Лорел Гамильтон - Incubus Dreams

“You’re not going to faint. You never faint.” He started easing me into a chair as he finished saying it. I let him, because I was feeling fuzzy around the edges. I didn’t want to sit here and have breakfast with these people. I needed some time to think, and the only way to get it was to hide in my bedroom. I couldn’t bear to hide. Damn it, for the first time in my life I wished I was a little less stubborn, a little less brave.

My head was between my knees when everyone trooped back in. I didn’t faint, but I don’t know how, because sitting across from Richard and watching Clair butter his biscuits made me wish I had.

Nathaniel laid out silverware, fetched more coffee, made sure we had at least six kinds of jam, jelly, and preserves. When had there ever been red currant jelly in my refrigerator? I looked at this man bustling about my kitchen, and knew the answer, since Nathaniel had been doing the grocery shopping.

Part of me wanted to run away, but the other small part of me that usually saves me from being a total pain in the ass was wondering if they made those white frilly aprons wide enough to fit over Nathaniel’s shoulders. I mean if he was going to play Suzy Homemaker, didn’t he need an apron, and maybe a string of pearls? The thought made me giggle, and I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t share it. I ended up having to excuse myself from the table to let the laughter have its way with me. By the time Micah found me, the laughter had given way to tears again. Nathaniel didn’t come looking for us. I was glad, except for a small part of me that kept expecting him to come through the door. I was ready to be angry if he came, and disappointed if he didn’t. Some days I don’t make sense, not even to me.

Micah tried to lure me out of the bedroom with the promise of breakfast and claiming that I couldn’t hide in there all day. I think it was the hiding comment that got me. I accused him of saying it deliberately, and he said, “Of course I did. Nathaniel isn’t expecting you to fall on your knees and propose. He’s happy the way things are.”

“No he’s not. He wants sex.”

Micah offered me his hand and looked way too serious. “I don’t understand why you hold that last part back from him.”

I didn’t take his hand. In fact I crossed my arms over my stomach and frowned at him. “’That last part,’ you make it sound like it’s nothing.”

He knelt in front of me. “Anita, I love you, you know that.”

Actually, I didn’t know that. People act like they love you, but how do you ever know it’s real. I didn’t say it out loud, but something about the look I gave him, or my body language must have said it for me, because he moved in close. Close and closer, until he was sitting in my lap with his legs wrapped around my waist. It made me laugh, which was probably why he’d done it.

We ended up with my arms around his waist, and he put his hands on my shoulders. His legs locked behind my back, pressing him up against me, about as close as he could get. “You do realize that from this position, sex won’t work, unless we trade equipment.”

“It’s not always about sex, Anita, sometimes it’s just about being close.”

“Now isn’t that the girl line,” I said.

“Not if you’re the girl, and I’m the boy.”

I felt my face going all serious and unhappy. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“What?” he asked.

“Richard’s right, I don’t know how to be in love. I’m not good at it.”

“You’re great at everything but admitting it,” he said. He wiggled himself in even tighter against me, so that I could feel that he was getting happy to be there.

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“No, I’m trying to keep you from getting angry.”

“Angry about what?” I asked, and my hands were sliding down his back as I said it. It was hard to be this close to him and not have my hands wander.

“Just angry. You get angry whenever you’re uncomfortable, and what happened in the kitchen is going to hit a lot of buttons for you.”

My hands slid past his belt, to touch the top of his jeans. I’d once thought you had to be in love to be able to touch someone like this. It had been a nice thought, I’d liked it, and it had made me feel safe. My hands traveled down the rough fabric of his new jeans, but underneath was the solid swell of his ass. He had a good ass, round and tight, smaller than I liked, but definitely there. I’d told him he needed some ass just to balance out the front of him.

Truthfully, Nathaniel had a rounder, fuller ass, more like a woman’s, tight and firm, but round. I liked men with booty. My least favorite thing was a man who had severe white-man’s ass, where the jeans just bagged over the butt. I wanted something to hold on to, something to sink my teeth into. When I said I liked meat on my men I didn’t just mean one thing.

I’d buried my head against his chest, my hands cupping his ass. He rocked himself against me, just a little. Was this love? Was the fact that I could touch every part of him and he could touch every part of me love? Or was it just lust?

I raised my face up enough to touch the skin of his neck, so warm, so sweet. I’d been raised that you only loved one person at a time. If I loved Jean-Claude, I couldn’t love Micah. If I loved Micah, I couldn’t love anyone else. The only person I was really able to say I love you to without hesitating was, strangely, Asher. I was beginning to suspect that was because Jean-Claude loved him, had loved him for centuries, when they weren’t hating each other. In Jean-Claude’s arms channeling feelings back and forth for him and Asher, then I could saylove and mean it. But here and now without Jean-Claude to push me, the word stuck in my throat like it would choke me to death.

Sometimes I thought I loved Micah, but that’s not the way a person wants to hear love declared. Sometimes is worse than not.

I put one hand in the middle of his ass, so that one finger could rub back and forth even through the jeans, but my other hand slid up his back, got tangled for a moment in the thick curls of his ponytail, then touched the warmth of his neck. I knew who was inside my head, even as I put a hand in Micah’s hair and pulled his head to one side, so his neck stretched long and clean. Because we were almost the same height, his neck was just in the right position for me to lick along the meat of it. So warm, so incredibly warm. I wrapped my mouth around his neck, felt the pulse of his blood under his skin, and set teeth into that warmth.

Micah cried out, but not in pain. He ground himself against me tighter, giving me more of his neck, like an eager woman would press against a man. I set my teeth into his skin and fought the urge to bite down, to draw blood. Jean-Claude filled my head with images.

Images of him and Asher, and Julianna, Asher’s long-dead human servant. There was sex, but there was more laughter, more games of chess, and her doing needlework by the fire. There was more holding than fucking. Images of him and me, and Asher, but also of Micah.

Micah’s neck under his fangs, while I watched them both. Jean-Claude coming to find both of us asleep in his big bed, curled on the silk sheets, Micah’s brown curls lying so close to my black curls that he could not tell where one ended and the other began. Jean-Claude let me feel his emotions, as he drew back the sheets and felt the first breath of our warmth. The sensation of him sliding his cold body between us, and how we moved in our sleep, waking slowly to his hands on our bodies. How much he valued that Micah would simply give him blood and not argue, or make less of the gift and the need than it was. Of how much it meant to him, that he could turn from Micah’s willing, still bleeding body, to my body, and pierce me in a different way, while Micah watched, or helped. Seeing it from Jean-Claude’s point of view was uncomfortable and made me want to slide away, but he whispered through my mind, while my mouth tasted Micah’s skin. “If this is not love, ma petite, then I know nothing of it. If this is not love, then no one since time began has ever loved. You ask yourself What is love? Am I in love? when what you should be asking, is What is not love? ma petite. What is it that this man does for you that is not done out of love?”