Blood Rose (18 page)

He forced his mouth to form his normal cheeky grin and he faced her. “You disapprove?”

“No. You intrigue me, Mr. Swift.”

All the signs of an aroused woman—Serena Lark sent them. Her eyes burned like molten silver, her lips softened, her movements grew seductive. She touched things—her curls, her cheek, Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 73

the full curve of her hip.

He almost lost control as she tapped her finger—swathed in a blue silk glove—to her lips.

“Those two women, they appear to be perfectly healthy now,” she mused. “There are vampires who merely feed and then attack another victim. And those who return, who claim blood again and again, until the victim becomes near death, and then the vampire transforms their poor prey. Do you think Lukos plans to return and claim these women?”

“You’ve read the Society’s books. How do you think Lukos will behave?”

Her brows drew together and she pursed her lips as she considered. Sweet little lark, she could bewitch him with that expression. “I don’t know,” she admitted at length. “You hunt them—you have far more experience than me.” She fiddled with her reticule, fingers caressing the clasp.

Nearing Serena, Drake breathed deeply, drawing in her feminine scent. “He murdered the crew of the ship that brought him, Serena, so I don’t understand why he would spare two prostitutes’

lives. This vampire might not be Lukos.”

“But could we catch him here?”

Drake was amazed. Serena should have been quaking at his words. Instead she faced him with a level gaze and betrayed not a hint of terror. Beneath the soft, reddish-gold firelight, her skin looked dewy and satin soft. He couldn’t resist brushing his knuckles along the curve of her cheek and touching heaven.

He took his time, trying to force his mind to think. “We should question other taverns, other brothels—”

Serena’s lower lip was plump, glistening, so damned tempting. Gently, Drake pressed his thumb to the center. It was his duty to protect her.

His lips neared hers; she closed the distance by surging up on her toes. Her arms hooked around his neck, her mouth pressed on his—hot, open, inviting. But she drew back at once. “I shouldn’t, Mr. Swift—”

“You should,” he groaned.

He loved to hear countesses, duchesses—all those aristocratic women—call him Mr. Swift.

Especially when they did so while wrapping their soft, long legs around his hips and tearing their nails down his naked back. He never invited women to be familiar with him.

But he wanted Serena to call him Drake. She pressed hard against him, breasts shoving against his chest, full thighs against his legs, belly cradling his rigid prick. She stroked along his neck, her fingers ran up through his hair. She knocked off his hat.

He wanted more—damn the dirty bed. Hell, he’d throw his greatcoat down on it and let her ride him. That’s what a gentleman should do. He’d never been so unsure about caressing a woman before. He wanted Serena like he’d never wanted any woman—even Mary, who he had adored—

and that terrified him.

He kneaded her breasts through the layers of fabric. On a moan, she pushed her chest forward, forcing her full curves against his palms.

“Oh yes—”

Claiming her mouth, Drake drew his tongue back. Her tongue followed, twirling around his, exploring his mouth. Not a trace of innocence or shyness. Hell, she wanted this. She wanted him.

With swift flicks of his fingers, he opened his trousers. His knuckles stroked her stomach as he did, but she didn’t pull away. Already his cock had dampened his linens, and he pulled it free of his clothes, wiping away the fluid with a swipe of his palm.

Filling his palms with her lush bottom, he pulled her close, kissed her lavishly, and clamped his cock between his abdomen and her dress. God, he could feel the heat pouring off her. His blood pounded in his head, surged down to his loins. Undoing her gown would take too long. He wanted her now.

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Serena moaned as Mr. Swift eased back from the kiss. Why did he stop? She couldn’t think—

he took a step back, and the waning firelight spilled over him. Jutting forth, his cock compelled her to look. Long, rigid, curving toward his belly. He was completely dressed, except for his naked cock rising out from the open placket of his trousers.

“Not here. Not this place.”

She was shaking with need for this man, and his words startled. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a well-bred woman. This can’t happen here.”

Did she dare take a step toward him? Could she be as bold and comfortable as the jades? What if he learned the truth…learned what she was…he’d kill her. But he might anyway, and she wanted this. “Why not?” she asked softly. “It’s here for this very purpose, isn’t it?”

