All Hallows Heartbreaker (13 page)

“Are you preparing to make another meal of me?” he asked. “I’ll have to replenish my blood soon, or I’ll be sucked dry as a mummy.”

“Would you like that?” she asked. “For me to suck you dry?”

His arms tightened around her. “Are you ready for round two, so soon?”

“It is a vampire’s blessing—this rapid recovery.” She flexed her hips producing a slurpy sound that made her giggle. “I think we’re probably soaking the carpet beneath us,” she said.

“You did blow a geyser.”

“Me? And none of this dripping goo is yours?”

“What can I say? You inspire me.”

She licked around one flat, brown areole. “Your daytime staff will think we peed on the rug.”

“And how do you know I have any staff?”

Emmy lifted her nose to the air and inhaled. “Because I can smell them here.”

His hands glided over her sweat-slicked back, and she rose up to let her nipples graze his chest. They had an eternity of loving to explore, but she wanted it all, now.

“You’re a greedy witch.” His hands swept lower to close over the globes of her ass, pressing down, driving his cock deeper.

“Aren’t you glad?” she asked.

“Anybody for pizza?” Quentin said from the foyer. Then he blew out a loud breath. “I say. I see what you meant when you said she had an ass to die for.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Now that you embarrassed her half to death—” Dylan began, hands on his hips.

“Embarrassed? Em?” Quentin raised both brows. “I’m half-certain the girl likes being caught in
flagrante dilecto
. It happens too often for mere circumstance.”

Dylan scowled, shoving his feet into his pants. “Man, you sound pompous!”

“I practice,” Quentin said, with a Cheshire grin, picking up the silver robe.

Dylan grabbed the robe and rolled it in a ball. Emmy had forgotten it during her long screech and lope up the stairs. “Care for a drink, before you leave?” he asked, pointedly.

“A scotch, please.”

Dylan poured their drinks, and then joined Quentin, seated before the fire. “All right, there was a point to your interruption?”

“Yes. I spoke with Navarro while you two were playing hide the sausage.”

Dylan narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“Navarro’s seeking a sanction against Nicky from the council. He’s to be killed on sight.”

Grim satisfaction filled Dylan. “Now, we only have to find him.”

Quentin’s face grew uncharacteristically serious. “Dylan, don’t you think Em has had enough excitement for a while?”

“I’m not taking her with us. But I can’t let him get away. He must be hunted. Emmy won’t be safe until he’s dead.”

“He almost killed me, too,” Quentin said. “It’s personal now.”

“You mean, let you go on your own?” The thought would never have occurred to Dylan. They were a team.

“You need time with her to tutor her properly in our ways. Not that she isn’t a quick study—a natural, actually. And you need time by yourselves. You haven’t known each other that long.”

Dylan contemplated the wet spot on the rug. It really did look like one of them had peed.

“You aren’t worried about her, are you?” Quentin said.

“No.” Dylan answered too quickly.

“What is it?”

Dylan sighed. “Would she have stopped in time with the locksmith, if I hadn’t intervened? Or would she have killed him?”

“She was just overcome with the bloodlust. It was her first time. Are you worried that she’s lost her soul?”

Dylan lifted his glass and let the whiskey slide down his throat. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But I’m about to find out.” He set the glass on the fireplace ledge. “Where will you start looking? I know you, you’ve already got a lead or two.”

“I’m thinking of catching a few waves. He has a vamp brother in Florida.”

“Florida? So far? You’ll be in unknown territory. We haven’t developed council ties that far south. Don’t go and get yourself dusted.”

“Just keep that girl out of her clothes—and out of mischief. Oh, and you can sleep easy. The council’s providing watchers until Nicky’s found.”

Dylan walked with him to the front door. They shared a glance up the stairs.

“You’re one lucky Paddy.”

“Bleedin’ toff.” Dylan smiled crookedly.

They shared an awkward embrace, before Quentin turned and let himself out the door.

* * * * *

Dylan slipped beneath covers that held a wintry chill. Emmy hugged the far side of the bed, her back to him, her shoulders stiff. “Emmy, we have to talk.”

“You don’t have to say a thing. I lied. You were right,” Emmy said, her voice quiet. “I wanted to fuck that locksmith to death. Wanted to bathe in his blood.”

Dylan held his breath. He’d let her speak. He needed to know the state of her soul—and whether he’d lost her forever. And if she wasn’t whole, she was his responsibility—although ending her new life would likely kill him.

“Thanks for stopping me.” She turned towards him, tears on her cheeks. “I couldn’t have lived with myself, if I’d taken his life.”

Dylan closed his eyes, relieved beyond words. Remorse was only possible if one still cared about human life.

Emmy’s breath caught on a jagged sob, and she pushed back the covers to get up. Dylan couldn’t bear to look at her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

Her gaze met his, but his face was closed, remote.

“Ho—ome,” she wailed, her face and what was left of her composure, crumpling.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I don’t have anything to wear. I’ll send back your robe,” she paused to sniff. “Wherever it is.” She hated when she cried. Her face puffed up like a blowfish. And she needed a Kleenex. Dylan’s last sight of her would be of an enormous, snotty nose and eyes nearly swelled shut.

“I wasn’t talking about my robe. Come here, Emmy.”

That didn’t sound like a goodbye. She squinted to see his face, but he still looked imposing. Afraid to read too much into his invitation, she figured he just wanted to offer her a little manly comfort—before he let her down easy.

“I know men hate tears. But I can’t help it,” she said, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I just keep thinking about it. He was there. His blood was such a temptation, and I just wanted a little bite—”

“Em,” his voice lowered in warning. “Don’t remind me.”

