“Thanks.”
She glanced at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. What was that all about? He could tell she was upset, but he wasn’t sure why, and he wasn’t sure how to ask, either. Had he done something awful in his sleep?
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. An IV dangled from his arm. Ugh. There was nothing worse than the poking and prodding of annoying hospital staff. Without flinching, he pulled out the needle. When he faced front again, Tiffany stood in silence, staring at him as he untied the back of his robe.
A sly grin snaked across his face. “Admiring the show?”
Her embarrassed grin coupled with her deep blush was priceless. Her voice came out in a near squeak. “Sorry.” She turned in the opposite direction.
He dropped the hospital robe and examined the bandage across his shoulder. The wound beneath it was probably healing over already. With the extra help from the hospital to keep him breathing, a nick in his artery felt like nothing.
He pulled on his jeans. “You can turn around now. I’m dressed.”
Tiffany faced him, and her blush deepened at the sight of his bare chest. “I thought you said you were dressed?”
“Tiff, you’ve seen a
lot
more of me than this.”
She bit her lower lip and stared at the floor again. “I know.”
As he pulled on his shirt, he eyed the beautiful woman in front of him. “Do I look anything like you imagined?”
Her head shot up, and she gaped. “Who said I ever imagined you?”
Damon rolled his eyes. “Come on, Tiff. You wrote to me for years. You’re telling me you never once wondered what I looked like?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I imagined a few times.”
“And...?”
She shook her head, flustered. “I don’t know. I guess I imagined you shorter and with more hair. But I was wrong—wrong in a good way.”
He would chop off part of his legs and grow his hair longer if it pleased her. That was the sort of thing he used to say in his letters. As far back as he could remember, he’d always been a quiet person. But over time, when he’d written to Tiffany, he’d begun to confess things to her, to speak to her in ways he’d never spoken to anyone else. In ways he now knew he couldn’t speak to her in person. With the morphine no longer dulling his pain and with all that had happened between them...how could he be the man she’d once cared for when he no longer had her faith to support him?
“What about you?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Am I anything like you imagined?”
In his head, he told her she was more gorgeous than he could possibly have imagined, that the soft curls of her hair and the honey color of her eyes rivaled the divine, that when she smiled it was like God raining down blessings from heaven. And on a sexual level? Sir Mix-a-Lot would’ve drooled over her backside, and he himself would love to hold those sweet cheeks all night long and grab on to them while he—
“Well?”
“I had a vague idea what you looked like. Mark showed me a picture from when you were seventeen.”
Tiffany looked as if she were about to be hit by an oncoming train. “Oh, man. You don’t mean the one where I’m wearing the Gru—”
“Grumpy Bear Care Bear T-shirt,” he finished.
She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “If Mark were here, I’d smack him upside the head for showing you that. What an awful photo.”
He chuckled. “I never thought you looked bad.” If he was honest with himself, at twenty-five, when he’d first eyed that picture, the only thought that crossed his mind was that she was total jail-bait. Seventeen-year-old him would have tapped that for sure.
Of course, an overwhelming urge to pound his own head against a wall had immediately hit him. Even back then, he’d hated himself for thinking about Mark’s sister that way.
Tiffany stared around the room, as if she were too uncomfortable to meet his eyes. “So Caius is dead.” She met his gaze at last, and something flickered behind her amber irises, something he couldn’t identify. “I guess it’s time for you to take me home, then. No more stalking me.”
Damon’s fingers clenched into fists, and he struggled not to throw whatever object was in reach. Why the hell had he ever promised to leave her alone?
Because she’s giving up hunting, and because she doesn’t want you in her life.
Her safety and her happiness, that was why.
He gave a single nod. “I’ll take you home.”
CHAPTER 11
Damon trudged up the stairs of the apartment building, following Tiffany. Though Caius was dead and Mark’s death avenged, his stomach twisted into knots, dreading what lay before him. Damned if he hadn’t sent himself to hell...
He swallowed hard, lifting one foot in front of the other, trying to act as if his one chance at happiness wasn’t about to walk right out of his life. His heart pounded in his ears. Whoever the hell had come up with the bright idea that traumatic moments moved in slow motion could eat one of his fists. He would rather climb this stairway for eternity than face the next step—and, man, the climb was going fast.
Their goodbye had only lasted this long because he’d insisted on seeing her to her door.
They reached the final landing. She crossed to lucky apartment number seven. No, there was nothing even remotely lucky about that number. It would be the last trace he would see of her once she closed—or, more likely, slammed—the door in his face. She seemed all too eager to get this over with.
Pulling her keys from her purse, she reached for the knob before turning toward him. “This is it,” she said. “Are you satisfied now?”
He bit his lower lip. Hell, no. He would never be satisfied until she was his, until he knew that every morning when he woke up she would be lying right by his side, her face as peaceful and gorgeous as it had been during their night together.
The night she’d given him her virginity.
He wanted to tell her that, no, he
wasn’t
satisfied. He wanted to tell her that she needed to be at his side. A sharp pang hit his heart, but he nodded to say that, yes, he was satisfied.
It couldn’t have been further from the truth.
