Dead and Loving It (8 page)

“I hate you,” she nearly sobbed.

“I know.”

“Finish.”

“Oh, thank God.” In an instant he was pushing his way inside her again, and for a half second, she understood why he had been concerned—the friction was delightful,
so
delightful, it was just this side of pain. Then he was pumping his hips against hers, and it became more than delightful; it was exquisite.

“Kiss me back,” he said into her mouth. “Give me your tongue.”

Half-blind from the swamping pleasure, she did so. He sucked on it in time with his thrusts, and she could hear someone making high, whimpering noises and realized with amazement it was
her
making those silly bitch sounds. The bed thumped in time with their fucking and then he tore his mouth from hers. “Now,” he hissed in her ear, “come now.” Then he pinched her nipple, hard, and that spun her into the most powerful orgasm of her life. She could actually feel the spasms ripple through her uterus, and the world got dark and fuzzy around the edges for a few moments. Above her he stiffened, and for a moment his grip was painful. “God, my God, Jane!” Then he shuddered all over, and he relaxed as she felt him spurt deeply inside her.

She dozed for a few minutes—it had been a stressful few days. She came all the way awake when she realized he was stroking her lower lip with his thumb. “Get the fuck off me
now.
”

“Ah, you're back. I thought you were being uncharacteristically quiet.”

“Off. Now. Hate you. Kill you.”

He burst out laughing, which did nothing for her temper. She strained mightily and managed to roll him off her. “I'm sorry, love, it's rude to laugh. But most women in your position would be fetal with shock, sobbing into the bedspread. All
you
can think about is how to get your teeth into me.”

“And how you might taste,” she added silkily.

“Umm…well, there are ways to answer
that
question…”

“Anything you put in my mouth, you're gonna lose.”

He sighed. “I suppose it was too good to last. Pity we're only compatible in bed.”

“Compatible in—you
raped
me, asswipe! Do you have any idea what my family is going to
do
to you? What
I'm
going to do to you?”

“I did rape you.” He tweaked one of her nipples. “At first.”

She blushed with shame. He saw it, and it moved him whereas her death threats did not. “No, you're right—I forced you. None of this was your idea. You're still tied up, for heaven's sake. You don't have anything to feel guilty about.”

She was, absurdly, grateful for the lie. Not that she had any intention of showing it. “I feel very guilty that I didn't break your neck in that alley when I had the chance.
Now let me go!
”

“Sorry, Jane. You had your chance to be free, and you chose to stay.”

“I did
not
—”

“So stay you will, and just like this, until…”

“Oh, what,
what?
Christ, you're driving me crazy!”

“…until you agree to be my wife.”

Long silence, broken by, “You're on drugs.”

“Only if you are. Is that why your blood is so rich? God, it was like wine. I don't think I've ever felt better,” he said giddily. “I had planned to fuck you and eat you and turn you out into the street in the wee hours of the morning without so much as an ‘I'll call you,' but now I'll never, never let you go. You're a rare jewel, Jane. An emerald, a ruby.”

“I'm tied to the bed next to a crazy person,” she mused aloud. Thinking,
Never drank from a werewolf before, eh, buddy? Interesting. If you become addicted to me, that could be useful.
“And as far as being your wife—you've probably heard this from all your
other
rape victims, but I'd rather be dead.”

“Undead,” he said brightly. “Well, we've got time for that. You're still in your prime. Although I have no intention of becoming a widower in forty or fifty years.”

“What?”

“Oh, I won't insist upon it right away, but probably within the next ten years or so, I'll definitely have to turn you into a vampire.”

An undead werewolf? What's next, Frankenstein's Monster coming over for dinner?
“You're out of your fucking mind.”

“Apparently so,” he said cheerfully, kissed her, and left her.

R
ichard knocked modestly—absurd, given what he had just done to her—and opened the door. She was staring at the ceiling and didn't look at him when he came in. He nibbled his lower lip and tried to distract himself from the sight of the lovely Janet, spread-eagled on his bed. It was amazing—he'd just spent over an hour with her, but he could have taken her right this minute. And again. And then again.

He was carrying a tray full of savories. She smelled it and sat up as much as her bonds would allow. “Feeding time at the zoo,” Jane said moodily. The spot on her thigh where he'd fed from her was purpling. He stifled an urge to kiss it and beg her forgiveness.
She lied,
he reminded himself.
And you're the monster.

“Oh, hush. No one in a zoo eats so well. See? Lobster bisque, biscuits, a steak, and milk. And if you eat everything, chocolate ice cream.”

