Vampire in Atlantis

him; that, at least she could do.
    Would do. Tonight.
    He waited, letting her decide, and she framed his face with her hands and pulled his head back down to hers.
    “Then maybe we should try it again,” she whispered, shyness almost—almost—completely overcome.
    He flashed that wicked grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”
    He kissed her, and time stood still, the stars exploded, and a thousand other lines from a thousand other love songs and poems evolved from data fed to her by the Emperor . . . into truth.
    He kissed her, and somehow she was in his arms while he carried her into the bedroom. His eyes glowed like dark stars in the dim room, which was only lit by the light from the bathing room.
    “I need you,” he said, and his voice was tight with strain as if he somehow hurt because of needing her. She felt a thrill of purely feminine triumph as she tightened her arms around his neck and kissed him in response. She didn’t need words, she didn’t even have the words for what she was feeling—only random thoughts and emotions and feelings whirling around and through her like bolts of electricity or a lightning strike composed of sheer sensation.
    He lowered her to the bed and lay down beside her before she could take a breath. The towel had vanished between bath and bed, but he covered her body with his own. He was still fully dressed, and she shivered with the wantonly tactile sensation of his clothing against her skin.
    “Are you cold?” He pulled the bed’s coverlet up and around them, but she shook her head, laughing a little.
    “I feel like I’ll never be cold again, if you keep kissing me,” she confessed, and she was surprised at the breathless sound of her voice.
    He laughed and it was his turn for triumph. His eyes darkened, and she knew, oh, yes, even she in her inexperience knew what he felt.
    “There’s more, if you’ll allow me to touch you,” he said.
    “I know what making love is.” She could feel the heat in her cheeks at her bold declaration, but she didn’t want him to think she was completely ignorant.
    He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, and then her neck. “There’s knowing, and then there’s knowing . May I?”
    “Oh! Oh, yes, um, what?”
    “May I touch you?”
    “Yes, oh, yes,” she whispered, and then she lay perfectly still and waited for her world to change.
    Daniel thought his brain might explode if she said no, so when she said yes, he didn’t hesitate but did what he’d wanted to do since he first saw her again after so long. He touched her.
    All over.
    He ran his hands down the silken skin of her arms while he kissed her, and then he rolled to his side, pulling her with him, and stroked her back and her hair. And kissed her some more. He couldn’t seem to stop kissing her, as if he were drowning and she were the very oxygen he needed to survive. At first she lay still, as if afraid to move, but then she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer. Her kisses were enthusiastic and tentative all at once, as if she was learning the art of kissing.
    Which, of course, was exactly what she was doing. He had no idea why the thought of it humbled him at the same time it drove him mad. His cock was so hard the imprint of his zipper would probably be a permanent tattoo if he didn’t get out of his pants soon, but he didn’t want to scare her by undressing. Not yet.
    He took a breath and dared to let his hands drop to the sweet, sweet curve of her hips and ass, and he couldn’t help the way his own hips bucked against her when he had both hands wrapped around her lush behind.
    “Daniel, it . . . tingles. I never, I don’t . . . It feels like I’m empty and hungry for something,” she said, her cheeks blushing a hot rosy pink. “I never knew I could feel like this. I want—I want—”
    “I want you, too, mi amara , but I’m not going to rush you,” he said, feeling like a big damn hero. Or a big damn fool. “Not yet. It’s too soon, and I don’t want to take advantage of the heightened emotions you’re feeling right now.”
    “You want to stop kissing me?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and she peeked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, and he thought this must be the hardest thing he’d ever done. Talk about self-sacrifice.
    Nobility.
    Cold freaking showers.
    “No, I never want to stop kissing you, but I want to hold you, and I want us to sleep,” he said, clenching his jaws shut against the please, please,