But to my surprise, Nicky pulled me into his arms anyway, pressing me close to his bare chest. “You’re safe now,” he murmured against my hair. “I gotcha.”
I closed my eyes and leaned against him, letting him hold me and trying not to think about the fact that my cheek was resting against his fabulously sculpted chest, or about how right it felt with his strong arms wrapped around me. After a moment, I tentatively slipped my arms around his waist and curled into him a little more. His heart began to pound faster in my ear and his arms tightened around me. Then his hand started moving in a slow circle on my back, just a small gesture of comfort, but it sent a lance of white-hot heat through my body, slamming me with the ache I experienced every time I fantasized about just such a scenario. I let my eyelids flutter shut, focusing on the gentle pressure of his hand on my back instead of the increasingly persistent heat between my legs.
Oh, God . . . please don’t let this be another dream. . . .
I felt him swallow hard; then his hand roamed a little lower, tentatively at first, but soon he was skimming across the curve of my ass and down my thigh. My pulse was racing so rapidly as he eased me back onto the mattress that I could hardly breathe. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes seemed brighter, filled with a fiery desire that startled me. I caught a glimpse of what was going through his mind—just a flicker. But I didn’t need to see beyond his mental defenses to know what he wanted at that moment—the rock-hard length pressing into my thigh was a damned good indicator. And I was so onboard with where his thoughts were going.
His hand slid back up my thigh over my hip and to my ribs as he shifted, scooting up a little to stretch out on the bed beside me. I kept one arm around his waist, my fingers splayed across his back, and let my other hand drift up along his muscled forearm to his bicep where a beautiful Celtic design marked him up to his shoulder and around to his back. I traced the tattoo with my fingertips, gliding lightly over his skin. When I reached the nape of his neck, his lids snapped shut briefly, his lips parting in a sharp exhale. And when he opened his eyes again, I shuddered at the intensity of his gaze.
My God—was this really happening? Was I actually lying on a bed in Nicky Blue’s arms, his body pressing against mine, straining toward mine? After so long dreaming of such a moment, was it actually happening?
But just as I began to doubt that I was awake, the increasingly agonizing ache at the center of me assured me that this was no dream. He was right there, staring down at me, wanting me, just as much as I wanted him. I grasped the nape of his neck and urged him toward me, desperate to feel his lips upon mine, to slake some of this heat building inside me before I went up in flames and was reduced to a smoldering pile of ash.
His gaze flicked down to my mouth.
God, yes! Yes! Finally . . .
I let my lids flutter shut as he pressed a whisper of a kiss to my lips. Just a tender brush of his mouth against mine. And not nearly enough. On the next pass, his lips lingered a little longer, testing, teasing. And again, even longer this time. He lifted his head for a moment, meeting and holding my gaze. There was something there, something I couldn’t quite see. Was it caution? Fear? But before I could look closer, there was a sudden shift in his gaze as if a switch had tripped, and then his mouth was on mine again. And he was done messing around.
This kiss was possessive, demanding. His mouth claimed mine as no man’s ever had, drawing out of me a fiery passion I’d never experienced before. I clung to his lips with each pass, gasping, breathless, hardly daring to believe that it was really Nicky’s mouth devouring mine. I nipped at his bottom lip, then sucked it into my mouth, making him moan.
He shifted position again, rolling on top of me so he was between my legs, his hips pressing into me in urgent need. “Jesus, Trish,” he groaned before his mouth captured mine again, his tongue slipping between my teeth in an insistent caress.
My God, as kisses went, it was off the charts. I could’ve gone on kissing him for hours, days! Even without his hips grinding so maddeningly against mine, I was on the verge of coming just from the way he was making love to my mouth. And when he began pressing those fevered lips to my cheeks, my jaw, it was just as intoxicating.
When his hand finally slipped up under my T-shirt and caressed my skin, I thought I was going to come undone. I shuddered, a precursor to what was building deep inside, when his thumb passed over my nipple. I choked back a moan and arched my neck, granting him access to the curve of my throat, dying for him to explore every inch of me, place those hot kisses on my skin over and over again.
But Nicky’s hand instantly stilled. His lips hovered near my skin as he whispered, “What the hell?”
I swear my heart stopped for a full three seconds. “Nicky?”
He slowly drew back, his brows pinched together as he reached up and pulled the collar of my T-shirt away from my neck. “Did one of those vampires get a taste of you the other night?”
I began to tremble. “No.” I swallowed, but my mouth was so dry it didn’t do any good. “Why?”
He ran his thumb across my skin and gave me a look so full of pity and disappointment, it made my heart shrivel. “I think maybe you’d better tell me about that nightmare.”
My heart dropped, and when he started to draw away I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Not now.”
He frowned. “What—”
I grasped the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine. I’d waited for far too long to be in his arms to let this opportunity pass by. I was taking him. I didn’t give a shit what happened afterward, but for now he was mine. And I’d be damned if some fucking vampire was going to ruin it for me.
To my relief, Nicky responded to my harsh kiss with his own hot enthusiasm, and the marks on my neck were forgotten as his hands began to roam again. And when his hand slid down my belly and slipped under my waistband, I was shattering apart even before he reached the tight little bud of nerves that was screaming for his touch. Then his fingertip began to move in a slow, deliberate circle, and I was shattering apart all over again, my body curling up into his before arching back again.
“Oh, yeah,” he hissed in my ear, his fingertip unrelenting, winding me up again. “That’s it. Come again for me, Trish.”
I honestly didn’t think it was possible, but when his hand slid down farther, delving deeper into my wet heat, I was ready to go yet again. First one finger and then another slid inside me, slowly advancing and retreating.
