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A faint tilt to the edge of the lip, and a glance that seemed to rake my body with an actual, physical touch, did not help my breathing.
“What?” I said again, as he slowly gathered my hands, holding them together in one lazy, iron-fisted grip, above my head.
“What?” I demanded, as he went back to that disturbing exploration.
He kissed my forehead. “My turn,” he whispered, and my whole body shuddered.
He took his time, examining every inch of me, refusing to stop when I squirmed. I supposed it was fair, but I couldn’t imagine what I looked like: beaten and bruised, bangs half gone, sweaty from two previous sessions . . . not too tempting. But he didn’t seem to see it that way.
A big, elegant hand dragged those callouses from breast to thigh and back again. He seemed fascinated by the color difference between his hand, probably the darkest shade of gold on his body, and the milkiness of my skin. I’d seen the sun plenty in my lifetime, but dhampirs don’t tan. The same healing abilities that prevented me from wearing earrings or bleeding out after a battle also erased a tan in a day, often less.
It was annoying, as dead white skin was a fashion no-no these days, but Louis-Cesare didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe it was the textural difference that intrigued him. The rough spots on his skin found no purchase on mine, sliding easily back and forth, back and forth, back and—
“Stop it,” I growled. “I don’t like—”
“To be admired? Why? You are exquisite.”
I stared at him. “Yeah, that’s why most people run at the sight of me.”
“They’re intimidated.” He kissed my stomach. “Do you know how many people I saw watching you tonight?”
“Afraid I’d steal the silver. Or possibly stab them with it.”
He looked up, and the dark eyes were serious. “They were admiring glances. Do you have any idea what you looked like then? What you look like now?”
I started to make a joke, but the look in his eyes stopped me. “No.”
“Then perhaps I should show you.”
I’d thought he meant in a mirror, but apparently not, because a warm, wicked mouth captured a nipple. The talented tongue played with it for a moment, swirling a
round my softness, then playfully biting the little nub he’d teased up until I was aching with it. Before abruptly starting to suck.
And, okay, I thought, that’s—that’s not fair.
Louis-Cesare did not appear to care. In fact, he compounded the issue by slipping that talented hand between my thighs, where he found another little nub. And, for the record, callouses on certain things are . . . nice. Very nice. Exquisitely fucking nice and suddenly I was squirming constantly.
I may have also started to vocalize, just slightly. I wasn’t screaming—I was not a screamer—but I might have been panting a little. Which was completely understandable considering the twin provocations. And then maybe a moan or two slipped out, and some Romanian curse words that I thought I’d forgotten but apparently not, and then a few things that might qualify as shrieks, only they were way softer than that and they should probably come up with another word but I couldn’t think of one right then, maybe because I was having problems remembering my damned name.
And then the shrieks became louder, but I didn’t care, because you try to stop it when he’s—and then he—and oh, yeah, oh yeah, right there, right there.
“No, go back! Go back!” I shrieked, when he deliberately strayed off target. And it was deliberate. The wicked little glint in his eye gave it away, as well as the fact that he went back to the exact spot as soon as I said something, finding it with no problem whatsoever, the bastard.
And, all right, there might have been a little screaming going on at the end, but I can’t be sure because I think I black out for a second. When I came around, he had a self-satisfied look on his face and my body was quivering and shaking and moaning in a way that would have been embarrassing, but I was way past that. Way past.
“In case you were wondering,” he breathed in my ear. “Darkly dangerous, seductive red lips, sleek dark hair, black stilettos and a thin, barely-there dress that flashed open now and then to reveal a stake. At a vampire ball.”
I cleared my throat and tried to remember how to talk. “Well, I wasn’t going to go in unarmed—”
He laughed suddenly, full throated and genuine, and his cheek came to rest on my stomach. His eyes met mine. “I do love you.”
I’d been about to point out that he hadn’t been unarmed, either, but at that, I stopped. I found that I couldn’t speak, suddenly. My fingers found his hair, and I let them comb through it until his eyes closed and his breathing evened out, and the powerful limbs went slack. And then I kept on doing it anyway, just because I could.
“I love you, too,” I whispered, and finally went to sleep.
Chapter Six
Dorina, Faerie
