Demon Night

but he couldn’t be certain: she dipped her chin and dragged her fingers through her hair, letting it fall across her cheek. “It was still a nice thought. And they smell great.” She inhaled, and her eyes closed with pleasure. “I guess being a vampire does have benefits.”
    “Well, you won’t want to breathe that deep when it ain’t flowers,” he drawled.
    She laughed, but it faded when she met his gaze. Her lids lowered sleepily, and his entire being wound up tight, pulled his body with it.
    He turned and cut his thumb, activated the spell.
    “Ethan,” she whispered. Her need slammed through him, and she moved in quick. Her fingers circled his wrist as he pivoted to face her. “God, Ethan. Let me…let me—”
    Her lips closed over the tip of his thumb.
    The pleasure ripped into him, like she’d closed her mouth over every inch of his flesh. His knees near gave out, and he staggered back against the door. Charlie moaned, her fingernails digging into his skin, holding his hand to her mouth.
    The wound healed, and she released his thumb with a long lick.
    “Charlie,” he said hoarsely. That small taste hadn’t begun to assuage her thirst—it had only made her need worse. And now that she’d had some, the bloodlust wouldn’t be letting her stop. Her gaze rose to his throat, hungry and feral. “Miss Charlie. Let’s do this slow and easy—”
    She curled her fingers around his jacket collar and leapt astride his waist. Her knees banged against the door.
    Her fangs sank deep in his neck.
    She began sucking, and ecstasy replaced the pain. Her lips and tongue were cool against his skin, her bloodlust a raging fire through his veins.
    God Almighty.
    Ethan groaned, slid down the door until his ass hit the hardwood floor, and turned his head to give her a better angle. She sat in the cradle of his thighs and stomach, straddling his erect length. Her fingers buried in the hair at his nape, then fisted. Her hips rocked, hard, fast.
    Rough-woven cotton burned over his shaft. He panted her name, and within seconds she was matching her rhythm to his voice. He slowed, and she did, her tongue massaging the closing punctures on his throat, her hands sliding between them to flatten against his chest.
    Then her fangs pierced him again. He bucked beneath her, stifling a shout. Son of a bitch. His teeth clenched. It’d be so easy to vanish his clothes and remove hers, and push himself deep. He could almost see it: her pink flesh parting, glistening as she slowly, slowly took him in…
    He opened his eyes again to the sound of shredding fabric. Her blue sweatshirt lay torn on the floor.
    She whimpered against his throat, and her thin camisole ripped beneath her frantic hands. The buttons on his shirt popped and scattered.
    Her cool palms met the heated skin over his stomach, her thumbs sliding alongside his navel. His head swam. Her moans took on a needy, erotic note, as if they welled up from far beneath her throat and chest. Each harsh exhalation she made from her nose was an icy whisper over the back of his neck.
    He caught her wrists when she traced a line to his waistband, dipped her fingers in. Their cool tips circled his cock-head, her touch a shot of electricity and pure bliss. Ethan reared up against her hands, seeking more.
    He ought to have been drawing away.
    Desperately, he tugged her wrists up. She pulled them free and bit him again.
    A zipper rasped. Hers.
    “Charlie,” he gritted, and forced out the words he didn’t want to say, but had to in order to remind himself. “Much as I want you, we decided we ain’t doing this. Not until you adjust.”
    He clasped her hips to halt her rocking; the denim of her jeans was stiff beneath his hands. Stiff…but loose, and sliding against the silk of her red panties. Her scent mingled with the heavy perfume of the roses. She’d be so sweet, her aroused flesh slick against his tongue—
    He squeezed his eyes closed again, resisting the image, his need, her need. He stopped breathing.
    Her thighs flexed around his waist. Her weight eased from his aching length as if she meant to lift herself off him—though she didn’t seem about to quit; the suction at his neck continued, her bloodlust was still hot.
    And he heard it: the slippery glide of her hand between silk and skin. Her soft, muffled cry against his throat as her fingers penetrated deep.
    “Miss Char—Ah, sonofawhore —” Ethan clenched his jaw, rapped his head hard against the door, and forced