Writhing against his hand, panting with need, I slid my palm down to where his erection had escaped the folds of his towel and took him in my hand, making him jerk and squeeze his eyes shut on a juicy curse. Impatient for more, I grabbed his towel with my other hand and tore it off, then gripped his bare ass. And, holy hell, what a fine ass it was.
“I need you inside me, Nicky,” I gasped. “Right. Now.”
His fingers plunged deeper as his mouth curled into a smug grin. “I thought I was already inside you,” he said, punctuating his words with another thrust.
I moaned, closing my eyes and rolling my hips against his hand. But then he suddenly withdrew. My eyes snapped open to see what was wrong, but before I could ask the question, he was yanking my pajama pants down and tossing them aside.
“Oh, God,” I gasped as he sat back on his heels and grasped my hips, jerking me toward him. In the next instant he was plunging deep, filling me, his powerful thrusts creating a blissful friction that sent me careening over the edge again within seconds. My release was so powerful, it made him groan and pitch forward to brace himself on his elbows.
“My God, it feels good inside you,” he murmured.
I tried to respond, but all that came out was a gasp as he shifted ever so slightly, hitting a spot that set off an explosion of light in my head. He chuckled at the choked scream that came next, obviously enjoying the way his body was affecting mine. His smug pleasure set off something inside me, something savage and animalistic. Without thinking, I bit his shoulder. Hard. Hard enough to break the skin.
“Ow! Shit!” he shouted, flinching away. He went completely still and pulled back to gaze down at me, a startled expression on his face.
I stared at the tiny drop of blood on his skin, horrified at what I’d done. “Oh, God,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what—”
I didn’t get a chance to complete the sentence before Nicky’s mouth was on mine again, his kisses rough and harsh this time. And when he grabbed my hands and pinned them over my head and began to move his hips once more, the source of his startled expression was now clear. He wasn’t surprised that I’d bitten him; he was surprised that I liked it as rough as he did. And, honestly, that was as much of a surprise to me as it was to him. But I loved it. I loved his hard thrusts. I loved how his muscled body overpowered mine. And I loved it when his teeth nipped and teased my skin, drawing out the kind of pleasure I’d only dreamed of.
And when Nicky finally let go, his release was so powerful, his strangled scream echoed off the bedroom walls. And it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. Even reliving the sound in my head as he lay there, collapsed in exhaustion in my arms, my body cradling his, made me want to go at it all over again.
To my mortification, my muscles began to twitch, grasping onto his shaft, begging for more. His soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and when he lifted his head to peer down at me, he was grinning from ear to ear.
“You’re going to be the death of me, doll,” he drawled.
Now it was my turn to chuckle. “Yeah?”
He nodded and slowly withdrew. But before he could completely pull out, he thrust hard, making me gasp. And as he began to move again, he put his lips near my ear and whispered, “But what a way to go. . . .”
Chapter Thirteen
“It had to be Amanda.”
“Amanda?” he repeated from where he sat at the kitchen bar, sipping the coffee I’d made us. “That Ordinary dame Dracula killed so he could use her ghost to try to bump off Caliban?”
I scraped scrambled eggs onto two plates already loaded down with toast and fresh fruit, then nodded. “One and the same. Looks like he’s still using her to do his dirty work.”
“So, do you think she was an early attempt to turn an Ordinary that went wrong?” Nicky asked. “Or do you think he intended to kill her all along?”
“I’m guessing the latter.” I set the plates in front of him and climbed up onto the bar stool beside him, trying to ignore the fact that I knew he was going commando under his jeans. “When Tale vamps come over, we spend a lot of time rehabilitating them, teaching them to control their hunger, feed responsibly, so they can lead a normal life among the Ordinaries and not get into trouble. Part of that program emphasizes the fact that Tale vamps aren’t able to turn anyone else so there’s no reason to kill anyone.”
“Is it true?” Nicky asked.
“As far as we know.”
He blinked at me and said around a mouthful of strawberries, “No one ever bothered to test the theory?”
I shrugged. “Who would you have us use as test subjects? Had the experiment gone wrong, it would’ve resulted in the death of a Tale. And if it had worked, we would’ve had more vamps to deal with and no deterrent to keep them from turning whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted.”
“And no one ever questioned this?”
I pressed my lips together for a moment. “As Al says, ‘You tell someone something often enough, they’ll start to believe it.’ But I think we honestly all believed it, too. I mean, it’s never happened.”
“Until now.”
“What do you mean?”
He polished off the fruit and started in on the eggs. A moment later he finally answered, “These vamps I’ve been chasing—there’s something strange about them. You know that. They don’t have a normal Tale signature. I think he’s turning Ordinaries.”
“We have no proof of that,” I reminded him. “And if it has happened, the FMA will handle it. That’s why we have rehabilitation programs in the first place.”
“You know, the FMA has a bad habit of trying to regulate every aspect of our lives,” Nicky mused. “Now that we’re here, we’re supposed to be able to write our own stories, find our own voices. Maybe they should be a little more hands-off and let us all deal with things ourselves.”
“Careful,” I retorted, jabbing my food with my fork, “you’re starting to sound a lot like Sebille Fenwick and her fanatical pals.” My hands stilled the moment I said it, not needing to turn around to know how much my words had cut him—I felt it in the air. But he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until the dishes were cleared away and all evidence of breakfast disposed of that Nicky spoke again.
“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, running his hand through his hair. He leaned a hip against the counter and regarded me with a frown. “You know, in the bedroom.”
I froze, my stomach plummeting. “What?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I shouldn’t have let things go that far.”
I let out a shaky, nervous little laugh and waved away his comment, trying to act nonchalant, especially in light of my misstep a moment before. “Don’t worry about it.”