How could he have let this happen to him? How could he have fallen so hard? The thought of her staying with him sent pulses of ecstasy and elation beating through him. But as he stared at her beautiful face, knowing he would never see it again, all he felt was pain the likes of which he’d never known before.
He would willingly have suffered death a thousand times over rather than see her walk away from him.
She let out a long sigh. “I never thought I’d be saying this to the man I thought was responsible for Mark’s death, but thank you. Thank you for helping me to kill Caius.” She flashed him a weak smile. “I know it’s probably not much consolation, but after what happened in the alleyway, when I left you behind, I understood why you left Mark. I got caught up in the hunt exactly like you did, and if I’d been in your place the night Mark died, I can’t say I would have done any differently.”
Damon exhaled a long breath. He wasn’t sure what to say. All he managed to choke out was, “Thanks for telling me that.”
Another weak smile crossed her full lips. Then she slid her key into the doorknob and twisted until it unlocked.
His mind raced, and every function in his body seemed to shut down and come alive all at the same time. Was he really going to let her walk away?
Say something, asshole!
Finally he forced her name out. “Tiffany?”
Turning toward him, she met his gaze, a slight look of happiness and hope in her sparkling honey eyes. “Yeah?”
Say something. Say something. Say something—anything.
“Uh...you should get a stronger lock than that. I’ll send someone over to install some extra enforcement. Don’t worry about the cost, it’s on me.”
Fuck!
That was all he could say?
Within an instant the spark in her eyes faded. “Oh, okay.” Pausing, she met his eyes one last time. “Well, thanks again. Good luck with your hunting. I trust you’ll destroy all the viral vamps.” She turned away from him and opened the door.
He was a weak man. The woman he loved, his one chance at happiness, was about to leave him and he was going to let her. His heart stopped.
The woman he loved... His breath caught. Did he really love her?
Who was he kidding?
Stepping over the threshold, she began to pull the door closed behind her.
He raced across the hall and pushed through the doorway.
Tiffany spun around. “Da—”
Lifting her into his arms, he kissed her before she could utter another syllable. Her tongue met his, and they crashed together hard as he held her in his arms. Her hands snaked over his shoulders. Her touch sent pulses of energy through him. His body stiffened to attention and pushed against her soft stomach as he pressed her against him.
Quickly, he slammed the door behind them and pushed her up against the door frame. She gasped as he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his hips. He longed to feel her hot and tight around him. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was driven, kind, forgiving—and he couldn’t think of a single reason not to love her. Never before had any woman driven him to his knees, but he would willingly have begged her not to leave if he’d had to. Nothing could keep her from him.
He shoved his hips harder against hers, and she let out a small cry. Her lips brushed against his before he pulled his mouth away from hers to trail soft but desperate kisses across her collarbone. A moan escaped her lips. The delicious scent of her warm vanilla and cinnamon-scented skin filled his nose, and she tasted just as sweet.
He kissed her neck one last time before whispering softly against her lips, “You didn’t think I’d let you walk away that easily, did you?” Cupping her cheek with one hand, he captured her lips again.
Several small tears trailed down her cheeks, and he prayed they were happy ones. He pulled away and whispered in her ear again. “Will you let me make love to you?”
She nodded, and a rush of adrenaline flooded every inch of his body. She giggled softly as he carried her toward the bedroom. A more angelic noise had never graced his ears.
Walking into Tiffany’s bedroom was like stepping back into a dorm. Then again, despite all her maturity, she
was
still
a college student. He chuckled as he laid her down on her pale green comforter. From the brightly colored lamp shades lined with small fake crystals to the bookcases stocked with textbooks to the fluffy white carpet beneath his boots, Tiffany’s room shouted her spirit from the hilltops.
Damn.
He was pushing thirty, and here he was with his best friend’s baby sister. He stared down at her. The swell of her ample breasts lifted with her quick breaths. He ran his hand over the soft curve of her hips, admiring every feminine detail. For someone who tried so hard to appear tough and callous, beneath the surface she was anything but. And right now she was staring up at him with pure sexual hunger.
Without a word, he dragged her dress off over her head, unhooked her bra with one hand and drew the pink tip of one nipple into his mouth. She moaned beneath him as he teased her breasts with his mouth and hands. She rocked her hips against his, eager for him to take her.
He released her from his grasp and stood before her. He shrugged his coat off and threw it onto the nearby desk chair before kicking off his boots. She pulled herself up and knelt on the bed in front of him, then toyed with the hem of his shirt before slowly lifting it over his head. She tossed it to the side and unbuttoned his jeans.
Pausing, she leaned her head back and gazed into his eyes. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging his middle. “My heroic B.” A small smile crossed her lips. Then she unzipped his pants and thrust them down around his ankles.
He was on top of her within seconds, straining with need as he positioned himself outside her entrance. She was already so wet for him.
She ran her fingers over his naked chest, then wrapped her arms and legs around him. “You have no idea how many times I dreamed of this,” she whispered.
* * *
A lump filled Tiffany’s throat, and she fought back tears. She hadn’t exaggerated. She’d dreamed of lying beneath B, beneath Damon, countless times. He was even more handsome, even more incredible, than she had imagined. A shiver ran down her spine.
