Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5 (17 page)

He thrust both hands under my butt, lifted me and really got to work.

He swiped my sex relentlessly, stroking and grinding with his muscular tongue, scouring me with hot licks until I tossed my head with the need to scream.

Aside from brief, soft growls, he made utterly no noise.

It was frightening; it was incredible. Ravished to within an inch of my life in absolute silence. Tiny rasps of breath and slaps of tongue were the only indication of the passion raging on the bed. I swallowed shouts of pleasure, viciously repressed keens of desperation. They echoed inside my head, caroming off my skull and gaining strength until I thought my head would crack with them.

Denied an outlet, the insane response he wrung from me overwhelmed me. In utter silence he drove me up a peak of lunacy—and swept me over.

I came silently, clutching his head. Screaming in my mind,
yes Glynn yes—
but not breathing a word.

Slowly I calmed. A tenderness rolled over me. An amazement.
I want you so much, Glynn. My heart yearns for you.

But in the silence, none of the words were unleashed.

So there was no need to explain when I opened my eyes and found his, warm and blue as a tropical sea. I hadn’t shouted his name at the peak of passion, hadn’t murmured tender words after.

I hadn’t said anything that revealed my temporarily unguarded heart.

I had no need to explain at all.

He cuddled me after, long enough that when he kissed my forehead, got to his knees, and unzipped his jeans, I had my guard back up. Mostly. Muscles played in his chest and arms as he shucked pants, and—sweet mystery of economics, his erection was a gold card with heavily compounded interest. Kneeling over me, he fit that monster between my thighs.

“Wait! You’re not wearing a condom.” I kept my voice to a whisper, though I wanted to shout it.

“
Babi
. I carry no diseases.” He pressed the glans into my wet opening like a soft kiss. “And you can’t get pregnant.”

“You’ve had a vasectomy?”

“No.” His straining muscles shouted how torturous he found it not to thrust home. “But Junior, I’m telling you. You cannot get pregnant by me.”

“I’m just supposed to take your word for that?”

His eyes clenched shut. When he opened them, they’d gone pale blue, the pupils constricted. “Another no?” He leaped from the bed, swearing viciously in a whisper that made it even more raw. He paced the small room, hissing expletives. Came to a sudden halt, spine arched, fingers digging into the small of his back. “Bollocks. Are you saying stop?”

I didn’t want him in pain, but potential pregnancy was a deal breaker. “I’m saying no penetration without protection.”

Before I finished the last word, he was on the bed and covering me, so fast he seemed to blur. “There are other things we can do.” He buried his mouth in my neck and nuzzled. “Other ways to find satisfaction.”

My eyes closed at the feel of his lips, his teeth sharp on my sensitive throat. “I do owe you an orgasm. Two, now.”

“Then lie back.” He eased his weight onto me, kissing and nuzzling and sucking the sensitive skin until I arched helplessly into him. His erection pulsed thick between us, hot silk running the length of my belly. I thought about the “other” ways he could find satisfaction. In my mouth, with licks and sucks…or between my breasts, sliding in the slick perspiration of my own arousal, or…

He thrust against my pubic bone. The hard, driving shock banged pleasure through me. Yeah, that worked too.

He drove against me over and over, until his cock snarled in my pubic hair, until each thrust tugged flesh, wrenching against my swelling clitoris. “Glynn, wait. I want…” I clutched his biceps, trying to slow him. I wanted to give him pleasure. To drive him insane while I remained cool and in control.

To maybe open his heart as he’d opened mine.

But he rode my mons with increasing fervor and my protest went unfinished. Control went out the window and my hips beat up against him, seeking more.

His nuzzling became frantic with nips and licks. “I can smell your arousal,
babi
. Hear your pulse quicken.” He groaned, soft, deep. “I must taste you.”

“You already tasted me.” The hot, broad swipes of his tongue, the heat of his breath was driving me up that spiral of insanity again.