“You deserve better. This is…common. You deserve beauty.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Mr. Swift.” She reached up and touched his firm lower lip. “All I can see is you.”

“Serena…tell me what you feel, Serena. What you really want.”

She delighted in the sound of her name on his lips but could not call him Drake. He hadn’t invited her to. She searched for words, fighting fears. “You…this…now.”

Rich, vividly green, his eyes never left hers. After shaking off his greatcoat, Mr. Swift tossed it behind him, and it fell like a blanket over the rumpled bedsheets. He backed away from her, then lay back on his coat, legs slightly spread. One arm rested bent beneath his head. His other hand reached out for her.

“Come on top of me,” he invited in his low, sensual growl. “Come straddle me.”

The sight of him, the luscious smell of him, overwhelmed her senses. It was as though she could hear the steady, hard beat of his heart. He swallowed; she saw the movement in his throat. He tore at his cravat, wrenched the knot free, and exposed the hollow of his throat and his muscular neck.

Serena thought of the wounds on the women’s white throats. A separate pulse seemed to beat in her quim. “On top?” she repeated.

“Straddle my waist, love. Or my hips.”

Full of bold invitation, his smile stole her breath. Women did ride on top—the Society possessed scandalous books that displayed demonesses doing so to innocent male victims. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t make love to him.

Why not?
Asked a willful, internal voice.

He would learn what she was. At the very least she would lose her heart…if not her life. He wanted nothing of her but sex.

And what did she want of him? She ached for him. Ached to feel his curving cock slide into her quim, pushing her walls apart, making her feel full. Stroking, stroking, stroking the wet, soft walls of her cunny until she thought she’d die.

The first button of her pelisse popped free, the neckline sagged. She’d opened it without even thinking. The next was straining—she opened it too. And the rest. She dropped the coat to the floor.

Serena walked toward him, drawing up her skirts on the way. Really, she should be applying the strap to her own wrists, beating sense into her own head.

He would discover she was a vampire. He would destroy her.

She didn’t care. Up, up went her frothing skirts. His green eyes were brilliant as he watched her walk to him. She revealed her fine ivory stockings, the blue garters at her knees. She reached the bed, and he helped her climb on top of him. With her skirts spilling over her arms, her drawers were the only barrier between her quim and his cock, and a lace-trimmed slit split those.

He knew it. His hand slid down, slipped into her drawers, and found her moist nether lips. She Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 75

was wet, so lushly ready for sex. She wanted to see more of him—more of that tanned skin, the shape of his shoulders, his chest. Golden hair trailed down his belly to the thick curls around his cock and ballocks.

His fingers parted her lips, and she gasped. A flood of juices had just washed out over his hand. His grin told her he’d liked that.

She couldn’t speak. What did one say to a partly naked man whose fingers were stroking in the most intimate place? One crooked finger slid into her cunny, and her muscles greedily clamped around it.

Oh yes!

“Take it slow, love—there’s a little bit of pain when you try to break your barrier.” Mr. Swift tossed the comment out as though they couldn’t possibly turn back.

And she couldn’t. But her cheeks heated. Seated on his hips, Serena bent forward to hide her confession. She could make it, but she couldn’t look in his eyes while she did.

Her lips touched his throat. She felt the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Such warm skin, so delicious—clean and salty and lightly musky. Her bottom was now in the air. Two fingers tangled in her nether curls—

“I have no barrier, Mr. Swift,” she whispered against his throat. If that bothered him, he didn’t show it. With a husky groan, he slid his two large, long fingers inside. She was drenched with fluid, and his fingers filled her instantly.

“Then there will be only pleasure for us,” he promised. “Experienced women are a delight in bed—so receptive, so sensual, so desirable.” He thrust his fingers slowly in and out. “I want this to be perfect for you.”

Oh, it was even now. Worth dying for.

Breathing hard against his neck, Serena curled her fingers around his cock. His velvety shaft pulsed against her fingers. She could smell the earthy scent of his member, the tang of enticing sweat in his pubic hair.

