Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why (23 page)

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"It's… uh, been a while. The last time I did this was with… Rich. My husband. And you know, I probably wasn't that great because he—um… with Charlene."

"Ah." He rubbed his jaw on the curve of my foot then his lips dragged along my heel. Talk about melted butter! I felt my throat catch, my heart pound. "Jessica, what am I doing that reminds you of Rich?"

"Nothing. He never did anything with my feet."

"What a shame." He nipped at my tendon. My belly jumped at the sudden violence, the cruel tenderness.

"Whoa. Wow." I grabbed hold of the velvet covers and held on. His attention turned to the other foot.

More kissing… licking… nipping. "What are you doing to me?"

"I'm worshipping you."

What a beautiful thing to say. I turned into mush. I know, I know! I'm such a lame-o. If I had read about a hero saying that in a romance novel, I would've rolled my eyes. But hearing it from the perfect lips of a handsome man who had his mouth on my calf… well, it made me quiver.

And damn it, I was entitled to quiver.

"I'm sorry, Patrick. I'm really sorry."

"Jessica?"

I didn't want to meet his gaze. He'd know my shame, my fear. But I looked at him, anyway, and all I saw in his eyes was desire, was need… and that Emotion I Will Not Name. "Never apologize to me for how you feel or what you think or who you are." He kissed my instep. "You turn me on, Jessica. I will always want to touch you, to kiss you, to make love to you. I will never get enough of you. Never."

His words brought daggers of heat plunging into my core. All thoughts of inadequate bedroom techniques, all images of dissatisfied husbands, all doubts of self faded.

Only Patrick existed.

I wiggled my toes. "You know, the top part of me likes to be worshipped, too."

"I will get there, love." His promise sent a flutter of anticipation through me. I already felt edgy, hot.

"I want to touch you."

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"There will be time," he said, "to do as you wish."

He discovered my knee. He kissed every centimeter of it, flicked his tongue at its dimple. I enjoyed his exploration of what I used to think of as a mundane body part.
Lord-a-mercy
.

I almost jumped out of my skin when he lifted my leg to taste the underside.

"What's the back of the knee called?" he asked.

"Uh… I don't think it has a name."

"It should." His tongue wiggled across the sensitive flesh. I gasped as heat twisted from that spot all the way to you-know-where.

"We could just call it the oh-wow spot," I offered weakly.

He chuckled and the sound whispered on my skin. His fingers danced down my thigh, skimming close to woo-hoo zone. My breath hissed out as I was denied touch where I really wanted it.

"Who's the Spanish inquisitor now?" I grumbled.

Patrick was unmoved by my complaint. He continued to explore my flesh in excruciating detail.

I opened for him as he leaned down to pay homage to the inner slopes of my thighs, his tongue tracing a sensuous pattern. My whole body ached, trembled.

"You're so soft," he muttered. "And you smell like honeysuckle."

"Yeah, that's me—a delicate flower." I smiled widely, an idea perking. "You know how to get honey from a honeysuckle flower, don't you?"

Patrick's silver eyes were molten passion. Oooh, baby. My heart giddyupped something fierce.

"Do tell, love."

"You gotta pluck the flower from the stem."

His gaze dipped between my legs. "Hmmm."

"Then at the bottom, there is this little green knob."

Patrick slid onto his stomach, belly-crawling between my legs. I put my calves on his shoulders as he slid his hands under my ass and pulled me close. He breathed on my… uh, flower, and I nearly lost consciousness.

"You were saying something about a knob?" he asked, like he was a good student who was listening to the lecture instead of a bad student fantasizing about the hot teacher.

"Uh… yeah. You pluck the knob, but you gotta be careful and patient or you'll break it off. Then, you draw out the green thingie."

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"Thingie?"

"Whatever the long green part is… oh, shut up. You're interrupting my very educational speech."

"Sorry." He breathed on my neglected nether regions again. The whoosh of warm air made me tingle and heat and forget what the hell I was blabbing about.

"What do you do next?" asked Patrick. He studied me like an anatomist mapping female genitalia.

"If you've pulled out the green thingie correctly, there is a drop or two of honey. You get to lick it."

"All that work," he mused. "And so little reward."

"Oh it's worth it," I said. "I'll show you sometime."

"I have an idea," said Patrick, as if suddenly inspired.

"Yeah?"

"I'll show
you
my honey-licking technique." He looked down, as if surprised to find himself staring at a woman's vagina. "And look! A flower I can practice on…"

The first sweep of Patrick's tongue made my hips arch off the bed.

Holy God!

He took another taste and another. He created a slow, sweet torment. One that he seemed to like. His moan vibrated deliciously against me. Yeah, he liked it.

I could count on one hand how many times a guy had given me this kind of intimacy. Rich hadn't liked giving oral sex to me (though he'd loved to be on the receiving end) so I'd rarely gotten such a yowzer gift.

"Tell me what you want," demanded Patrick in a husky tone. "Tell me what you like."

"You. This. More." My fingers tunneled through his hair and scraped against his skull. I wanted to pull him closer and to push him away. Tremors rippled, unbearable and exquisite.

"I want to please you," he said.

I don't think I'd ever heard anyone say that to me before.
I want to please you
. My head spun with the possibilities of that phrase. Of what it meant to hear Patrick say it… and mean it.

"You are pleasing me," I managed. My voice sounded shaky. "I like what you're doing."

"I like what I'm doing, too." He rose up a little and met my gaze. "But I want to make you come. I want to taste you. I want to feel you. I want to give you pleasure, love. Tell me how."