“Fully…your essence… I must taste all of you.” His arm circled my shoulders, protecting me from the headboard as he slammed harder, each thrust juddering through my entire body. His breath boiled across the skin of my neck as he nuzzled my throat. “Please,
babi
. Let me taste you.”

He sounded so desperate, so unusually needy and vulnerable. Like his heart might be unguarded, just for an instant… I raised my chin, tacit assent.

“Ah, Junior. Thank you.” He touched tongue to my throbbing pulse, butterfly-light. I stretched into it, enjoying the sweet flutters—

Pain stabbed my throat. Sharp, hot, so intense it was pleasure. I throttled a scream. Jerked out a hoarse rasp as I exploded in a cataclysmic orgasm.

Glynn thrust one last time and joined me. Hot liquid poured onto my belly in muscular spurts. His mouth moved over the pain/pleasure in my throat, almost feasting in sensual abandon. A dark rumble underscored his kisses, pausing when he swallowed and resuming when he opened his mouth to lick my throat.

A dark rumble like a big cat. Like Glynn was purring.

Connections fired in my brain. Unnaturally handsome men and sated friends and Dirk saying vam—

Glynn’s head jerked up. His eyes went far away, iced.

He swore, softly. With a final lick to my neck, he sprang from the bed, started jamming himself into his jeans while I was still processing the fact that he was gone, again. I nearly leaped after him, but with that same instantaneous sort of shimmer he was back, wiping my belly with his T-shirt. “Your parents. On their way up.”

“Both of them?” I squeaked it.

But now I’d heard it too, the telltale squawk of the two-by-four I’d deliberately weakened to warn me. A second squawk, lighter. Jeez, it
was
both of them. I only got both for the serious stuff. (I was twenty-five, but they delighted in reminding me they’d always be my parents and I’d always be their little girl. Never mind that I half ran the business. I’d never be too old to spank.)

“Shee-it. Glynn, you have to hide!”

“I know. Pretend to be sleeping.” Tossing me under the covers, he paused long enough to kiss my forehead and give the room one last scan before snapping off the light.

My door opened just as he disappeared under the bed.

I curled on my side, clamped my eyes shut and thought blank thoughts, putting myself half-under in two seconds. When you deal with parents like mine, you learn to power-nap.

The door cracked. “Junior?” called a soft mezzo. Well, soft as operatic sopranos went. They probably only heard her a block away.

Mom leading meant they were worried instead of angry. Pop first meant a lecture.

I breathed deeply, regularly. Emanated narcoleptic vibes.
Junior’s asleep, fast asleep. Nothing’s wrong, go back to bed.

Silence, but I knew better than to relax.

“I don’t like this, Gunter. I know I heard the bed squeak.”

Oh please. Don’t let my mom say what she’s thinking.

She didn’t. My dad did, at ninety decibels. “She is having
sex
?”

I clamped my eyes harder, honk-shued louder.
Junior’s asleep. Go away.

Then, because the whole neighborhood hadn’t heard it, my mother said at a airport levels, “If she’s having sex, where is her young man?”

To my utter horror, I heard Pop drop heavily to his knees and felt the bed skirt lift.

My eyes sprang open. Glynn was rolling across the floor. I choked on a gasp. He scrunched into a corner of the room, put a finger to his lips.

I clamped eyes again. My head hurt.

“Nothing under here, Rosalinda.” The scrape of my father getting to his feet and the slap of him removing nonexistent dust evened my breathing. Then, thankfully, I heard the shuffle of his feet toward the door.

“I still don’t like this, Gunter.”

Dammit.

“What would you have me do, Rosalinda?”

“You check the bathroom. I’ll search the room.”

Which, postage-stamp size that it was, would give her all of two seconds to find Glynn in his corner. Then there’d be worse than hell to pay. Worse than a lecture. There’d be I-told-you-so.

My mother’s brisk stride around the room told me she’d started her search. Fearful, I cracked an eye.