He pushed his fist against his cock to hold it upright, and the heat brushed her wet drawers. “I want you inside,” she murmured, pushing his hand so he had to withdraw his fingers. They glistened with her wetness.

He moved his hand to his mouth, put his wet fingers to his tongue, licked them clean. “Make love to me, sweetheart—and call me Drake while you do it.”

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Firelight cast their shadows onto the wall. Serena saw the tumble of her wild, loose hair in soft shadow, magnified against the faded wallpaper. Also displayed larger than life—the curve of her breasts and her hard nipples. As for…for Drake, she saw the shadow of one bent knee, the long lean line of thigh and calf, and his cock stood enormous in silhouette, stiff and long.

Catching her breath, she lowered on him. She wanted him now. What did tomorrow matter?

Wet, slick, burning hot, her cunny took him inside. Oh, she loved the pressure as the taut head parted her walls. Drake’s lids dipped, sending a sweep of thick, impossibly dark lashes over sparkling emerald eyes. Shadow rendered him dangerous, seductive. A haze of blond stubble obscured the boyish dimple in his right cheek. Freckles—she saw the dusting of freckles across his straight nose. Every bit as aristocratic as a gentleman’s, his alluring face made her heart leap as he smiled.

Gloved, graceful, his fingers tickled her clit as she lowered herself on him, moaning with each wonderful, thick inch. She understood at once his experience—Drake knew how to tease, how to steal her every breath.

Serena bounced a little, gasping as his cock went deep, as it bumped her womb. She’d taken him to the hilt, her bottom flush on his firm thighs. Her skirts spread over his legs, his chest, and he gave her a wild, lusty grin. She shared it.

She was mad. Utterly. Yanking her skirts, she held them up and rose up, sliding up, up, up, rubbing him against her cunny walls.

Oh! It was so good. So deliciously good. Only the head of his cock was inside. With her skirts in her hands, she felt like a maid who’d grasped a stolen bit of heaven with a comely footman.

She sank down. Heavens, he filled her so.

“So, you like it slow?” Drake asked.

He drew his fingers away from her clit, and she gave a cry of frustration. That had felt so good.

“I don’t know. I—what do you wish me to do?”

“You are in the driver’s seat, Serena. Explore. Do whatever you want.” He peeled off his remaining skin-tight glove. So many scars—across his knuckles, the backs of his hands. One of his thumbs was bent and crooked, a break that hadn’t healed right. “Please yourself, love.”

He was inviting her by issuing a command. With a moan, she took up his challenge. She rocked forward. Definitely good. She rocked back. Ouch! No, it felt rather good too. She wriggled back and forth, then side to side. Her clit brushed his coarse curls—pleasure most delightful.

“Does that please you?” she asked.

“Sweetheart, every breath you take pleases me right now. I suspect that if you sat there and just read a book, I’d climax. What I want is for you to be in charge.”

“Why?” But she bounced on him the way she thought he would like it.

Harder, faster, and harder, yes, harder. The bed cracked back against the wall. The bedposts racked. The mattress squeaked.

Drake moaned. Despite her weight on top, he thrust up his hips. His neck strained with the effort. His bronzed, muscled, beautiful neck. She bent and licked him.

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“Serena!”

He tasted of warmth and sweat and shaving soap. She suckled his neck. Against her tongue, his arteries pulsed. His blood would be hot and rich, thundering through him. Was this what drove vampires? The sensuality of this. The desire—

His hips rocked her on him; she found his rhythm and moved with him—she could barely ride a horse, but this—this was so wonderful, so perfect to do. Her hips collided with his crotch. Her bottom slapped him. Her tongue slid up and down his neck, reveling in the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Her lips felt his heartbeat—

Sweet, intense, a touch of the divine, her climax exploded inside her. His hands roamed over her—down along her spine, cupping her rear, roughly fondling her breasts. She sobbed into his neck—it was all she could do. Her entire body seemed to be coming apart.

Pleasure flooded endlessly, her cunny squeezed his cock tight. Her hips flailed on him, and he held her tight now.