Лорел Гамильтон - Cerulean Sins

"What do you need?" Jason asked.

I looked up at him, and didn't know whether to cry or scream, but finally I found words, a hoarse voice squeezed past my pulse, "I have to feed."

"I know." He looked so solemn. "What do you need me to do?"

I wanted to tell him to leave, too, but I didn't. Micah wasn't here. The vampires were still dead to the world. Nathaniel was off-limits for today. There were others outside this room, but no one I wanted to touch. No one who was even my friend.

I looked up at Jason. A square of sunlight splashed across his chest, painting him gold and warm.

"What do you want me to do, Anita?"

My voice came out barely above a whisper, "Feed me."

"Blood, flesh, or sex?" his face was careful as he asked, solemn.

My ardeur was always mixed with other desires, but not today. Today there was only one need. "Sex." That one word, low, soft, while I kept myself from going to him.

His so-serious face split into a sudden grin. "I'll take one for the team."

I slid off the bed, to stand for a moment nude before him. I wanted to run to him, to jump on him, to fuck him. There was no other word for what my body was wanting. But I didn't want to do that. I wanted to avoid intercourse, if I could. I'd managed to avoid it with Nathaniel for months. Surely, just this once with Jason I could manage it.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, then I dropped to the floor on all fours. I crawled towards him, feeling like I had muscles in places that I shouldn't have. My beast curled through my body like a cat on its back, stretching in the sunlight. But the ardeur roared over my beast, as if the desire were some great hand, smashing down every other need.

"Aren't you going to complain about being naked in front of me?"

"No," I whispered it, not trusting anything louder. His feet were bare. I lowered my face to the smooth skin on top of his foot, licked along it.

His breath came out in a shiver. "God."

I used my hands to crawl up his legs, tugging on the jeans, until I knelt in front of him. I'd managed to pull the jeans lower on his hips without meaning to, exposing a wide triangle of the blue silk undies. My face was almost level with his groin. I could see him pressed tight and firm under the cloth, the tip of him straining against the elastic of the underwear, trapped. I wanted to lower that cloth, to help him.

I slid my hands around behind him, digging fingers into his jeans, gripping his butt. It drew a sound from low in his throat, but it kept me from ripping off his clothes.

I pressed my face against his thigh, turning it away from his groin. My control hung from a rapidly fraying thread. I'd learned through long practice with Nathaniel that the only way to keep from doing more was to do everything carefully, slowly. But I didn't want to be careful, and I felt anything but slow. I wanted to beg him to take me. Damn it, I could do better than this.

Jason stroked my hair, and that one gentle touch brought my face back up. I gazed up the line of his body to his face. There was that look that comes on a man's face when he's sure of you, sure of what will happen. I never thought to see that look on Jason's face, not for me. That look in his spring blue eyes brought a sound low in my throat. He touched my cheek. "Don't stop," he said, voice soft, "don't stop."

I lowered my face towards him, still gazing up. I licked him through the silk, and watched his face while I did it. I licked along the length of him until he threw his head back, his eyes closed. He was so hard, so firm against my mouth, under the cloth. I wrapped my mouth around the head of him through the silk, bringing one hand round to hold him, solid and thick.

He made a noise halfway between a word and a shout, as if I'd surprised him. He looked down at me, and his eyes were wild.

I drew back from him and the silk had turned dark blue where my mouth had touched him.

His hands went to the back of his pants and it was Jason that slid the silk and the jeans down his hips. Him that revealed himself to me while I knelt in front of him.

He was smooth, the head wide and rounded, graceful, straight and fine, running slightly to the side, so that he nestled in the hollow of his own hip.

I took him in my hand, and his breath quickened. I lifted him away from his body just enough so that I could spill my mouth over the head of him, rolling my tongue along that graceful curve.

He shuddered under my touch.

I drew more of him into my mouth, sliding my hand down to cup lower things. He was smooth to the touch, everywhere I could touch with hand or mouth, there was nothing but the smooth perfection of him. He was shaved smooth.

I'd been with men who trimmed, and shaved some, but never one that was perfectly smooth. I liked it. It made so many things easier to take into my mouth, to roll and explore.

Every touch, every caress, every lick, seemed to bring some new noise from him—whimpers, soft cries, breathless words. It became a game to see how many sounds I could draw from him.

I drew his pants down farther, so that I could spread his legs, lick between them, along that thin line of skin between testicles and anus.

He cried out, and I moved up his body, one lick, one nibble at a time. I took him into my mouth again, as much as I could from this angle, wrapping my fingers in a ring around the rest of him, my other hand cupping his testicles, playing along that line that ran between his legs. His breath was coming quick and quicker. His body quivered against me.

He grabbed a handful of my hair, drew me back from him. He looked down at me like a drowning man. "Up," he said.

I frowned at him. "What?"

He bent down, grabbed my upper arms, drew me to my feet. He kissed me, and it was like he was trying to crawl inside me through my mouth, lips, tongue, teeth—something between a kiss and eating me.

His hands slid down my back, following the curve of my spine, then lower over the swell of my hips, until his fingers found my thighs. He lifted me, with just his hands on my thighs, our mouths still locked together. The movement of his hands spread my legs, pressed me against him. The feel of him so hard, so ready pressed against my body, drew small sounds from me, and he ate those sounds straight from my mouth, as if he were tasting my screams.

He used his hands to draw my lower body away from his, my arms still locked around his shoulders, one hand sliding through the baby silkiness of his hair. He moved one hand to my butt, supporting all my weight on one hand, while he moved the other hand between us. I had a second to realize what he was going to do. I fought the ardeur, I fought the feel of his mouth on mine, the feel of him in my arms, to rear back enough to try and say, something, I managed to say, "Jason," and he drove his hips forward, upward. But the feel of him inside me was exactly what the ardeur wanted. Exactly what I wanted.

He entered me, and it wasn't hesitant, or gentle. He fought against the wet tightness of my body, both hands on the backs of my thighs, pulling me to him, as he pushed himself inside me. It drew small screams out of my throat, one after the other.

He walked us backward until he collapsed me on the edge of the bed, most of my lower body still held in his hands, trapped against him. He stayed standing, his body pinning me to the edge of the bed, his hands holding me as if I weighed nothing.

He stared down at me with eyes that were no longer human, but wolf. He drew himself out of my body, slowly, an inch at a time until I was almost free, then he shoved himself back, and made me scream again. It wasn't a scream of pain.

He found a rhythm that was fast, and deep, and hard, as if he were trying to shove himself out the other side of me. He beat his body into mine with a thick, meaty sound.