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When he ended, there was an audible gasp.
He looked down, smiling. "Do you need anything? Are you hungry, leelan?"
She put her hand on her stomach. "You know, I am. I have the weirdest craving for bacon and chocolate. Go figure."
"I will serve you. Sit down." He indicated his chair and then headed off through a swinging door.
She eyed the men.
Great. Here she was, naked in a bathrobe, alone with well over a thousand pounds of vampire. Pulling off the nonchalant thing was impossible, so she just headed over for Wrath's seat. She didn't get far.
There was a loud scraping noise as five chairs slid backward. The men rose as a unit. And started coming for her.
She looked to the faces of the two she knew, but their grave expressions weren't encouraging.
And then the knives came out.
With a metallic whoosh, five black daggers were unsheathed.
She backed up frantically, hands in front of herself. She slammed into a wall and was about to scream for Wrath when the men dropped down on bended knees in a circle around her. In a single movement, as if they'd been choreographed, they buried the daggers into the floor at her feet and bowed their heads. The great whoomp of sound as steel met wood seemed both a pledge and a battle cry.
The handles of the knives vibrated.
The rap music continued to pound.
They seemed to be waiting for some kind of response from her.
"Umm. Thank you," she said.
The men's heads lifted. Etched into the harsh planes of their faces was total reverence. Even the scarred one had a respectful expression.
And then Wrath came in with a squeeze bottle of Hershey's syrup.
"Bacon's on the way." He smiled. "Hey, they like you."
"And thank God for that," she murmured, looking down at the daggers.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Marissa smiled, thinking that the human got more handsome the longer she was around him. "So you protect your kind for a living. That is good."
He shifted beside her on the couch. "Well, actually, I don't know what I'm going to do now. I have a feeling I'm about to be between jobs."
The chiming of a clock made her wonder how much time they'd spent together. And when the sun was coming up. "What time is it?"
"Just after four A.M."
"I must go."
"When can I see you again?"
She stood. "I don't know."
"Can we have dinner?" He leaped up. "Lunch? What are you doing tomorrow?"
She had to laugh. "I don't know."
She'd never been pursued before. It was nice.
"Ah, hell," he muttered. "I'm blowing it with this overeager sh - stuff, aren't I?" He put his hands on his hips and stared at the carpet as if disgusted with himself.
She stepped forward. His head snapped up.
"I would touch you now," she said softly. "Before I go."
His eyes flared.
"May I? Butch?"
"Anywhere," he breathed.
She lifted her hand, thinking she would just put it on his shoulder. But his lips fascinated her. She'd watched them move while he enunciated his words and wondered what they felt like.
"Your mouth," she said. "It's rather..."
"What?" His voice was hoarse.
"Lovely."
She put her fingertip on his lower lip. His gasp drew air over her skin, and when he exhaled on a shudder, it came back warm and moist.
"You're soft," she said, brushing her forefinger back and forth.
He closed his eyes.
His body was throwing off the most intoxicating scent. She'd caught the heady fragrance the moment he'd first seen her. Now, it saturated the air.
Curious, she slipped her finger into his mouth. His eyes flipped open.
She felt his front teeth, finding the absence of fangs odd. When she went in farther, it was slick, wet, warm.
Slowly, his lips closed around her finger. And then his tongue ran around the tip in a circle.
A surge went through her body. "Oh..."
Her br**sts tingled at the tips, and something was happening between her legs. She felt achy. Hungry.
"I want..." She didn't know what to say next.
He covered her hand with his and pulled his head back, sucking the length of her finger until it popped out of his mouth. With his eyes boring into hers, he turned her palm over, licked the center of it with his tongue, and pressed his lips to her skin.
She leaned into him.
"What do you want?" he asked in a low voice. "Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want."
"I... don't know. I've never felt this before."
Her answer seemed to crack the spell. His face grew dark, and he dropped her hand. A curse, soft and vile, floated out of him as he put some space between them.
Marissa's eyes burned at his rejection. "Have I displeased you?"
God knew, it was something she seemed to excel at when it came to males.
"Displeased? No, you're doing just fine. You're a real pro." He pushed a hand through his hair. He seemed to be struggling with himself, as if he were trying to get back to normal from some faraway place. "It's just that the innocent act is freaking me out a little."
"Act?"
"You know, the doe-eyed-virgin routine."
She stepped forward while trying to frame a response, but he held out his hands. "That's close enough right now."
"Why?"
"Please, baby. Give it a rest."
Her face fell. "You make no sense."
"Oh, really," he said. "Look, you can turn me on just standing there. You don't have to pretend you're something you're not. And I... ah, I don't have a problem with what you do. I'm not going to arrest you for it, either."
"Why would you arrest me?"
As he rolled his eyes, she had no clue what he was talking about.
"I will go now," she said abruptly. His aggravation was growing with each passing moment.
"Wait." He reached out and took her arm. The instant he made contact, he dropped his hand. "I still want to see you."
She frowned, eyeing the hand he'd touched her with. He was rubbing the thing like he wanted to get rid of a sensation.
"Why?" she asked. "You obviously don't like the feel of me right now."
"Uh-huh. Yeah, sure." He regarded her cynically. "Look, how much is it going to cost me to get you to play normal?"
She glared back at him. Before she'd had it out with Wrath, she might have just skulked off. But no more.
"I don't understand you," she said.
"Whatever, baby. Tell me, are some guys so hard up to pop cherries that they actually buy this act?"
Marissa didn't understand all the vernacular he used, but the gist of what he was thinking finally got through to her. Appalled, she threw her spine into a straight line.
"I beg your pardon!"
He stared at her, jaw set hard. Then he exhaled.
"Ah, hell. He rubbed his face with his hand. "Look, forget it, okay? Let's just forget we ever met - "
"I have never been taken. My hellren did not favor my company. So I have not once been kissed or touched or even held by a male who felt passion for me. But I am not... I am not unworthy." Her voice quavered at the end. "I've just never been wanted before."
His eyes went wide, like she'd slapped him or something.
She looked away. "And I've never touched a male," she whispered. "I just don't know what to do."
The human let out a long breath, as if all the oxygen in his body were being expelled.
"Holy Mary, mother of God," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I'm... I'm a total ass**le, and I totally misjudged you."
His horror at what he'd said to her was so palpable, she smiled a little. "You truly mean that."
"Hell, yeah. I mean, yes, I do. I hope I haven't completely offended you. Well, how could I not have? Jesus Christ... I'm very sorry." He looked positively pale.
She put her hand on his arm. "I forgive you."
He laughed in disbelief. "You shouldn't. You should stay pissed at me for a while. At least a week, maybe a month. Probably longer. I was way out of line."
"But I don't want to be angry at you."
There was a long pause. "Will you still see me tomorrow?"
"Yes."
He seemed stunned by his good fortune. "Really? Man, you're going for sainthood, you know that?" He reached out and stroked her cheek with his fingertip. "Where, baby? Where's good for you?"