Emmy’s heart leapt. That particular tone in his voice usually preceded an intense sexual experience. He was jealous! “Ooooh!” She started crying a fresh spate of tears.

“For fuck’s sake.” Dylan’s hand clamped over her arm and he jerked her toward him.

Emmy fell against him and buried her face in the soft fur of his chest.

Dylan stretched his arm to slide the drawer of the nightstand open and drew out a packet of tissues. “There,” he said. “You’ve twenty of them to mop up the mess.”

She hiccoughed and plucked at the plastic, but she couldn’t open it.

Dylan cursed and took the packet from her. After a moment, he shoved a tissue into her hands. “You’ll stop crying this instant.”

Emmy took the tissue and blew her nose loudly. “I can’t stop, just because you order it, you know. Once it starts,” she shrugged, “I’m pretty much at its mercy…k-kinda like that po-poor man.”

“Then how do you stop crying?”

“I think happy thoughts.” Emmy blew again. When she finished she handed him the tissue.

Dylan tossed it on the floor and handed her another. “Happy thoughts?”

“Yes, like ice cream and pepperoni pizza thoughts.”

“There’s freshly cut steak in the refrigerator.”

Emmy perked up at that thought. At least they wouldn’t starve tonight. Although she had no intention of leaving the house any time in the near future to hunt. She couldn’t trust herself. Her face crumpled again.

“I thought steak was a happy thought.”

“It is.” Her shoulders shook with the next bout of crying.

Dylan pushed her down onto the bed. Before she guessed his purpose, he was hovering over her, his cock pressed against her entrance. “Want a happy thought?”

“Is this a pity fuck?”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Are you quite through feeling sorry for yourself? We’ve only an hour of darkness left and I’d intended to ride you all the way to dawn. And this isn’t fucking.” He pushed his hips forward, spearing into her.

Emmy’s hands closed over his buttocks, “Then what is it?”

“Did you just stick your tissue to my ass?”

“Oh!” Emmy quickly pulled it off his skin and tossed it over the side of the bed. “You changed the subject again.”

He drew all the way out of her, and then placed the head of his cock at her entrance again. “Tell me what you want, Emmy.”

“I want you, Dylan.”

He gritted his teeth against the urge to surge inside. “Be more specific.”

“I want your cock inside me?” She was in pain and he wanted to play semantics?

He shook his head.

“I want you to fuck my brains out!” she shouted at him. What else did he want?

“Not fuck!”

Emmy’s heart stilled. He wanted the truth. “I want you to…make love to me.”

His breath gusted out. “Was that so hard to say?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It has certain connotations, you know.”

Dylan circled the head of his penis around her opening. “Tell me more, Emmy. What connotations?”

Emmy’s forehead scrunched into a frown. He wasn’t going to leave her any pride left. “Such as, you must be in love to make love.”

The head penetrated her opening, and she wriggled her hips to caress him with her inner muscles.

“And are you?” he asked. His face was taut. Heat stained his cheeks. But his eyes staked her to the bed.

“You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” He pushed deeper inside her. “Only happy thoughts. Fucking is a happy thing, right?”

“I thought you said we were making love?” she wailed. “Are you taking it back?”

Dylan flexed his hips, driving his cock inward until he was fully gloved. Then he lowered his body over hers and rested on his elbows. “Am I taking what back, Emmy?”

“That you love me.”

He raised a hand to brush her hair back from her face, while his gaze held hers. “And do I?”

“You must love me.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re looking at my blowfish face, and you aren’t throwing up.”

His gaze narrowed. “No jokes now, Em. This is just you and I. Only the truth between our skins. Do you think I love you?”

She was afraid to say it, in case she wasn’t right. And she said so. “I mean, you might just be obligated to love me. You sired me, right? You have to love your children.”

His face grimaced. “You make it sound like incest.”

“I like this kind of incest. Will you fuck me, now?”

“Only if you say the magic words.”

Emmy held perfectly still.

“Em?”

“I’m thinking. If I say it, you’ll feel obligated to say it back. And then I’ll never know the truth until you’re packing a suitcase to run away with the maid.”

“Bloody hell. Just say you love me.”

She drew in a deep, ragged breath. “I love you,” she blurted.

He nodded. “Fine. That’s all I asked.” He pulled back and drilled back inside her.

Emmy couldn’t help rolling her hips in response to his deepening plunges. But she really wished he’d stop, so she could think. “Well? Aren’t you supposed to say something?”

“What?” he asked, closing his eyes and groaning as he picked up the pace.

Emmy’s hips slammed upward to meet his thrusts, even as her face screwed up, ready to wail.

His eyes opened. “Not again. I love you, Em. I wasn’t going to give it to you so easily. You don’t deserve it. I’ve loved you longer, and frankly, you’ve put me through hell.”

“Dylan…” she said, her voice lowered in warning.

“What?”

“Shut up and fuck me. You’re starting to sound like me.”

“Good God!” He leaned back, and hooked his arms beneath her legs. “I know one way to make certain neither of us has the strength left to talk.”

Emmy’s hands fisted in the bedding. He was as good as his word. In minutes, she was breathless and grunting with each hard stroke he delivered. His glorious face, red and glistening with sweat. His body was taut as a bowstring as he pounded at her cunt.

And looking down her body, she saw what he saw for the first time, her body cushioned his thrusts, her belly shivering and rolling, her nipples peaking—beckoning him to suckle.

The parts of them that moved together were wet and lightly furred. His cock a strong, straight sword speared into her warm, wet scabbard.

They were made for each other. Beautiful together.