Jess Haines - Stalking the Others

Sometime later, his tongue laved my throat, the simple motion radiating pleasant tingles that rocked me all the way to my toes. Sometime after he’d stopped sucking at that sweet spot on my neck, my heart had started again. The shivers that raced down my spine had me spasming around his length in an attempt to hold him there even as he drew away.

I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe, and tears leaked unbidden from the corners of my eyes. Though there was a measure of soreness, he had held that incredible strength of his in check and done exactly as he’d promised—left me unharmed. Sated, for all of that, and maybe a little bruised, definitely worn out, but not damaged.

He gathered me up in his arms, and I shook against him. Not from fear, but from an inability to keep still as aftershocks of bliss raced through my body. In exhaustion, I lay my head against his shoulder, tucking my hands under my cheek and focusing on steadying my breathing so I wouldn’t pass out. He tilted my head up only long enough to kiss away my tears before letting me collapse in a sprawl against him.

At first, I couldn’t figure out why he felt so much warmer—but the unspeakably pleasurable way my throat throbbed when I brushed my fingertips over the spot he’d latched onto during those last moments answered that question. Just touching it was enough to make me squirm, tingles of ecstasy radiating outward from the tiny bite marks when pressure was put on them. His soft laughter at my discovery was too genuinely pleased for me to take offense, and I was too worn out and felt too good to be upset about it.

Royce ran soothing fingers through my hair, calming my racing heart and making it clear that he didn’t intend to leave my side. Whether this was a temporary reprieve or the end of today’s lesson, the vampire was right. I’d never be able to match the intensity of his lovemaking with another. No one else had ever known me—even bothered to make the effort to know me—as well as he had.

Forevermore, I was ruined for anyone else. I was his.

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Every part of me ached. Though I was wrapped up in blankets, curled up on my side in bed, I was cold, too. Maybe it was my own shivering that stirred me out of sleep. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to move right away.

Then something cool and spidery shifted under the covers, brushing over my stomach.

Startled, I screamed and twisted away, flailing at the sheets to bat it off. It only tightened against me, yanking me back against a hard, male body.

A clearly naked— quite hard—male body.

“Shush, now. You’ll wake the whole building.”

The initial rush of fright became a rush of a different sort. I wasn’t being woken up by Chaz or Jack or one of the other White Hats. And I was all kinds of naked under these covers.

Momentary confusion became crystal clarity as memories of all the many ways Royce had explored my body the previous night came back to me. The surge of aggression and need that pulsed through my blood sang of a keen desire to leave my mark on the vampire the way he had left his own on my neck and other places last night. He didn’t resist as I twisted around and bit his shoulder, my nails digging deep into his upper arm and tangling in his hair.

“Easy, now. We have all night.” The rumble of his laughter vibrated through my body, my hot skin pressed to his cold. It was only when he took hold of the wrist I’d locked on his arm and rolled so he was on top that it struck me how easily he overpowered me.

Which served as another—this time unpleasant—reminder. The belt was gone. I wasn’t turning Other.

I was human. I was nothing.

No. Not nothing. I was a legally bound and contracted vampire’s toy.

I withdrew and shut my mouth with a snap, my initial rush of terror twisting into a different kind of fear. Wriggling uncomfortably, I pushed at Royce’s chest with my free hand, wincing as the pressure of his body rubbing against mine revealed a whole slew of hurts from my battle with Wesley—and more than likely from the far more pleasurable activities that came thereafter.

Royce didn’t let go, settling on his side to wrap both arms around me instead, one hand coming up to tweak one of my nipples. “Much as I enjoy that delightful squirming you’re doing, you might try relaxing. You’re safe here.”

The sight of the bruises from last night’s “festivities” had pushed me into a dark place filled with panic and despair, one that drove me to tears when I couldn’t pry his hands off. I didn’t mean to cry, but the sick, light-headed feeling combined with the undeniable weakness in my limbs brought on such a wave of shame, I couldn’t help myself.

He pulled me around to face him, one hand cupping my cheek while the other kept me pinned against his side.

“What is it? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

I couldn’t tell him I was crying for what I’d lost. Even if I wanted to, I wasn’t sure I could explain it to him. My whole life had been defined by how I lived it, and that had not included being bound to, sleeping with, or becoming willing food for vampires. It was more than the blood he’d taken—it was a piece of me that I couldn’t ever have back. It made me into the thing my father despised so much; no longer fit to be part of my own family.

Royce’s brows lowered, eyes and hands searching my body for signs of damage. Aside from old scars and the plethora of bruises I’d acquired last night, he wasn’t going to find anything. I was too choked up to tell him as much, and too freaked out to do anything more intelligent than frantically try to put some distance between us.

Though he was clearly puzzled by my behavior, Royce didn’t push me for answers. Once satisfied that my distress hadn’t been caused by something physical, he drew me even tighter against him, pinning me still. Though I strained away at first, he brushed his fingers through my hair and whispered half-heard endearments in my ear until my tears and uneasy squirming eased away. I buried my face against his chest and tried to get a hold of myself, to cling to the thought that my life wasn’t over now, just changed—drastically, irrevocably changed.

I was his property now, and not just on paper.

He owned me, body and soul. Not only had I abandoned my morals and common sense last night, I’d liked it. Liked the feel of his lips and tongue and fingers and other parts so intimately pressed against mine, all over, inside me, all while he drank my blood. What the hell was wrong with me that I’d liked being wrapped in Death’s arms and pounded into the mattress while my life was siphoned away a sip at a time?

Though I didn’t want to be that twisted, ugly thing in my mind, I couldn’t help myself. A shudder of longing crawled down my spine as his fingers swept over the place he’d bitten me last night. Desire bloomed, and I fought it, pushing his hand away before that need could fire up my blood enough for him to notice. Images of all of the ways he could take advantage of me while I was unable to defend myself whirled through my head like a maelstrom of horror-show terrors, a painful reminder that now I was just a blood whore, a plaything, and that I’d willingly put my life in his hands.

He pulled back, pinpoint sparks of red reflecting in his eyes as he studied me. Growing panic was pushing me in the direction of hyperventilating; I was too afraid to move again—he might realize why I wanted him to stop.

“Shiarra, don’t make me drag answers out of you. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. My hurt wasn’t of the physical variety.