“That's a ridiculous amount of food,” she said, staring at the tray.

“I've seen you eat, my love. I'm going to let you out of your bonds, but before you hit me over the head with the tray and flee for the hills, I should explain that there are no fewer than three bolted doors—all English oak—between you and the street. You'd never get through them all before being caught. And you must be starving. Surely it's more prudent to eat and plot revenge, right?”

She drummed her fingers on the bedspread and stared up at him. Her eyes went narrow and flinty, but at last she said, “I'm starving.”

“Eat, and then a hot bath…sound good?”

“And then what?”

“And then agree to be my wife.”

“Don't,” she practically snarled, “start with that again, dick-lick.”

“Ah, a blushingly modest bride, how refreshing. I can see you're contemplating homicide—try not to spill the soup.”

He set the tray down on the table and unsnapped her ankle bonds. Then he seized the footboard and tugged the bed away from the wall. She could have done the same thing herself, but she couldn't help but be impressed—not bad for an undead monkey. He walked to the headboard, reached behind it, and in a few seconds had her wrists freed. She was off the bed in a bound, pulled off the shreds of her clothes and let them flutter to the floor, and then made a beeline for the tray.

“I brought you a robe—”

“Who cares?” she said with a mouthful of biscuit. “You've already seen me naked.”

“Uh—”
You're gorgeous. You're distracting. If you prance around in that sweet little body you'll have your hands full. You have soup on your chin.
“As you wish.”

He sat down across from her and watched her eat. She ate like a machine, seeming to take no enjoyment from the meal.
Refueling, the better to kick my ass. Well, so be it.
He deserved that, and more. And he was a fast healer. Let her do her worst. “Why did you break our date?” he asked abruptly and surprised even himself—he had no idea he was going to say such a thing until it was done.

She grunted irritably. “We've been over this.”

“Jane…” Again, he had no idea what would come out of his mouth, but he plunged ahead anyway. “Jane, if you tell the truth, I'll unlock those three doors and walk you back to your hotel. Just admit that you were afraid of me, that you were only pretending to accept what I am, and—”

Her gaze locked on his like a laser. “My name is Janet Lupo,” she said coldly. “I'm not afraid of any man. And. I. Don't. Lie.”

He actually felt the chill coming off her. Absurd! She was half his size, even if she had twice the mouth. Her gaze was odd, almost hypnotic. With difficulty, he broke her challenging stare. “Well,” he said at last, “perhaps you can understand why I have difficulty believing that your ‘boss' would insist on your free time, and why you would have to drop everything and rush to meet him at a moment's notice.”

“Pack rules.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Pack…rules…dumb…fuck. Am I stuttering? I'm a werewolf. My boss is the head werewolf.”

He laughed and then ducked as her soup bowl sailed over his head. “Oh, come now, Janet! Because you know I am a vampire, you've decided I'll believe you're a werewolf? I'm
that
gullible? There's no such thing, and you know it well.”

“Says the bloodsucker!”

He was still chuckling. “Nice try.”

“If you could think about something besides your dick for five seconds, you'd see it makes sense. My strength, my speed…”

“All well within the range for
Homo sapiens
…albeit the high end.”

“You've been dead too long, Dick. The average
homo loser
can barely lift the remote control. My rich blood? That's from a diet high in protein.
Raw
protein, during the full moon.”

“Ah, the full moon. It's a few days away, but I suppose I had better take care when—”

She slammed her fork down; the table trembled and then was still. “The full moon is eight days away. And when it comes, you're going to get a big fucking surprise. Your little oak doors won't hold me then. I'll be out of here—possibly eating your head on my way out the door—and you'll realize you fucked up, bad. You'll know I was telling the truth the whole time, but you couldn't see past your stupid injured male pride. I'll be gone forever, and you'll have the next hundred years to realize what an asshole you were.”

She was so convincing, he actually panicked for a moment. To add drama to her little speech, she stopped eating, walked to the bed, got under the covers, and faced away from him the rest of the night. She never said another word, or looked at him, not even when he tempted her with a brimming bowl of frozen custard.

H
e was right. The doors—this one, anyway—were oak.

Thick and heavy, with the hinges on the outside where she couldn't get at them. She threw her shoulder a few times—okay, thirty—into the door, but it barely rocked in its frame. “Fucking Brit wood,” she mumbled, rubbing her aching shoulder.

