Demon Night (43 page)

As soon as he set her on her feet beside the bed, he gripped the hem of her shirt, drew it over her head. He'd never removed her clothes with his hands before; he'd always vanished them. Not because he was in a rush, but so he wouldn't ruin them.

But there was no saving these. Even if her blood hadn't stained them, her pant leg was torn the length of her thigh, her shirt singed at the collar.

Swelling emotion squeezed at her heart as he slid the pants over her hips and followed their fall with his palms, lowering himself and examining the unmarked skin above her knee. She touched his hair and he rose, but he only came part of the way, tipping her chin back to expose her throat. His thumb traced a line above the scar; the cut Sammael had made must have still shown faintly pink.

“Ethan.” The muscles in his shoulders were steel beneath her hands. “You were hurt worse than I was. And I'm all right.”

Another shudder wracked his large frame. “You need blood,” he said hoarsely.

Yes. She'd lost too much, and the hunger had been smoldering deep. She'd been inhaling as little as possible and always through her mouth, so the bloodlust wouldn't flare with the odor, but his words were a breath across tinder.

“
My
blood.” He spoke fiercely against her neck, and for a wild second Charlie thought he would bite her, take whatever it was he needed in the most basic way.

“Yours,” she whispered, and stiffened in surprise when his clothing vanished. He always waited until the last moment to remove them, to feel his skin against hers.

And now his body burned the length of her, but she had no time to revel in the sensation: he was lifting her to his neck, where a crimson stream already flowed.
What on earth had he—?

His hand cupped the back of her head and guided her with relentless strength to his throat. At the first taste, she was lost, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drinking deep.

The bloodlust whipped through her. His forearm across her lower back held her trapped, and she rubbed herself against his stomach, seeking release. It didn't come. Dimly, she realized that she was clinging to him, her legs around his waist, and he wasn't moving toward the bed but simply standing as she fed. Each hard pull from his veins made him shake; she wanted him overcome and senseless and as helpless to his need as she was to hers.

But Ethan weathered the storm of her bloodlust as solidly as a mountain, and was still upright when it broke.

Charlie lifted her head and closed her eyes, thirst slaked but her body an inferno. She hadn't come; now she didn't know if she wanted to. Didn't know if she wanted to be alone in this.

And when he carried her to the bed, she was still separate. Those were not her hands braced in the middle of the mattress, her knees sinking deep. Not her back arching in anticipation of his fingers and mouth when Ethan kneeled behind her.

But it was her cry of surprise when he buried his cock inside her with a single, hard stroke. She snapped into herself, panting his name, her hands fisting.

Never before had he come into her without readying his way. Even when they'd been frantic with desire, even though she'd begged and assured him he didn't need to give her so much attention—he'd always taken his time.

Now he was just taking
her
.

But there was nothing frantic about it. Slowly, ever so slowly, he withdrew and slid back in. An erotic wave undulated through her, concentrated in her slick inner flesh, where sensation began and ended. Charlie muffled her tortured moan, biting folds of white cotton.

Fire slipped over her skin as his palms traveled up the length of her body, journeyed down her arms. His hands covered hers, his chest hot against her back. He pushed forward.

Colors danced in front of her eyes, settled into the swirling lightning-bright rapture of his possession. He was touching every possible inch of her skin.
Never
before. They'd been like this so many times, but always it was the thrusting of his hips, raw and powerful. His hands pinning hers or sweeping her to new heights. But the rest of him he'd held away, as if afraid with too much contact he'd lose control.

And she'd gloried in everything he'd given—but this was heaven. He stroked into her with the whole of his body, his chest rough over the slickness of her back. His mouth and his breath heated a path from her neck to her temple with each deliberate thrust.

Taking, touching, silent. All giving the appearance of control.

But he'd lost it.

He'd lost it.
The realization tore through her, her nerves screaming with excitement. She couldn't keep still, couldn't be quiet. His name spilled from her, rising and falling.

He released her hand; she reached back, cupped the nape of his neck. She tried to twist, searching for his lips. His fingers found her nipple instead, taut and aching.

And he continued sliding into her, thick and hard, ceaselessly.

Mindless with the ecstasy of it, she let her head fall forward and looked down the length of her body. Watched his big hand flatten over her belly. She bowed her back, angling her hips to see him slowly sink into her, to see his fingers begin their virtuoso play over her clitoris.

His name locked in her throat. Her arms trembled. She couldn't withstand this. Her eyes closed, and she heard the wetness of her body, the pounding of Ethan's heart. Her labored breathing. Tension held her tight, though Ethan was warming and loosening everything inside her.

But she didn't want to break apart yet. Not without his blood. He always wanted her to use his; it was the only thing he asked for himself.

“Ethan.” It was barely a whisper. “
Let me.
”

His voice was rough, his lips against her ear. “Tell me what you need, Charlie.”

He held himself there, as if waiting for her answer; she couldn't give him one. He'd stopped his long, slow movements, but ground against her, tiny circular digs that left her gasping with small, sobbing breaths. He caught her engorged clit between two fingers, began sliding them around it, mimicking the motion his cock wasn't performing.

She couldn't scream. Charlie reared back and Ethan pulled her upright, her nails cutting into his nape, her knees spread wide on the mattress, her back arched in front of him. It was impossible to control her hips, and they swung in tiny erratic jerks from side to side when his hand prevented her from moving them forward.

“Tell me, Charlie.”

How could she think? What did she want? “You,” she gasped. “I need you.”

“You've fed with my blood.” He cupped her jaw, held her seeking mouth away from his. “You can come with your own. Why do you need me?”