Their first time turned out to be nothing compared to the intimacy she discovered in his touch now. She didn’t wish it any different. This time there would be no pain, no fear or reluctance.
In one quick push, he penetrated her. Her warmth wrapped around him as he slid deep inside. He filled every inch of her core, and she cried out. With strong but sensitive movements, he thrust into her, the rhythm sending waves of pleasure through her. Every nerve, every inch of her skin, was alive and on fire.
The scent of his skin filled her nose. He was everywhere. His hands, his mouth, his tongue reached every part of her, leaving no spot untouched, as if he was discovering her body for the very first time.
But the faint scent of antiseptic from the hospital still lingered on his skin, a crude reminder of his still-healing shoulder. A tense knot gathered in her chest. How could she have been so stupid? She ran her hands over the muscles of his shoulders. Because of her negligence, she’d nearly lost him.
Propping himself up on one arm, he suckled on her lower lip, then kissed her long and deep. The sweetness of his tongue sent a rush of heat straight to her core. A gruff moan escaped his lips as she slickened against him. His pleasure empowered her. The man holding her was a fierce warrior who fought against the strongest supernatural beings in the world. He could massacre monsters with his bare hands, but she longed to be the one to make him as weak in the knees as he made her.
Slipping his hand between them, Damon fingered the soft flesh between her legs. She cried out as he rubbed against her soft, sensitive folds. Pressure built inside her until she teetered on the brink of ecstasy.
He ran his lips over her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine as he whispered to her, “Come for me, Tiffany.”
He drove into her in a hard thrust that launched her climax.
She cried, “Damon!” Heat rushed to her core. She bucked against him as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her. Grabbing his face with both hands, she met his eyes. “Kiss me, damn it.”
He smiled and playfully nipped at her neck. “Only if you come for me again.”
She gasped. He didn’t have to ask twice. He continued to pump into her as he kissed her so hard her head spun with desire. Another pulse of heat flooded through her, igniting a blazing fire.
As she finished riding the last remnants of her climax, she pushed hard against Damon’s chest, fighting to roll him over onto his back. He grinned at her feeble attempt before wrapping a single arm around her waist and rolling her on top of him. He lay back as she straddled his stomach.
Her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of him. The toned muscles of his arms and chest flexed as he reached out to cup her behind. She squealed and wiggled against him as he tickled her. She fell forward, her breasts pressing against his pecs before she moved up and gave him a short kiss on the lips that was so intimate in its familiarity it made her breath catch.
Slowly she drew herself down the length of his body, her skin sliding over the hard ridges of his abs. Resting her head on his stomach, she snaked her fingers over his mouthwatering hips and belly, a delicious triangle of muscle with a small trail of dark hair leading down to his erection.
A low growl escaped his lips as she continued to move downward. “What mischief are you up to?” he purred.
He groaned as she brushed her lips against his arousal. “You pleasured me,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to pleasure you.” She ran her tongue over the length of him, and the sound of his deep moans filled her ears.
Crawling up the length of his body, she left tender, soft kisses around his bandage. But a tinge of pain filled her heart. The image of his pained face, his unmoving chest and the paleness of his cold lips were seared into her mind forever. His pain had shattered her. Something inside her crumbled to pieces at the thought of losing him.
Not again.
Twice she’d nearly shoved him from her life forever, but now, after seeing him so close to death, she knew she would never be able to live without him. She would show him pleasure and entice him to stay. Though deep down, she knew she shouldn’t worry. B would never abandon her.
After trailing kisses across his collarbone, she followed the line of his chest to the muscular curves of his abdomen. Her mouth practically watered at the sight of his abs. She imagined all the hard work, the training, the dedication it had taken to tone his body. He was perfect, like a piece of art.
He moaned as she massaged and caressed every inch of his body, from the crook of his neck and the bulk of his shoulders, all the way to his legs, hips and feet. He melted beneath her touch, and the look of ecstasy that crossed his face sent a rush of heat between her legs. She snuggled her body against him, her head resting on the tightness of his belly.
She whispered to him, allowing the heat of her breath to brush against his skin. “What can I do to please you? I’ll do whatever you wish.”
Tangling his fingers in her hair, he played with her long curls. “Your pleasure is more than enough.” His ice-blue irises blazed in the dim light of her bedroom. That fire told her exactly what he wanted, though he refused to ask. He was too sweet, too much of a gentleman, to express desire for anything but
her
pleasure.
Another moan escaped his throat as she stroked her hand over his shaft. “Tiffany...”
She placed a finger over her lips and hushed him. “Shh. No protests.” She placed her lips on him, and it was his turn to buck beneath her mouth. “I want to make you come,” she whispered.
* * *
Damon groaned as Tiffany’s lips wrapped around him. The warmth and wetness of her mouth enveloped him despite his considerable size. She slid her lips up and down the length of him, her hands working in tandem with her sweet, sweet mouth. When she finally released him, he was so close to finishing that the delay was pure torture.
She straddled his hips, rubbing her soft flesh against him. He ran his hands over her porcelain skin from her breasts to her narrow waist, all the way down to the delicious expanse of her hips.
The perfect hourglass.