Forever, page 15
The top really had to go.
“Here, let me just—” With a wriggle, she disappeared the barrier on an up-and-over and threw it on the carpet. “Better.”
“Much,” he murmured.
Her bra was simple, white and cotton, and with her nipples peaked as they were, things were almost as visible as they would have been without the thing—and Daniel seemed captivated. Backing off a little, he teased her with his fingertips, the shaking in his hands much improved—and hey, if he needed occupational therapy like this? She’d be his PT any day.
The bra was a front clasp, and he paused as he went to the juncture between the cups. “Take this off for me?”
She knew why he asked, and instead of dwelling on the struggle he would have had, she turned it into a show. As he eased away, she freed the clasp, but left the cups in place. The reveal came as she arched her back, and the twin strokes as the bra’s halves slowly parted off to the sides made her bite her lip.
Daniel’s eyes burned as he looked at her, as if he were seeing her for the first time—and that expression of hunger in his face fed her on some level that had been starved for so long.
“You’re just beautiful.”
With that, he brushed a hand down her sternum and up one side. As he got to her nipple, he drew a circle around where she wanted his mouth, lingering, taking his time. Then he leaned in and kissed the underside of the breast he was stroking, nuzzling his way up to the tip that was aching for him. Everything he did was without hurry, as if they had all the time in the world—and she wondered whether he was giving her a chance to say no.
She wasn’t going to, even though she was nervous in ways she’d never been before. How could he be satisfied if he couldn’t orgasm himself? Wasn’t this selfish of her to—
“Hey,” he whispered as he stilled. “Where did you go?”
“I’m sorry.” As she heard the sadness in her voice, she tried to snap out of it. “I mean, I’m back now.”
His fingertips toyed with her nipple, giving it a tug. As a lance of pleasure shot through her core, she jacked back into the pillow with a hiss. When she recovered from the shock of the heat, she wanted to tell him it wasn’t fair.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“I just… I mean, what about you?”
“What about me.” Before she could formulate some kind of response, he shook his head. “I still feel everything. The softness of your skin.” He cupped her breast. “And where you’re tight for me.” He ran his thumb up and over her nipple. “And I get to watch you move under my touch.”
As he swept his hand down her body and around to the inside of her thigh, she opened her legs for him, her spine curling, her head moving back into the pillow again.
“Watching you feel pleasure,” he said as he lowered his mouth to her nipple, “is doing more for me than whatever Gus pumped into me down in the lab. Trust me. Just be with me here, Lydia, let me make you feel good—for the both of us.”
As his palm went higher, she gave herself into what he was doing to her, rolling her hips in anticipation. He refused to rush, though. He took his sweet time getting to her sex, and with every inch higher, her arousal intensified—when he finally made contact, she gasped, and that was when he kissed her mouth again. Sealing her lips with his own, he rubbed her back and forth, the heel of his palm taking the seam of her hiking pants and turning it into a torment she couldn’t get enough of.
“Please…”
“Please, what?” he said in a low voice, a voice she remembered.
“I need you.”
* * *
Daniel needed his woman, too. His limitations were real, but so was what he could still do. He could use his mouth. He could use his hands—and he did.
“Lift your hips.” When she did as he asked, he sat up. “Help me with the button, would you?”
There was no pause at all, and she attacked the fastening of her pants. And it was funny—or maybe liberating was more like it. He didn’t even give a shit that he needed help. Who the fuck cared. All he wanted was to keep the vibe going, and give her as many orgasms as she could take—
“Oh, yes,” he told her. “That’s it.”
He watched from above as she squirmed out of those hiking pants—as well as her underwear. The fact that she was impatient made him feel a male kind of satisfaction that had once been a familiar sensation, but nothing he’d sported since the spring. And then there was the way her breasts bobbed and swung, those nipples bouncing as she moved with none of her usual grace.
Which is not a bad thing at all, he thought as he licked his lips.
When she lay back down, he smiled and put his hands on her, stroking her from her tight breasts down her stomach to the bare cleft that was between her thighs. But he didn’t want to give her what they both needed—no, he wanted them to wait. Anticipation was a sweet bitch, wasn’t it.
Except he didn’t last as long as he’d hoped.
The sex was different without his cock being involved, but he was juiced and hungry for her release, sure as if it were his own. And it was the strangest fucking thing. As he pleasured her, slipping his fingers up and down her slick, hot core, he lived through her response, every moan and twist something that was transmitted into his own body—
She cried out his name when he penetrated her, and his eyes closed as his own head fell back. She was so tight, and God, he was panting, too.
He could remember what it was like to have his cock in her, the way the constriction had been so electric, how his whole body felt the fiery hold. Riding those memories, he found a rhythm to his stroking, and he wanted to kiss her, but he needed to see her more—and what a picture she was, naked on top of the bed, one knee out to the side, her breasts pumping up and down, her hands fisting the duvet that was wrinkled underneath her.
“Come for me,” he commanded. “Let me watch you come.”