"Keep talking like that and you won't need to do another thing." Sweat pearled my skin. I felt hot, so damned hot, and it was because Patrick could stoke my fire just by
talking
. It might've been stupid to fall for such slick, too-pretty words, but I was happily doing it. Falling for the words. For the man.

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Patrick leaned forward and traced a lazy line to my
knob
. He flicked it repeatedly.

"Oooh. Um… yeah, good. Definite thumbs-up on that move."

"Would you like me to do it again?"

"Yeah. And do it a lot."

"As you wish." Patrick took my hands and guided them to my pubic area. "Open for me."

I did. Oh hell, did I ever. I slid my fingers along my vulva, my breath catching at the intimacy of such an act, and parted myself for him.

His mouth descended… and devoured.

Raw pleasure jolted through me as his tongue did wondrous, unimaginable things. As that wicked, gorgeous mouth created a maelstrom of sensations, my fingers trailed up to his temples, caught in his hair.

Rational thought evaporated. Joyfully, I matched his rhythm with tiny movements of my own.

Everything turned to heat and to ecstasy.

The rapturous feeling built, rising, and I reached for it, wanting it… I arched, moans echoing, and bless his lustful heart, Patrick nipped and licked and suckled.

I burst into a thousand, white-hot stars.

Vaguely, I heard Patrick groan, felt his tongue lap at me, but I was floating in beauty, in light.

It was quite possible I had left my body altogether. I hadn't responded this way to making love for a very, very long time. I had to admit that not even Rich had brought me this kind of all-encompassing, mind-losing bliss.

When I regained my senses, Patrick had risen to his knees, one hand fisted against his thigh, the other wrapped around his hard cock.

He was trembling, my handsome lover, and I nearly wept at the sight of his desire.

"A thaisce."

I opened my arms, beckoning him, and he slid on top of me. He nuzzled my breasts, his tongue swiping each puckered nipple. "So beautiful," he murmured, drawing one taut bud into his mouth. He released it, grazed the tip. "Jessica. My Jessica. If I lived another thousand years, I could never pay enough homage to your breasts."

"But you'll try, right?"

"Yes." He grinned, scraping his jaw along my collarbone then catching my chin between his teeth. His silver eyes sparkled. (I know, I know, you're thinking enough with the silver eyes, but if you had a lover who had eyes like Patrick's, you'd go on and on, too… so there.) "Is there something else you would like?"

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"Yes," I said, "I would like very much if you would… oh, I dunno… fuck me."

He drew in a sharp breath, his gaze darkening. He said nothing else. He didn't have to now, did he?

Instead, he wrapped his hands under my shoulders and positioned himself above me.

The first warm, hard slide of his cock tested our compatibility. I nearly swallowed my tongue at the amazing feel of his penetration. He kept his movements slow and careful and I met each of his thrusts, bumping my still-humming clit against him.

His head dropped to my shoulder, his uneven breath skittering against my neck.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and tilted up my hips. I knew Patrick was capable of bringing me to another orgasm and by golly, I wanted it. My nails dug into his back as I encouraged him to pick up the pace.

"You're killing me," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It's a dream," I reminded him. "You can't hurt me. I want you, Patrick. More than anyone I've wanted
ever
."

He lifted his head so that he could look into my eyes to see the truth of my words. "You mean that, don't you?"

"Yes. I've never felt this way. How could I?"

He kissed me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. It was a possessive kiss, and maybe a hint of the way he really wanted to take me. I shuddered to think of how much he was holding back, of how well he protected me from the full force of his passion.

"I want you to come again," he said. "I want you to come on my cock and scream my name."

"Well, then… let's give it a whirl, shall we?"

He let go then. Just gave in to primal urges. It was the difference, I found, between making love and mating.

The ability to think once again deserted me.

Teeth nipped, nails scratched, and flesh slapped against flesh. He brought me to another breath-stealing climax and as the pleasure rolled through me, I sure-as-hell screamed his name.

As I convulsed around him, he thrust hard, deep… he buried himself inside me, filled me completely.

Then his big body tightened over mine, his eyes went blind, and the last word he uttered was, "Jessica."

When I awoke, I was alone. I stretched, feeling replete after the va-va-voom dream.

Patrick had slipped out of bed and out of the room entirely. I would've known if he was near, and he wasn't. Sniffle. I wanted to cuddle. My hand swept across his pillow and knocked something off it. I
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rolled onto my side and reached for the object.

Honeysuckle.

He'd picked me several flowers and left them next to where I'd been sleeping. A reminder then… and maybe, a promise. I pressed the petals to my nose and took in the sweetness of the scent and of his gesture.

Patrick?

Hello, love.

Thank you for the honeysuckle.

A chuckle rippled.
I look forward to a demonstration of your honey-licking techniques
.

You'll be surprised what I can do with a long, hard stem.

Too bad I don't have a stem. What can you do with a big thick limb?

I rolled my eyes. Patrick was
such
a guy.
Where are you
?

With Damian and Stan. They think the same creature that killed Emily also killedSharon .

Maybe I've watched too many episodes ofCSI,
but if it was Lor going freakazoid… why would he
change his method of killing? He didn't claw me or any of the others that first night. Why such
destruction of the torso without any sign of feeding
?

It's a good question, love.

I have another one. What or who has Lorcan been feeding on for the last two weeks?

Maybe if you can connect mentally with him again, you can ask him. By the way, the Consortium will meet at the high school gym in two hours. See you there?