Sherrilyn Kenyon - Kiss Of The Night

Decadence.

She tried to make the image clearer, but it evaporated and left her aching for want of him.

"What in the world is wrong with me?"

She widened her eyes and forced herself to read.

Wulf locked his bedroom door and went to bed early— just after four. Chris had been asleep for hours. There was nothing on TV, and he was bored with playing online computer games against the other Dark-Hunters.

He'd already taken out the "pressing" Daimon menace tonight. He sighed at the thought. During the winter months, they tended to take a hiatus south, since Daimons weren't real big on the whole cold thing. They hated to have to "unwrap" their food and found it extremely cumbersome to attack humans wrapped in layers of coats and sweaters. Things would pick up in the spring, after the thaw, but in the meantime, the nights were long and the battles few and far between.

Maybe if he got a good day's sleep, he might feel better tomorrow evening.

It was worth a try.

But as soon as Wulf fell asleep, his dreams started drifting. He saw the club again and felt the lips of the unknown woman against his.

Felt her hands on him as she clutched him…

What would it be like to be remembered by a lover again?

Just once?

A strange, swirling mist engulfed him and the next thing he knew, he was in an unfamiliar bed.

Wulf grimaced at the size of it—It was only a full-sized bed so he had to bend his legs to keep his feet from dangling over the edge of it.

Frowning, he looked around the dark room. The white walls were stark and covered with art posters. Something about it had an institutional quality to it.

There was a desk built into the wall by the window, a boxlike dresser with a TV and stereo, and a lava lamp burning in the corner, casting strange shadows over the walls.

It was then he realized he wasn't alone in the bed.

Someone was lying next to him.

Wulf studied the woman who was dressed in a prudish pink flannel gown that obscured her body as she lay with her back to him. Leaning over her, he saw the curly, strawberry-blond hair that she wore plaited.

He smiled the moment he recognized the woman from the club. He liked this dream…

But not as much as he liked the look of her serene face.

And unlike the Daimons, he didn't mind "unwrapping" his food.

His body instantly stirring, he rolled her over onto her back and started unbuttoning her gown.

Cassandra's eyes fluttered open as she felt strong, hot hands unbuttoning her flannel gown. Startled, she stared up at the Dark-Hunter who had saved her life at the club.

His midnight eyes were hungry with desire as he looked down at her.

"It's you," she breathed, her head fuzzy from her dreams.

He smiled at that and appeared delighted by her words. "You remember me?"

"Of course. How could I ever forget the way you kiss?"

His smile widened wickedly as he parted her gown and ran his hand over her bared skin. She moaned at the warmth of his palm on her flesh. Against her will, a stab of desire tore through her as her breasts tingled from his fiery touch. The calluses of his rough fingers lightly, gently scraped her swollen nipples. It made her stomach contract even more. Made her throb as moisture pooled itself between her legs, making her want even more to take his entire strength into her body.

She realized her Viking savior was completely naked in her bed. Well, maybe not completely. He did wear a silver necklace of Thor's hammer and a small crucifix.

Okay, that was pushing it. But he wore the necklace well against his tawny skin.

The dim light caressed every contour of his magnificent body. His shoulders were wide and well muscled, his chest a perfect sculpting of male proportions.

And his rear…

It was the stuff of legends!

His chest and legs were lightly covered by dark hair. His strong, lightly whiskered chin begged for a woman to lick her way down it until she could tilt his head back and continue on to his luscious neck.

But what fascinated her was the intricate Norse tattoo that covered his entire right shoulder and ended in a highly stylized band that encircled his biceps. It was beautiful.

And yet it didn't hold a candle to the man in her arms.

He was gorgeous. Mouthwateringly so.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he traced circles around her breasts with his hot tongue.

"I'm making love to you."

Had she not been asleep, those words would have terrified her. But all thoughts of fear and everything else scattered as he cupped her breast in his hand.

She hissed in pleasure and expectation.

Gently, he massaged her, rubbing his callused palm against her taut nipple until it was so tight that she wanted to beg him to kiss her. Beg him to suckle her.

"So soft," he whispered against her lips before he claimed them as well.

Cassandra sighed. Her body burned with an astounding intensity as she ran her hands over his bare, broad shoulders. She'd never felt the likes of them. Well formed and perfect, they rippled with his power and strength.

And she wanted to feel more of him.

He moved his hand away from her and reached for her braid. She watched him study her hair as he loosened it. "Why do you wear your hair like this?" he asked in that intoxicatingly deep, accented voice.

"The curls tangle if I don't."

His eyes snapped fire as if he thought her braid were some kind of abomination. "I don't like it. Your hair is too beautiful to be bound."

He ran his hands through her freed curls and his gaze instantly turned tender. Soft. He brushed her hair with his fingers until it covered her bared breasts. His breath fell against her skin while he teased her nipples with her curls and his touch.

"There now," he said, his Norse accent smooth and lilting. "A more beautiful woman, I've never seen."

Her body molten, Cassandra could do nothing but watch him watch her.

He was stunningly handsome. Masculine in a barbaric way that made the woman in her thrum with primal need.

It was obvious this was a dangerous man. Basic. Hard. Unyielding.

"What is your name?" she asked as he dipped his head to nibble her neck. His whiskered cheeks prickled her flesh, raising chills all over her as he tasted her.

"Wulf."

She shivered as she realized the source of this midnight fantasy. "Like Beowulf?"

He smiled hungrily, flashing her a brief glimpse of his long, canine teeth. "Actually, I'm more like Grendel. I come out only at night to devour you."

She shivered again as he gave one long, deliciously wicked lick to the underside of her breast.

Now this was a man who knew well how to pleasure a woman. And better yet, he didn't seem to be in a hurry to finish, but rather took his time with her.

If there was any doubt before, that alone told her this was a dream!

Wulf ran his tongue over her soft skin and delighted in her murmurs of pleasure as he tasted her salty-sweet flesh. He loved the warm, soothing feel and smell of this woman.

She was delectable.

He hadn't had a dream like this in centuries. It was so real, and yet he knew it wasn't.

She was only a figment of his starving imagination.

Even so, she touched him in a way he'd never before known. And she smelled so good… like fresh roses and powder.

Womanly. Soft.

A tender morsel just waiting for him to sample her. Or better still, devour.

Pulling back, he returned to her hair that reminded him of the color of sunshine. The fiery gold strands captivated him as the curls wrapped themselves around his fingers and tugged at the edges of his stone heart. "You have such beautiful hair."

"So do you," she said as she brushed his hair back from his face.

She scraped his whiskers with her fingernail as she traced the curve of his jaw. Gods, how long had it been since he'd last had a woman?