Three fingers now, going in and out of her, every penetration bringing the heel of his palm against the top of her core, her hips working her against him—
Oops, annnnnd there went a pillow. And another.
Her body was contorting now, jacking to the side, her knees coming up, her legs locking in against him, her hands punching down and holding him in place—
Lydia came hard, the contractions so tight he could feel them, and oh, shit, it was good, the tension releasing in his own body, a shimmering going through him as if he’d somehow absorbed part of the orgasm.
When she eased up and flopped onto her back, he kept his hand right where it was and smiled a big ol’ yeah-I-did-that-to-my-woman grin.
Sure as if he’d never pleasured her so well before.
Lifting her heavy lids, Lydia looked up at him… and there it was. That love shining in her eyes, the thing he hadn’t seen for so long.
“You’re the best medicine I have,” he said as he leaned forward and tilted her chin up.
Putting his mouth against hers, he stroked her hair back: Thanks to the writhing, the ponytail she’d put it in was no longer up to its job, all kinds of frizz surrounding her.
“Also, just so you know,” he informed her, “I could do this for hours.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah.” He caressed her sex some more and was really into the sound she made. “Really.”
“Daniel—” she gasped.
Leaning back down to her breasts, he murmured, “Once more with feeling…”
SEVENTEEN
A GOOD FIFTY MILES to the west, in the symphath Colony, Blade was fifty feet beneath the ground and fully armed under his blood-red robe. His private quarters were in the least desirable part of the rabbit warren of subterranean chambers, and he did that on purpose. No one bothered him here.
Secrecy was necessary—and not just the kind that came with people not entering your private space. Mental secrecy was critical to him. His kind had no hesitation to violate a person’s mind, either because you had information or emotions up there they wanted or needed—or because they were bored and inclined to fuck with you.
If he was anywhere else in the Colony, his thoughts were locked down, his grid protected—and even here, he was careful not to become complacent.
Throwing part of the draping over his shoulder, he rechecked his hip holster. Two guns, backup ammo, everything cleaned with an herb wash that hid any scents of metal, lead, blue oil. Not that this was all of his armaments. He had hidden a pack of explosives just off the Colony’s territory, and he would pick that up on his way.
He knew better than to bring C-4 anywhere near here.
Resettling the robing, he glanced around. His pallet was across the way on the tiled floor. Then he had his locked wardrobe, two trunks that were secured with screws that penetrated into the bedrock five feet down, and a bank of cabinets.
None of that really mattered, though.
Not like his young.
Pivoting around, he stared at the wall of glass cages. The reptile enclosures were stacked together, eight across the bottom, six running up vertically. Each one had several heat lamps, at least four inches of soil or sand for burrowing, a hiding spot or two, foliage, and a water dish.
Fifty-seven white scorpions, collected over his lifetime, interbred as appropriate, with their venom collected and stored.
They were the only young he would ever have, and he cherished them as a parent would, tending to not just their basic needs, but nurturing their growth and development—and mourning their passings as they came.
Narrowing his eyes, he felt a creeping paranoia latch on to the nape of his neck. Though he was not a male who was at a loss very often, his throat grew tight. If he died tonight, he did not know who would feed them, and he imagined, under the lamps, with no fresh water or food supply, they would die fast. Unlike scorpions in the wild, his all contained recessive genes that made them more potent, but also more vulnerable.
Trying to collect himself, he went over to the left. His favorite was the smallest of the collection, but then, in their kind, size was the inverse to deadly danger. The big ones had the weaker stings.
“You are the queen, aren’t you,” he whispered as he tapped the glass.
The predator on the other side of the pane shifted her body around and stared at him. She was beautiful, white as driven snow, and he’d always found her elegant, her segmented stinger curling up over her back, a fascinator that packed a punch, her pincers curving like a rococo sculpture.
“I’ll need you later. But not right now.”
As a symphath, he had to regulate himself if he went out into the world. Yes, he was part vampire, but unlike his sister, the evil side in him was more dispositive, and given the purpose that had animated him all these years, he’d had to have control as he worked with humans to accomplish his goals. The venom was the key for him. Back when the Princess had been alive, he had been in charge of her stable of scorpions, feeding them, caring for them—and of course he’d been stung. That was how he’d learned that the poison had its benefits.
And he had used them.
Not tonight, however. He needed to be at his full potency as he went out on this mission that could well be his last—either because he was killed in action… or because the final lab was taken out.
“Be well, leelan—”
“You expecting a response from that thing?”
At the male voice, Blade smiled in a nasty fashion, and turned back around. “The King has arrived. To what do I owe this honor?”
Rehvenge stood in the doorway of the quarters, all amethyst eyes and majestic menace. The male, who was also a half-breed, had his own way of controlling his urges in mixed company, but he never, ever came down here medicated. And instead of the long mink coat and nice silk suit he sported in Caldwell, the male was wearing a white sheath that fell from a short collar down to his loafers. Mounted on the satin, in a pattern of swirls and straightaways, were countless rubies, their facets and pigeon-blood color catching the subtle light and magnifying it back in such a way that he appeared to gleam.
