I bolted upright. “Fuck.”
Sunlight poured in the window, casting a beam of light across the narrow bed. But in my head I was still standing over Heathcliff’s body, sucking every last drop of blood from my fingers.I can taste him on my lips…
My heart clattered against my ribs. I held up my hand in the light. No blood. Not a drop. I wiped my clammy forehead as soft lips touched my shoulder. A warm arm closed around my waist, drawing me back to press against a hard body. Kisses feathered along my collarbone.
“Waking up next to you is a beautiful gift.”
Quoth. No one else spoke like poetry.
My body responded to his words. Warmth pooled in my belly, spreading out through my limbs.
“You were having the dream again.”
“It’s just a dream. He can’t hurt me in my dreams if I have you protecting me. When did you get in?” I reached up to run my fingers through his hair. Quoth had the kind of arse-length, thick, shimmering hair that shampoo companies envied. It fell through my fingers like silk, and where it brushed my skin, it left a trail of fire.
In his arms, Dracula’s dream threats couldn’t touch me.
“I think it was about 3AM. You were sound asleep.” Quoth’s lips brushed against my earlobe as his fingers slid into my panties, finding my clit and stroking it softly, slowly. “I crawled in beside you and you grunted at me and stole all the blankets.”
I stroked his face as he touched me. The light hit him in such a way that his skin seemed even paler than usual, luminous like spun gold. His hair spilled over his shoulders, grazing my bare skin. I pulled his lips to mine as his fingers worked their magic on me, dipping and swirling, teasing a delicious ache in my belly. Within moments, I shuddered and gasped in his arms.
After I was done, Quoth pulled me back into his arms, nuzzling his head into the crook of my shoulder. My gaze fell on the canvas covered with the sheet. “I can’t wait to see your artwork.”
Quoth’s breath hitched. He still struggled with the idea of sharing who he was with the world, even with me. He made himself vulnerable through his art – with every stroke of the brush he feared he wasn’t good enough, he didn’t belong, he should be hiding away instead of baring his beautiful soul to the world. It’d been hard enough for him having some of his paintings on sale in the shop, even though they were a big hit with our slightly strange clientele. It was a huge deal for him to exhibit for the public like this – to be in the room while people judged him.
But I wasn’t people, I was his girlfriend. He knew I loved everything he did. I didn’t understand what he could possibly be nervous about.
“I can’t wait for you to see them, too,” he whispered against my ear. “You’re going to be so surprised.”
“Good surprised, right?”
Quoth chuckled, kissing the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. And I wasn’t thinking about paintings or Dracula anymore.
* * *
Ileft Quoth sleeping, the covers pulled up over his head, and padded downstairs. Oscar followed me, and I let him out the back door into the alley so he could do his business.
I tiptoed downstairs and peeked into the storage closet, aka Morrie’s room. His bed was already empty and neatly made with hospital corners. He’d probably gone out for coffee. Heathcliff had thrown our machine against the wall after Morrie pinched his arse the other week, and we hadn’t replaced it yet, and the Napoleon of Crime couldn’t function without his morning latte. I heard a thump from the Philosophy room, but I didn’t want to deal with Socrates without coffee, so I headed back upstairs.
Heathcliff slumped in his chair beside the dead fire, his head flopped against his shoulder, and his big hands wrapped around Grimalkin’s body as she slept contentedly in his lap. He looked so peaceful and at ease, so unlike my Heathcliff of late.
I bent down and brushed my lips over his, breathing in the woody, heathen scent that never failed to do magical things to my insides. Heathcliff cracked open one eye, training the wine-dark orb on me.
“Morning,” he murmured. I stared into the inky depths of him and didn’t know how I’d ever doubted his love. I’d caught him before his morning coffee, before he had time to pull on his mask of indifference, and he was full to bursting with savage need.
Also, very definitely not bleeding to death from a wound on his neck, which was how I prefer my men.
I grinned and held my finger to my lips. I dumped Grimalkin on the floor and gave her a nudge with my boot. She shot me a filthy look as she padded downstairs, Oscar at her heels.
You’re one to judge, Grandma. I heard you and Mr. Hartford’s tomcat getting up to all sorts of kinky shenanigans behind the rubbish bins last night.
Heathcliff’s eyes were wide open now, hard and hungry, every trace of indifference wiped away. I straddled the armchair, lifting my skirt to settle myself on top of Heathcliff’s thighs. His fingers slid over my skin, drawing out the wild animal inside me, the one who didn’t know if she wanted to fight or fuck.
One thing that’d been amazing about losing my sight was how much more time I spent noticing other sensations. Before, just the sight of Heathcliff’s possessive scowl would turn me weak at the knees. Now, it was the brush of his bristly beard against my skin, or the way his fingers dug into me a little too hard, as if he was terrified that if he let me go I’d float away. And his taste…that glorious bite of whisky-laced sin that could only be Heathcliff Earnshaw.
I tasted him now, my lips devouring him. He shoved up my Sex Pistols tee and palmed my breast, squeezing the sensitive flesh until I moaned against his lips. There was no pretense here. Heathcliff didn’t play games like Morrie, and he didn’t wait for permission like Quoth. He growled, low in his throat, a man possessed by need of me. That was so damn addictive.
I raised myself up on my knees to tug off his boxers, then lowered myself onto his cock. He hadn’t touched me in so long, and now he was inside me, and he feltamazing. I wriggled my hips, a smile playing on my lips as he touched the dark, secret places inside me.