She'd prowled around her cage for the last couple hours. It was a gorgeous room with plush, wine-colored carpet, a soft queen-sized bed with about a zillion pillows, and a truly glorious attached bathroom (free of all razors and other sharp things, she was sorry to note). But as far as Janet was concerned, if you couldn't leave, it might as well have a cement floor and bars on the window.

She went through the bureau and found several robes in her size, in various materials. No real clothes. No television, either, but several books. She saw some classics—Shakespeare, Mark Twain, and Tolstoy—as well as—too funny!—the entire collected works of Stephen King. She supposed she might stand half a chance if she threw
Hamlet
at Dick as hard as she could. She'd gotten the drop on him before in the alley, but she wondered if it was possible now. He didn't believe she was a werewolf, the stupid dickhead, but he'd be careful. He thought she was one of the monkeys, but he respected her anyway. If he wasn't such a fuckstick, she could have really liked him.

She wondered what the pack was thinking—what boss man Michael was thinking. Probably that she'd been run over by a train or something. Death was about the only acceptable reason for skipping a meeting with the big dog. Interestingly, that thought—she'd unwillingly disobeyed a command from her pack leader—brought no anxiety. In fact, it was kind of nice, knowing Michael wanted her on the Cape, and here she was, still in Boston.

If only Dick hadn't been such a beast. If only he hadn't been so
nice
about being such a beast—he might have wanted to really hurt her, but he sucked at it. She remembered him pulling out of her when he thought he was too big for her…remembered the excellent food, and the large quantities of it. The absurd marriage proposal. Absurd because…well, just because.

If he wasn't such a dick, she could start to like him. But nobody—fucking
nobody
—snatched Janet Lupo from the street, tied her down like a dog, and did whatever he wanted. He'd pay. She would have to wait for her chance, but it would eventually present itself. And then he'd better watch out for his guts, because she meant to have them on the floor.

 

The smell of eggs basted in butter woke her up. Before she could open her eyes, she realized Dick was under the blankets with her. Then she felt his mouth on her neck and felt brief pain as his fangs broke the skin. She tried to push him away, but he pinned her down and held her to the bed while he drank. She had no leverage and could only lie beneath him while he took from her.

“You piece of shit,” she said directly into his ear.

He laughed against her throat. “That's the problem, Jane m'love. If you screamed or fainted or cried, I'd have no interest in you—I'd want to be rid of you as quickly as possible. But you're fearless, and furious, and it works on me like an aphrodisiac. Which is why you
have
to be my wife.”

“I'd rather eat my own heart.”

He licked the bite mark on her neck and then nuzzled the tender spot. “That's a rather disturbing visual. Did you sleep well? I admit I was astonished you weren't lying in wait ready to strangle me with the sash from one of your robes.”

“I'd rather wait until you dropped your guard. Then you'll be sorry,” she said with total confidence.

He rested his forehead against hers. “God, you're delightful.”

“I'm going to skin you alive, you fucking undead monkey. Then I'm going to set your skin on fire. Then I'm going to roast your skinless body over the fire I made with your skin.”

“And so ladylike, too! Umm…” His cool mouth closed over one of her nipples, and she brought her fist down on top of his head, hard. Then she yelped when he bit her. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the top of his head. “That was you, not me. You hit me so hard my teeth nearly clacked together.”

“Just you wait,” she said ominously.

He kissed her wrist, her pulse point, and then the crook of her elbow. She balled a fist and got ready to sock him again.

“Jane, as delightful as last night was—for me, anyway—I'd rather not tie you up again.” She punched him square in the face, a poor blow with her lack of leverage, but his head rocked back, which was gratifying. He went on as if nothing had happened. “So let's make a deal, you and I. I won't tie you up, and you won't fight me. As of now,” he amended.

“You won't tie me up?” she asked suspiciously. “But I have to let you fuck me?”

He looked pained. “Yes, you have to let me fuck you.”

She pretended to think it over, but it was an easy decision. She could stand almost anything but being tied down. It went against her very nature and made her want to bite somebody. “Okay. I won't punch, and you won't get out the elastic bubble gum.”

“And you'll kiss me back.”

“Forget it.”

“All right, then, I will do all the kissing for both of us.” He smiled at her, put a hand on the back of her neck, and pulled her to him.

“What, I can't eat first? This deal blows.”

“Later, Jane. I'm begging you.” His mouth was slightly warm, and his tongue slipped past her teeth to stroke her own tongue. She felt his hand cup one of her breasts, testing the weight of it, and then his thumb was rubbing her nipple.

She wriggled, pushing more of her breast into his palm. “So the quicker you get off, the quicker I can have eggs?”