“People who talk to pets,” Rehvenge said as he entered without invitation, “have anthropomorphized animals—or in your case, arachnids, to be specific.”
“These are not my pets.”
“The Princess has been dead for how long?” The King made a show of looking at the cages. “With her gone, the only explanation for this continued husbandry is that you’ve formed an attachment of some sort. There is no longer any duty for you to uphold.”
Blade continued to smile, though in his heart, a dark hatred kindled. But then that emotion was exactly what the King was hoping to elicit, and therefore, it was easily corralled.
“Habits die hard,” he murmured.
“Perhaps I need to give you a job.”
“I am ready for my orders.” Blade bowed slightly. “Whatever shall you have me do, my Lord—”
The King moved so fast, he was untrackable. One moment Rehvenge was over by the door; the next, he was right up in Blade’s face, looking like he was prepared to bite something until he got to bone—after which, he would keep going.
Blade purred in the back of his throat. “I had heard you were happily mated, but mayhap the gossip is wrong. Would you like me on my knees? Or were you planning on forcing me to accept you in another fashion? I am a top, but as you are my King, I believe no is not an option.”
Rehvenge’s lips peeled off his fangs, the daggers in the roof of his mouth flashing. “I want you to stop fucking with your sister.”
For a split second, Blade gave an honest reaction: “What are you talking about?”
“You’re going to stop fucking with Xhex, or I’m going to take out my frustration with you on your little collection here—among other things.”
Besotted with his ruler, Blade leaned in so they were chest to chest, nearly mouth to mouth. Tilting his head to the side, in case his King wanted to sample his lips, he murmured, “I am doing nothing to her. You can ask her yourself—you all but live with her, don’t you.”
“In the last three weeks, at least two vampires have been found in Caldwell with their eyes taken out by a lys.”
“Mmm. Sounds like you have a collector on your hands—or someone who is making a hearty stew.”
“And last night, somebody shot at John Matthew.”
“Remind me who that is again—”
The grip on the front of Blade’s throat prevented him from going any further with the line of bullshit he was spouting with such enjoyment.
“Don’t stop,” Blade squeezed out as he rolled his hips. “You’re turning me on.”
The pressure was released not in the slightest.
“Quit framing her for trouble,” Rehvenge ground out, “and leave her mate alone. If there are any more bodies in the alleys down there, or another oopsie with a lead slug and John’s chest cavity, you’re going to wish for your grave.”
With a quick shift, Rehvenge stepped back and took his death grip with him.
Blade coughed as he dragged oxygen down deep. “What… motive. Do. I have. For that.”
“Your family has never needed a motive when it comes to her. Or do you think I’ve forgotten who put her in that fucking lab in the first place.” The King jabbed a finger across the tense air between their faces. “You people eat your own. You always have. You want me to spell out your motive? It’s what’s in your veins.”
“As if you are not one of us yourself. Or has the Brotherhood worn off on you? If that is the case, I would beware down here.”
The King leaned in, his jeweled robes shimmering as if he were covered with blood. “Try me. Please.”
That amethyst stare glowed with menace, and in the back of Blade’s mind, he thought… ah, yes. This was why the male was King—and kept that mantle. With every fiber of his being, Rehvenge relished conflict, his favorite meal, always consumed with hunger.
Evidently finished with delivering his message, the King walked for the door, that robing flaring behind him.
“My sister is nothing to me,” Blade said in a low voice. “I would no sooner waste energy upon her as I would beat a stray. Not because I am moral, but because I am logical.”
Rehvenge looked back across the quarters. “Then you better hope whoever’s setting Xhex up loses interest in their pet project. Because the shit is going to come down on you if it keeps up, and I will enjoy what I do to you.”
* * *
“I won’t be gone long.”
As Xhex made the pronouncement, John Matthew gave her two thumbs-up and a smile from his hospital bed. Then, like he could read her mind, he signed, You’re doing the right thing.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Go, I’m okay. Promise.
She kissed him on the mouth, brushed his hair back—and then pressed her lips to his forehead. After a lingering look into his blue eyes, she beat feet out of his recovery room before she changed her mind. She wasn’t sure leaving John was the right thing. She wasn’t sure what she was doing meeting that guy up on the mountain. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go on that trail again—
No, she was sure she didn’t want that ascent. She hadn’t liked what she’d found up there the last time, and she had no expectation that the passage of months had improved what she was likely to cross paths with.
But if you do not start… you will never, ever finish.
Whatever.
Heading down the training center’s corridor to the left, she proceeded past the unused classrooms and punched out of the steel door into the parking area. A couple of blacked-out box vans were parked facing toward the exit, and then there was Fritz’s high-class version of a school bus—that had absolutely nothing in common with the orange-painted bread loaves that took human children back and forth to their places of learning.
