Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

until he was yelling.
    Her head thrashed on the pillow. “Conrad... ” she moaned, lost in another boundless orgasm.
    “I feel you coming on me... ” He clutched the back of her neck and rasped, “You’re mine, Néomi.” With his body tensing all around her, his eyes met hers as he began to ejaculate inside her. His expression turned to one of shock, then anguish. As soon as she felt his hot seed jetting so strongly within her, ecstasy lit his face.
    He held her gaze... until his back bowed and his head shot back from the strength of his release. On and on, he filled her. She dimly heard his husky murmur: “Nothing better... nothing.”
    With a final shove, he collapsed atop her, his breaths harsh against her neck, his heart pounding over hers. Still semihard in their wetness, he continued to thrust over her slowly, as if he didn’t want to relinquish his new discovery.
    He muttered, “My God, Néomi.”
    She grazed her fingertips up and down his sweat-slicked back, sighing with contentment. “I could die happy,” she sighed, then frowned. I will die happy. No, she wouldn’t consider it dying. She was leaving—simply moving on to a new existence. And after sharing this body with Conrad, allowing them both to know this pleasure, she was even more confident with her decision.
    He never would have experienced this if he hadn’t been blooded... .
    “How could I have lived without that?” he grated. “I never knew.” He’d demanded... everything from her. She’d seen it in his eyes as he came. He’d wanted her to yield to him, to desire him, to love him.
    And she did love this vampire, with all her heart.
    When he raised himself up, he gave her a sexy, cocky grin that made her breath hitch. “I was good, wasn’t I?”
    She reached up and stroked his face. “The best I’ve ever had or imagined.” When he went still, she said, “It’s the truth. Some men are just instinctively better lovers.”
    The grin returned. “Imagine when I practice on you five times a night.”
    “I can’t wait.” At her murmured words, his shaft jerked inside her, hardening and thickening so fast, she gasped.
    “Time for practice, koeri.”

32

    “Where did you go this morning?” Néomi asked, once she’d finished savoring the most delectable croissant ever crafted in the history of mankind.
    After the second time they’d made love, he’d been ready—and raring—for another round, but she’d groaned, “Food. Your mortal needs food.”
    He’d asked her what she would like if she could have anything in the world. “A hot, buttery croissant, with café au lait and fresh-squeezed orange juice.” So naturally, Conrad had traced to France and brought exactly that back to her.
    “I had errands to do,” he answered. It was then that she noticed his hair was freshly cut, though it remained a tad too long, as she liked it. The ends were still wet from his quick shower. And he was wearing crisp new clothes—understated, dark, but unmistakably moneyed.
    He was handsome as the devil, and with those fiery eyes, he looked more than a little devilish.
    Forever the red would remind her of fire.
    “Errands? Like what?”
    “I’ve brought things for you.” He handed over shopping bags that said Harrods on them. Lots of bags. Apparently, he’d been to London as well. “You needed clothes. And there are... gifts.” He coughed into his fist, his voice gruff. And she knew with certainty that he’d never bought anything for a woman before.
    There was everything—shoes, dresses, sweaters, slacks. She found a toiletry kit with shampoos, perfumes, and lotions.
    “A saleswoman said this would have anything you could need.”
    Néomi dug into more bags, savoring the different fabrics and the expensive designs. And not a black satin party gown among the offerings! “Vampire, you have excellent taste!” she said in delight.
    He shrugged, but she could tell he was satisfied that he’d pleased her.
    She found a felt box with a jeweled hair comb inside. “Conrad, it’s so lovely!” Then she frowned at the facets of light in the stones. “These aren’t real, are they?”
    “Of course.”
    “Are you rich, then?”
    “Exceedingly.” His shoulders shot back, his posture straightening. “I don’t look like I’d have money?”
    “Oh, that’s not it. It’s just so dear. I adore these types of combs.”
    “I know. You stole one from Murdoch.”
    With a sheepish grin, she continued exploring. She pulled out a