Glynn’s corner was empty.

I checked out the second corner. Where the hell was he? Hiding my desperation with a big stretch, I rolled onto my other side. Checked out the other two corners.

No Glynn.

“No man in the bathroom, Rosalinda.”

“And none in the room, Gunter.”

WTF? If Glynn wasn’t in the corners, or under the bed, or in the bathroom, he must be in…

“I will check the closet, Gunter.”

I jerked up to stop her—just as she snapped open the door.

Their backs were to me. Two heads peered in, one silver, one black as mine. “I do not see anything, Rosalinda.”

I lay back down, pronto. If Glynn wasn’t in the bathroom or the room or the closet… My gaze landed on the ceiling.

Where he braced like Spiderman.

I blinked. Fecking freak-my-nomics, he was wedged between the ceiling fan and the wall, obvious as a prom day zit. If my folks had been any taller, they’d have hit heads on his belt buckle as they went by.

I beat my lids frantically in SOS.
Get out of here now.

He took the cue better than the folks had. While they were head-deep in the closet, he jumped down. He landed silently, all strength and agility, and filtered out the door.

I curled up around my frantically beating heart, hoping my parents didn’t hear it. Talk about Poe’s tell-tale. That was too damned close.

On the bright side, at least they hadn’t caught us bumping happy nuggets. That would’ve been as bad or worse than the kidnapper catching me…

I barely avoided swearing out loud. I’d had Glynn in the perfect position to “convince” him about our plan to trap the kidnapper, and all I’d done was orgasm. Now how would I make that sale?

Entr’acte

Glynn glided through the night shadows, like the dangerous beast that he was—mostly. His shirt was drying and starting to stiffen, an uncomfortable reminder that he was three kinds of fool.

She’d said no. After giving him a taste of her luscious skin, her sweet sex, she’d said stop.

He’d honored that the only way he could, by getting the hell out of there.

He should have stayed away, but then she’d have fallen from the roof window and perhaps died. Although the explosion of desire had nearly killed them both. It had certainly burned him to cinders.

Sex had never been so good, so…sweet. So fresh and new.

He didn’t understand why. Normally sex was no big deal. He had it when he needed it, with vampires because humans were fragile and the few he’d slept with in the early days had the annoying tendency to become enthralled.

Junior not only had not become enthralled, she’d stopped him. It confused him. Intrigued him. Made him wonder about things he’d heard but had dismissed as impossible.

It was still impossible. He was leaving when the show closed. Even if he weren’t, he was centuries old to her twenty-five years. He might live millennia more. If she took care of herself, Junior might live a single century.

There was absolutely no future for him and her.

Why was he thinking about Junior, anyway? His job was to protect Mishela. Not from rabid fans, as most thought, but to prevent her from being used as a bargaining chip between the two most powerful groups of vampires in the Midwest, the Iowa Alliance and the Chicago Coterie.

His cell rang. He barely suppressed a jump. When had he changed it from vibrate? He was damned lucky the caller hadn’t phoned earlier when Junior’s parents were in the room and he was on the ceiling.

He dug the phone from his pocket and checked the number. Elias. Not luck, then. The ancient vampire’s timing bordered on eerie. “Sir.”

“I have new intel, Rhys-Jenkins. The opposition will make an attempt on Meiers Corners within the week.”

Glynn snorted. “Nosferatu’s already tried to annex the city, undermine the Alliance protector here and invade the city’s blood center. We’ve beaten him back every time. Hasn’t he learned anything from his failures?”

“Strictly speaking, it was his lieutenant who failed. Now that my lieutenant has destroyed his, making him look weak, it’s forced him to take a more direct hand.”

Glynn thought that over. “Should I be worried about Mishela, sir?” Or Junior.

“No more than before. Although things might turn uncomfortable for you.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“There are only indications…ah, but perhaps I’m being overly pessimistic. I will say this. When the right one comes along, all others fade away.”