words dark, serious. I wasn’t sure what they meant. I mean, duh—once we slept together, there was no putting that cat back in the bag, was there? His serious gaze seemed to imply something much more than the inevitable changing of our relationship. He seemed to want an answer.
“Yes,” I said, sounding surprisingly confident as I did. I wanted him, this beautiful, mysterious, and often infuriating man. He represented so much more than a challenge: a partner, an equal. To be at his side, to step into his world, was like stepping into a fantasy, straight into the books I so loved. Damn it, I wanted life to be different, better, more than fighting against asshole exes and black marks on my work history. I wanted to live, and I was pretty sure Luther knew all about living.
“Yes,” he agreed, nodding slowly, eyes searching mine. Whatever he saw in them, he seemed unable to linger on it much longer. His eyes were like a caress as he slid them from my face along my body. He had sprawled out at my side, long, sinuous, and shamelessly bare. His hand traced the path of his eyes: from my jaw, along my chest, sliding over my belly until he cupped me between my thighs. “Yes,” he growled.
Then he was rising over me, fingers stroking, prodding against my wet entrance. His thumb found my clit, and sensation lanced through my flesh with each precise brush and stroke. “Ah, the things I want to do to you, Jade,” he moaned, body shifting to cover mine, though his hand never stopped the maddening strokes and touches to my most sensitive flesh. “For now, I’ll settle for a taste—a claiming—but I’m going to take you places you’ve never been. That’s a promise.”
I raised a brow at him, and, nearly senseless and boneless from the pleasure he drew from my flesh with each touch, somehow managed a taunt: “Promises, show me first.” He growled, his hands shifting to roughly pull my legs apart. Then he was between them, and I felt the heat of his cock as it brushed against my core. His eyes were inhuman, bright like chips of ice, like diamonds glowing with an inner fire. The light of the living room was behind him, casting his face in shadow, but his eyes… his eyes glowed.
Then he sank deep, filling me with a rough stretch, a deep thrust. There was no thinking then, not about what he was, what he meant, or how this was going to change my life. We were two beings, entwining, instinct leading to pleasure in a dance as old as time. Luther knew it by heart, and I let him guide me through the steps.
The crash of our bodies, each brush and stroke, carried me until my orgasm crested hard and fast—a peak he let me tumble over, a fall with a soft landing. Then a pause, his body poised over mine, all sleek angles and intense, glowing eyes. There was such hunger on his face that it twisted my insides and shot anticipation down my spine. My muscles tightened andclenched, and he growled as that squeeze gripped the thick heat of his cock, buried deep inside of me.
I saw them then, the fangs. A glint of ivory: needle-sharp, fierce and firm, like a cobra’s or a cat’s. Dangerous. Not human. There was no denying it, no fleeing from the truth. I let it fill me, sweep me away, and he came with me, our bodies colliding anew, until we tumbled over the edge. Together this time, and it felt powerful, different. It felt like ties wrapping us together, invisible but real, like the silk sheets cocooned us until they sank beneath our skin. Where he ended, I began. But it was a circle with no break: a loop, a whole.
As the pleasure began to slip away, the night did not end. He gathered me in his arms, curling me against his chest like he meant to shelter me from everything. Keep me safe. You’re under my protection. Those were words he’d said to me tonight. I believed them with my whole heart—knew, deep in my bones, that Luther would always do exactly that. I fell asleep with that knowledge burrowing deep beneath my skin.
I woke sometime later, tangled in warm sheets and warmer limbs. Luther’s arm was draped securely around my waist. His nose brushed my temple, an intimate, quiet gesture that made my chest tighten. I could feel the steady, impossibly calm rhythm of his breath against my shoulder.
I stared at the ceiling, feeling his skin against mine, feeling… everything. My voice came out small, shaky, more honest than I intended. “You’re a vampire.” There, I’d said it, made it real in the dark of night. And it was dark, the curtains drawn, all the lights turned off. Luther must have done that while I napped.That felt sweet. It definitely felt like he didn’t plan to kick me out now that we’d slept together.
His body tensed when I said it—just slightly—but I felt it anyway. “You’re a vampire, Luther…” My heart hammered as I turned to face him, my hand flat against his chest. “How?” That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? How could talking bat familiars and blood-drinking vampires exist in this world, real, not myth?
He opened his eyes slowly, silver-gray and ancient and soft all at once. “Jade,” he murmured, brushing a thumb along my cheek, “I will tell you everything. Whatever you wish to know. Tomorrow.” Tomorrow, he said, like I could sleep after I’d woken with that kind of revelation dancing in my brain. It was real now that I’d said it out loud, and real was just a little scary, wasn’t it?
Then he kissed me, and nothing was scary or strange at all. It was just him and me clashing, the way we always seemed to.
Chapter 18