He sighed. “You're really killing the mood here.”

“What mood? I'm a prisoner, for fuck's sake. And I'm hungry,” she whined.

“Oh, for—” But he let go of her and she bounded off the bed. She wolfed down her breakfast—eggs, six strips of bacon, four pieces of toast, and two glasses of milk—in five minutes while he laid on the bed and watched her with his fingers laced behind his head and a mildly disbelieving look on his face. She got up, wiped her mouth with a napkin, tossed it over her shoulder, and climbed back into bed.

“All right, then,” she said, infinitely more cheerful.

He smiled at her. “All right, then.” He reached out, took her hand, and led her to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, they were in his giant bathtub and the floor was soaked. Her legs were spread wide and resting on each rim of the tub, and she was gripping the sides so tightly her knuckles ached. Richard was beneath the water, nuzzling and tonguing and fingering her cunt. He'd been down there for five minutes, and she was about ready to lose her fucking mind.

Now his tongue was inside her, and one of his fingers was worming into her ass. She'd never been interested in assplay—the idea had always grossed her out—but the sensation of his long finger sliding up inside her while his tongue darted and stabbed and licked her cunt made her throb. She had no control over her reflexes, she simply started to thrust her hips at his face. Her muffled groans (for her teeth were tightly clenched) bounced off the bathroom tile.

He rose, water dripping down his marble-white skin, and grinned at her. He pulled her up to him and growled, “
Now
you'll kiss me.”

She did, without hesitation. He sucked her tongue into his mouth as he pushed her thighs wide, as he took himself in hand and rubbed his cock against her sopping cunt. She moaned into his mouth and strained toward him. He tore his mouth from hers, sought her neck, and she felt him bite her just as his cock thrust inside her. The combination of sensations—slight pain, swamping pleasure—made her come so hard she bucked against him, and another gallon of water sloshed over the side of the tub.

“Ummmm,” he said against her throat. “Oh, that's very good. I could do this all day.”

“Better…not…” she managed. “It'll kill me.”

He laughed and leaned back. She was still spread up against the sloping end of the tub; they were connected only by his cock. He ran his hands over her soapy breasts, smiling as she groaned again. “Oh, you
are
going to marry me,” he said huskily. “Believe it.”

“Why don't you…stop talking…and finish fucking?”

He grinned, flashing fangs, and obliged. When he finished, she was indecently satisfied, and there were only a few inches of water left in the tub.

 

Later, he brought a second breakfast. “After that half an hour,” he explained, “even
I
could eat a few more eggs.”

“Not bad for a dead guy,” she said casually, pretending she wasn't still throbbing. The man had a fiendish touch between the sheets—or in the tub—and that was a fact. “I'm sure the ladies like you all right, when you're not being such a jerkoff.”

He didn't answer, but just sat down across from her and watched her eat. After a few minutes, he started drumming his fingers on the table.

“Yeah,
that's
not gonna get annoying. The kidnapping and the fucking I can take, but not the nervous tics. Cut it out.”

“Why only twice?”

“What?”

He was nibbling thoughtfully on his lower lip and watching her. “Why was last night only your second time? You're in your thirties. You should have had hundreds of experiences by now. It can't be a dislike for the act itself—you're sexy, responsive, and open to new experiences. So what's the explanation?”

Her mouth was suddenly dry—weird!—and she gulped some juice. “None of your goddamned business.”

“Did he hurt you? Because if he did, I'd be delighted to track him down for you and teach him a richly deserved—”

“Am I speaking a language you don't know? I said it was none of your business.” Her hand was shaking. She put down the juice glass with a bang and hid her hands under the table. “And even if it was, I don't want to talk about it. Especially with you.”

His eyes were narrow, thoughtful. “Ah…
you
hurt
him.
And felt needless guilt ever since—Jane, for heaven's sake. Whatever you did, it was an accident. You didn't mean it.”

“Are you deaf? I said I
don't want to talk about it
!” The glass zoomed at his head; he ducked, and it slammed into the far wall. Orange juice and broken glass sprayed everywhere.

“All right,” he said calmly. “We won't talk about it.”

Her hands weren't the only thing shaking. She grabbed her elbows and squeezed; she clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. She was morbidly afraid she might puke, and soon.

He got up from his chair, came to her, and scooped her up as if she was a child. For a wonder, she didn't try to pull his eyeballs out of his head. “You're tired,” he soothed. “You've had a rotten week. Why don't you take a nap?”

“Why don't you go fuck yourself?”

“Can't we do both?”

She chuckled unwillingly.