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I also knew I wasn’t going to get it.
It was one of the problems of living with creatures with supernatural senses. They were with me all the time. Even when they weren’t right by my side, they might as well have been. And it wasn’t just their noses I had to worry about. Vampire hearing meant every breath was noted, every word, every sigh—
My fingers curled against the warm, wet tile, but it didn’t help. I needed some alone time. I needed some space. The most I’d been by myself lately had been that short time in Pritkin’s room, and then I’d mostly been asleep. Not that it mattered, since a war zone wasn’t conducive to certain things, although if I’d thought about it, I might have been desperate enough . . .
I glanced at the shower door, which was all fogged up. That and the heavy fall of warm water made it feel almost like I was somewhere else. I could close my eyes and imagine a waterfall or a rain forest or . . . or a shower with no vampires around. I wasn’t real picky right now.
I stood there for a moment, wondering how a person got to the point where she actually had to have an internal debate over whether or not to masturbate. I felt a half-hysterical giggle rise to my lips at the sheer absurdity of it, which, of course, I also had to swallow back down. The great Pythia, demigoddess and heir to the throne of Artemis . . .
Couldn’t even get herself off.
Only I could. I absolutely could. It felt like I wanted it so badly, was so close to the edge, that I might not have to do that much at all. I could just let my hand smooth over my breasts, slide over my stomach, and then just follow the trails of water a little . . . bit . . . lower. . . .
And feel the sudden shock of hands on my body, a tongue sliding up my naked spine.
I should have jumped; I almost did jump. But I knew that tongue. I knew those hands. I knew . . . oh God.
The palms were warm, in defiance of the legend. The fingers were roughened by calluses formed hundreds of years ago, in wars most people had forgotten. And the touch . . . was masterful.
That’s what five hundred years of experience does for you, I thought wildly, as a water-slick body pressed against mine.
I didn’t turn around. I didn’t move. I hadn’t expected to see Mircea tonight, had been psyching myself up for even a phone call, and now . . .
I wanted to speak, to tell him I was sorry, to tell him it hadn’t been how it looked. But my throat had closed up, and nothing came out. Except a groan, as wet, naked skin slid against me, with an almost electric frisson.
Mircea didn’t say anything, either, not in words. But I knew the tense and flex of that lean body, and it didn’t need words. The hands that had been gentle a moment before gripped my hips, fingers digging into my naked flesh. And pulled me roughly back against him, abruptly enough to wrest another gasp from my lips.
Or maybe that was the image that flashed across my vision, of a powerful body standing under the spray, one arm braced against the wall, tight jaw beaded with water, and eyes half-lidded as he . . . pleasured himself?
It didn’t make sense, any more than the fact that the tiles he was leaning against were a different color from mine. Or that the shower he was standing in was configured in a different direction, making my brain hurt. But I didn’t have time to process it, because the visuals were a little . . . overwhelming.
Wet dark hair streaming over his shoulders, free as few ever saw it. Chest running with rivulets, stomach and buttocks tight with effort, biceps hard and bunching on the arm that he was braced with, and the one he was using to hold himself. Only hold wasn’t the right word.
He was pulling out of the cage of his palm in long, slow strokes and then surging in hard, letting me feel the power behind each thrust. There was none of the butterfly touch he often used with me, which I’d mistaken for his preference. But which I now realized was the result of a vampire overcompensating for the fragility of a human, so afraid he might hurt her that he was overgentle, overcautious.
He wasn’t being cautious now. And it was beautiful, he was beautiful, in his casual brutality. Someone who couldn’t hurt himself and knew he couldn’t, pushing his limits, reaching for a climax that—
Suddenly included me?
Those incredible eyes closed, sharp teeth buried in his lower lip, and a frown of intense concentration came over his face. A hand pushed my wet curls to the side, the tongue found the indentations on my neck he’d left there as a mark of his possession. And something like an electric shock reverberated through me. Hands slid over my body, furling my nipples, tightening my skin, even before an unmistakable thickness slid against me.
It was hard and hot and unbelievably heavy. Mircea wasn’t small, even soft, and like this he was both eye-widening and somewhat terrifying. At least normally. But right now there was none of that. Just this, just gasping breath and raw need and pulsing, unfulfilled ache, and I was actually going to explode, to come apart at the seams, to go completely insane if he didn’t—
“Oh God. Yes.” That’s what I’d wanted, what I’d needed, not my own touch but his, the feel of him as I wrapped my legs around his waist—
And almost fell off. My back was against wet, slippery tile, my front was against soapy, slippery vampire, and any moment now, I was going to land in an undignified heap. And given my experience, probably on my butt. But then Mircea slid strong hands underneath my thighs, boosting me up, bracing me with his body as he pushed into me—
Carefully, as he hadn’t been just moments ago. He was slowing down, being cautious, holding back. And I didn’t want that.
“No,” I gasped, even as he held me, so, so carefully. Like I was china, like I might break. When I wanted to break; I wanted to feel. “Not like that. Like before.”
“I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
But Mircea was being stubborn. “My fantasy, my rules,” he told me, shifting position, getting that last half inch . . . just there. . . .
“That’s cheating,” I gasped. “And it’s my fantasy.”
