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"Selene." He paused, and she liked how her name sounded on his lips. "Who are you hiding from?"
She propped herself up on an elbow. He gave her a searching look, reached up to slide a finger along her cheek, her jaw. In return, she settled her fingers on the bite mark on his neck. She knew he hadn't really registered it too much. The euphoria the released pheromones caused could do that, but now he put his hand there as well. She moved her hand so he could touch the bites, but put her fingers back over his and pressed down, let him feel those two punctures, understand they were a bit more extreme than the usual love bite.
"No one who is part of your world, Quinn." If she did everything the way she should, that world would never be part of his. Yeah, she'd given him the geographical locater mark, but that was a minor infraction, not a big deal. It actually protected him a little bit.
"So you're really strong. You don't like daylight. And..."
She saw his fingers slide across his throat again. He wouldn't say it aloud, but she could hear him thinking it. She'd drunk his blood.
"Yes, I'm a vampire."
He wouldn't believe her. That was the point. The powerful vampires on the top of the food chain who called the shots for all of them mostly lived in their mansions, cloaked in a veil of mystery. As such, they could harp all they wanted about never breathing a word about being a vampire to the human world and make that work.
In contrast, she was an average-income working girl with fangs and no permanent home. So in the twenty-first century, full of zealots and freaks in the news, she'd found the opposite tactic worked. Instead of hiding all the obvious vampire peculiarities, she put them out in the open, claimed she was a vampire, and people just shrugged and expected she was an escapee from the Discovery Channel Taboo series. It was the best century ever for a non-human to blend.
That strategy worked best when she worked and stayed in large cities, which Nightfall was decidedly not. But Quinn had seemed desperate enough to be worth the risk. If she proved she could run his bar and give him a good time in bed, he'd probably roll with it for a while. Guys tended to accept a crazy chick if the sex was worth it. And if she didn't cause him any hassles with running After Dark.
"A vampire, hmm?" He had that measuring look in his eye, already weighing her potential crazy-chick factor against Artie's many shortcomings. After her performance this evening, she expected she still had Artie by a mile.
"Yeah, but if you don't mind, I'd ask that you keep that information to yourself. And not just so people won't think your new bar manager is a freak."
As he mulled that, Selene watched him with a frown. The way he was processing the information seemed different from most humans. Almost as if it wasn't his first encounter with something otherworldly, something more significant than the typical everyone-has-a-ghost-story-to-tell imaginings.
There was no scent of magic on him, yet the look in his eyes, while not total acceptance, was...wait and see. She didn't know if that made things more or less dangerous for her here.
Though she was curious, she couldn't grill him on it right now. The timing wasn't right and this might not work out at all. She could be back on the road tomorrow, for all she knew.
Turning on his side, he touched the pendant lying on her breast bone. "Odd necklace for a vampire. Looks like a dagger through a heart." His gaze flicked up to her. "Or a stake."
"It's a reminder that none of us are as invincible as we think we are."
"Hmm. What if you can't trust me? What if I tell the local paper? Call Van Helsing?"
"If he looks like Hugh Jackman, go right ahead. But technically, I'm supposed to kill you if you tell anyone. I'd prefer not to do that. I need the job."
She lay back down in his arms, nestled her head under his chin. Once he went home, got up in the morning to do his normal ranch day, he'd probably rethink hiring a woman who acted like a vampire, who'd drunk his blood.
But that was later. For now, she'd lie here and imagine that maybe, for at least a little while, she'd found a place to be. Planting a distracting suggestion might help. Not that she needed a reason. She'd much rather play sensual games with him than talk about things that sent off alarm bells in his world.
"Quinn?" She whispered it against his ear, pleased at the strength of the arm that tightened around her, the heat of his body, the sleepy male grunt of acknowledgement. "Do you own a whip? Chaps?"
She actually felt him go more still, and hid a smile in his shoulder.
"Yeah."
"Next time you come to me, I want you to bring them." She drew back, put a finger on his lips before he could ask. "I'm not going to tell you why. Your job is just to obey. Understand, cowboy?"
He tilted his head down to look at her, those brown eyes that were so deliciously conflicted, the firm mouth she wanted to spend a lot more time tasting...and make taste her. Thinking of curling her hand in that thick hair, pushing his lips against her pussy, she shivered with pleasure. He felt it, his eyes darkening. She'd ride him again tonight. Maybe a couple more times.
Cowboys had stamina, after all.
"Yes ma'am," he drawled, with a glint in his eye.
Chapter Four
"Don't move, cowboy."
How could a voice like a whisper over the skin be so dominating at the same time? It held him in place on his knees, hands behind his back, even as he craved to reach out and touch the creamiest skin he had ever seen. Quinn gritted his teeth, chafing at the tone of command even as his body responded to it. His cock throbbed with urgent need and his mouth watered to taste again every inch of the petite woman standing before him.
"Do you want to lick my cunt?"
"Yes." He ground out the word. He wanted to lap her incredible essence more than he wanted his next breath. What stunned him was the desire--no, need--to wait for her to give him permission. As if his body was chained with invisible restraints that could only be released by a word from her. A nod. Perhaps
even a touch.
Her tongue slid over her plump lips before they curved into a knowing smile.
"No touching me except with your tongue."
He tightened his fists at the small of his back until his nails dug into his skin. Shockingly, the pain sent lust spiraling through him and the throbbing in his cock increased.
"Well?" she prompted.
"You're tough."
"Oh cowboy." Her eyes glinted with hunger. "You have no idea."
While his brain couldn't reconcile the ethereal vision before him with her whipstrike authority, his body was having no trouble telling him to get right on with it before he imploded. His pulse pounded in his veins as Selene moved forward until barely a sheet of paper would have fit between them. Widening her stance, she spread the lips of her pussy with slim fingers, presenting him with all that slick pink flesh.
His tongue snaked from his mouth, the tip gliding down from the top of her slit. He paused briefly to circle her clit, stimulating the knot of flesh, then following the path back up to the top. Her sigh of pleasure spurred him on, and he did it again. And again. And--
Quinn woke. He'd neglected to close the blinds last night and the morning sun poured over him, burning his eyes. The quilt was crumpled at the foot of the bed and the sheet was draped haphazardly from his waist, his aching shaft tenting it enough to make room for an army.
Shit. Holy shit.
The dream had been so vivid that he thought it was real, leaving him looking around the room for Selene. But of course she wasn't there. She was sleeping, either in the dark cellar or in that little apartment above After Hours. Recharging her energy, she'd told him when she sent him on his way.
In every relationship he'd been the one in control. The one to call the shots. To demand. Oh he always paid attention to his partner's needs, making sure she was completely satisfied. Tested and teased to find out the things that turned her on. Excited her. But it was his rodeo. He'd been in charge all his life, first with his competitions, then with the ranch, now with the bar.
But last night Selene had taken command. When she wound his belt around his wrists, restraining him, he'd been harder than he ever remembered. When at last she permitted him to come--permitted!--his release nearly blasted the top of his head off.
