“The tribes don’t work together very well.”
“Divide and conquer is an effective strategy. When only scraps are distributed, you must fight tooth and nail for everything you can get.”
“Do you think they could be united. Under Mater or… someone else?”
That someone else could only be you. I drew my finger under the elastic waistband of your underwear, noticing the dampness where your erection had rubbed against the fabric. You shivered from the light touch.
“It’s possible,” I said. “Lena isn’t very trustworthy, even among our own. It might take someone else leading the charge for the others to follow.”
My eyes drifted from your nipples, flush with color, to your fluted abdominals and the drops of blood mottling your skin. You noticed my attention and tipped the bottle so that more of it splashed over your abdomen.
I drew one fingertip along your stomach, relishing the light ripple of flesh, then put my finger to your mouth. You licked it slowly, eyes on me, seeking my approval.
“The seasoning is unnecessary,” I said and tasted the finger you’d just sucked.
“Thought this might be what it takes for you to touch me.” You rubbed one hand sensually along your torso, groin and inner thigh, smearing blood like oil. I stilled your hand with my own.
“I want to tasteyou.” I grabbed the bottle from your hands and set it on the night table. I didn’t need any more than this—your body, your scent, your sweet yearning flesh under my hands. “What’s your aim in seducing me, Vincent?”
“I think you know.”
“No need to rush.” I drew one of your nipples into my mouth and flicked it with my rough tongue.
“I leave tomorrow morning. You haven’t said yet if you’re coming with me.”
Of course, I was coming with you. It was never even a question.
“Reunions can be just as sweet as goodbyes,” I said.
“Don’t make me beg, Henri,” you said as if I’d hurt your feelings. You reached down to adjust yourself inside the soft white cotton, leaving bloody fingerprints on the material. “You either want me or you don’t.”
Could it be that simple? Take what you were offering without considering its implications?
“Do you want me?” you asked, your eyes heavy-lidded with lust but vulnerable still.
I dropped my head to your chest and breathed in your scent—comforting and arousing at the same time.
“Yes, I want you.”
Your thighs squeezed my broad torso, urging me on like a rider to his mount. “Then prove it.”
I lifted my gaze to meet yours, so earnest in your desire. Needful. Perhaps it was my duty to give you this. That rested a little easier on my conscience. You were asking to be ruined, and I trusted myself to do it thoroughly and well.
“Touch me,” you moaned, drawing my fingertips over the burnished bronze of your skin, along your exquisitely carved ribs, over the grooved muscles of your abdomen, and lower. My nose dipped down to graze the light dusting of dark hair along your meridian. You pressed my open palm against your erection and raised your hips, begging with every supple movement to be taken.
Very carefully, like unwrapping a gift, I removed your underwear, taking a moment to inhale deeply from the fabric.
“You’re lovely,” I said as my fingertips drifted across your skin, soft as rose petals and just as fragrant. I fondled you for a few moments and stroked your erection with a slight pressure. It wouldn’t take much.
“Kiss me,” you said, and with your hands in my hair, tugged me toward you.
I rose up on my knees while you lay back against the pillows. Your lips parted like ripe fruit to a paring knife, so warm and succulent. There was no need to rush this, so I savored the gentle slide of our tongues, your soft murmurings of pleasure, your hand on my back—nails digging into my skin as our passions became more fervent.
I gripped your silver hair in one hand and angled your head so that your neck was pulled taut as a bowstring. A gasp escaped your lips and another tremor rolled through you. I traced the path of your throbbing vein with my tongue, from your collar bone to the underside of your jaw.
“This was where you bled me,” you said and it took me a moment to realize you’d meant your past life, the very last time I’d touched you, when I cut you open with my teeth and drained the life from your veins. I froze, immobilized by my own remorse.
“You were gentle,” you said.
