Hot Blooded

said with a telling squirm. "Not like this."
    Still she hesitated.
    "Need a road map then? Or do you have a fair idea where you're going?"
    "I know," she snapped. "Theoretically."
    This made him laugh again, a reaction she silenced by forging determinedly
ahead. From the sound of his gasps, he was far from minding. His muscles were
trembling.
    "You can feel everything, can't you?" she said, her voice dark with lust.
"Every inch of you is sensitive."
    "Yes… oh, God. We're all like this. We love being touched."
    His passage was satiny and tight, twitching around her intrusion as if it
were hungry for every stroke. The cut on her finger was as good as oil.
    "Uh, Mariann…" He ground himself deeper into her body. "Would now be the time
to mention that the presence of blood makes everything more intense?"
    "Sh," she said, hiding a grin. "I'm trying to concentrate."
    He was panting for air by the time the pad of her longest finger found the
firm, almond-shaped gland. She stroked his prostate very gently, delighted by
the way his cock thumped heavily in response.
    "Well," she whispered. "Vampire or not, I'm glad to see you've got all your
parts."
    "Mariann." Her name was a groaning plea.
    "Do you like it?" she asked more shyly.
    Despite his obvious frustration, he smiled beatifically, fangs and all. "I
adore it, love. And I'm thinking…" He slid slowly out of her and back in, his
girth notably increased. "I'm thinking if I like it, maybe you will, too."
    She squeaked as he made good on his threat—very good, as it happened, his
wriggling finger clearly more experienced than hers. Sensation spread through
her like clove-spiced wine. When he withdrew his hardness and thrust again, she
thought her spine would melt at all the pleasure bombarding it. It was quite
impossible to restrain a moan.
    "Tit for tat," he murmured against her neck. "And please do keep rubbing me."
    "My toes are going to come," she warned, feeling them curl into the back of
his calves.
    "Be my guest, because I'm not stopping again."
    Despite his threat, he stroked into her with a fond half-smile, balanced on
one elbow, not quite pumping but getting there. His gaze held hers captive, his
muscles tense beneath their shimmer of faint pink sweat. She licked his shoulder
to see how it would taste and nearly climaxed just from that. Sensing her
reaction, his pupils expanded over his irises.
    When she squeezed herself around his penis, they went startlingly black.
    "Bite me," she said, knowing only this could make the act complete.
    For a moment, she thought he would tease her for her choice of words.
Instead, his face abruptly changed: darkening, tightening, his lips pulling back
in a feral snarl. He seemed more inhuman than she'd ever seen him, and she
seriously doubted any force on earth could stop him now.
    The realization was more thrilling than she would have guessed. She wanted to
be claimed, to be ravished in the fullest sense of the word. She threw her head
back in invitation. Bastien muttered a curse and struck.
    Like white-hot lightning his fangs pierced her skin while his lower body
worked furiously. The first suckling pull threw her into bliss. The second had
her crying out. He groaned in answer and shoved so deep they both slid along the
carpet. He was gone then, over the edge, coming in time with his swallows in
bursts so long and hard she could count each one. The knowledge that he was
taking his pleasure set her off again. She clung to him as if her orgasm were an
ocean she could drown in, the waves rolling over each other in crashing spumes.
    When she cried his name, he shuddered and collapsed. Silence reigned for long
minutes. His head came up weakly at last.
    "Whew," he breathed, sounding amusingly American.
    "I'll see your 'whew,' " she said, "and raise you a 'holy cow.' I thought
vampires couldn't sweat."
    He laughed and rolled her atop him, his hands already sliding into new
mischief.
    "We can sweat," he said. "We just need a good reason."

----
Chapter 7
    Â« ^ »
    GIVEN their recent sexual Olympics, sleeping through dawn was no great
surprise. The first dusty rays were creeping across the foyer when Bastien
roused. Though he gave it his best attempt, the stupor that came with daylight
could not be cursed away.
    Fortunately, no windows overlooked the balcony where they lay. Unfortunately,
if they didn't leave the Night Owl soon, they'd be forced to spend the day in
the