It was welling, but she held it in. Her eyes filled. His control was gone—yet it was still about her needs, not his.
Don't make me ask you to love me.

His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. His body hardened into stone behind her. “Damn you, Charlie.”

His mouth covered hers an instant later. Her lips opened, and he pushed in—but not to kiss. His tongue stabbed her fangs. The sound of him overwhelmed her senses; his fingers stroked furiously as he withdrew and slammed himself into her.

Oh, God. Nothing had ever been like this. Charlie sucked desperately at his tongue. Ethan's need was there, like a deep, grating cry; his arousal, a separate harsh note.

Her body shook, tightened around his, but she fought to keep her mind from falling into that sweet numbing bliss, to ride through the crash of her orgasm. He'd pushed that onto her, too, taken her choice—another loss of control he'd never allowed himself before. What did he want so badly? What could she give him?

Why do you need me?

She cried out into his mouth. So slow. Always so slow. That question wasn't about her need, but his. And she could only hope that the answer he was seeking was the one she had to give.

She dragged her lips away to the sound of his despairing groan.

It swelled up and burst through. “I love you,” she rasped, but it wasn't enough, she'd held it in too long, and she chanted it to the slowing tempo of his body, projected it, throwing it wide. His hold on her slackened.

His voice was sharp with disbelief. “Charlie?”

She couldn't stop. “Love you.” He wasn't moving; she did, turning and pushing him over, taking him inside her again. “Love you.” She kissed his chest, his neck. “Love you.” She had to lift herself off of him to reach his mouth. Her tongue touched his, softly. He moaned against her lips before she slid back down.

She closed her eyes against the exquisite heat and pressure, her flesh so sensitive she thought she might explode, even without blood. Felt all of her might explode with the sweeping joy and release of simply telling him. “Love you,” she said again.

And when she looked at him, her heart skipped its beat; her breath lost its rhythm. His gaze was on her, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused. And his need was there for her to see in the tight angle of his jaw, set yet tilted to expose his throat. In the hard curve of his mouth, taut but open for her kiss. In the way he strained toward her and held himself back, all at once.

Ethan was utterly, completely naked.

And so amazing. She rocked forward, watched him clench and lift toward her. Hiding so much, and she hadn't even known he'd been concealing it.

Did he realize he was revealing it now? Or was he completely lost to this? Heat surrounded her fingers as he pulled them into his mouth and began sucking; a groan rumbled from him as she rippled her inner muscles.

She was heading there, too. His heart thundered under her palm when she braced herself, took him hard and fast, afraid a controlled pace would give him a chance to hide again. Her gaze never left his face, not until he arched up beneath her, pulling her down to his neck. Until his breath caught on a guttural moan.

She lay against him as he settled back to the bed, her hands smoothing his heated skin. Aftershocks trembled through him, and she absorbed each one with her mouth, her flesh.

And when he quieted, she remained still, unwilling to disrupt the silence that fell. She didn't know if it was cowardly; if so, Ethan proved himself braver than she was.

He lifted the sweaty tangle of her hair from her cheek, then rolled her beneath him. His brows were drawn, his expression closed once again; but she thought some of his need lurked in the movement of his gaze over her face, in the softness at the corners of his mouth.

In his voice, still rough and seeking. “I don't—” He swallowed, glancing away from her for an instant before trying again. “I don't have words, Charlie. I wasn't expecting that you'd give me so much.”

No words, but he wasn't projecting anything, either. And she'd told herself not to expect a declaration in return, but she must have been hoping for one. It was a struggle not to let her disappointment and anxiety show.

Her smile felt lopsided. “What were you expecting?”

“Maybe something about my irresistible scars, or my manly form, or how tasty I am.” He touched her lips, and her smile leveled beneath his hand. His matched hers, before it fell away and he buried his face in her hair. “God Almighty, Charlie. I've never been so scared as lying there and hearing Sammael coming toward you.”

The words were ragged, and she wound her arms tight around his neck. Forcing away the memory of his broken body wasn't as easy. “It was close, but we're all right,” she said fiercely. “And I'll slay him for you. Jane can just get over it.”

She heard him draw in a deep breath through his nose; the humor in his tone sounded forced. “I suppose that nothing says I can't shoot him full of venom every month and then use my fists. Maybe that'd be more satisfying than just killing him once.”

Oh, Ethan.
Her chest ached. Of course he knew it wouldn't be; but did he know his simmering frustration had slipped through his shields? She wanted to pull him in even tighter.

After a second's hesitation, she did. “I'll still hold him down.”

Ethan's grin was a deep curve when he raised his head. “That'd be just fine. We'll make good partners, Miss Charlie.” His grin faded, and the intensity of his gaze sharpened. “And I ain't just saying that for fun, now that we're relaxed and easy. We fit real well, you and me. Even though I'm like to go crazy at times trying to figure you out—but there's no one I'd rather go crazy over.”

Warmth stole through her. “It's not difficult, Ethan.” His focus shifted to her teeth when her smile widened. “Just imagine me needy, and then imagine me afraid of it.”

“If it were that simple, I'd have had you figured months ago.” His thumb brushed the tip of her left fang, and she shivered. “And if I'd have known that getting busted up and striking bargains would send you toppling over in love with me, I might have broken myself up a bit earlier than this.”

“Oh, Jesus. That wouldn't have been a good plan—and, anyway, I'm not
that
slow,” she said, trying to control her breathing as he cupped her breast. “I've loved you for a while now. I just didn't know if you'd want it.”