“You didn’t catch me,” he said. “I get to punish you.”
Her mind reeled at the change, but her body didn’t care about the impossibility, simply reacting. Nipples beading, back arching, legs spreading. “You stopped time and moved me, didn’t you?”
“Prove it,” he said, and then kissed her.
Thirteen
Ava meant to fight him. Perhaps knee him in the balls, slug him, even stab him again. Only, he was feeding her kiss after delicious kiss, hello and good-bye wrapped in one drugging interlude, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, as warm and strong as his hands and far more insistent, and her resistance melted. Had she ever really possessed any?
She wound her arms around him, one hand sinking into his silky hair, the other cupping the back of his neck, holding him hostage, taking, giving. Demanding more. He was so big, so heavy, he should have crushed her, did crush her, but she found she didn’t need air. She just needed him. His weight, his heat, his breath.
He’d reduced her to a live wire. A wire that couldn’t spark without contact. Her legs spread farther, and his lower body moved, resting between them, poised. The thick length of his shaft pressed against her core, teasing. He didn’t move again, though. Didn’t rub, even a little, creating friction, such delicious friction, and that was probably for the best.
Probably? Ha! But she was as grateful as she was disappointed and confused. Had he rubbed against her, she would have been tugging at his clothes, demanding fuller contact, desperate for climax. He had to know that. So why wasn’t he moving? Why was he maintaining such a lingering pace?
Did he not plan to take this to the next level? Did he simply wish to put her in her place? Remind her that he was in control, that she was merely a human who craved a man out of her league? That she was good for food, and nothing more? Earlier, his concern had been for her blood, not her passion.
The spark dulled. Chilled. Left her cold. She pulled from the kiss. “Don’t do that again,” she rasped.
“What?” He kissed his way to her neck.
Despite herself, she angled her head for better contact. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to kiss her there or bite her. All she knew was that, if he did bite her, she would have to kill him. Sad but true. She couldn’t allow him to break his word without consequences—even if she would enjoy the breaking.
“Ava. Answer.”
Oh, yeah. He’d asked a question. What did she not want him to do? “Stop time and … position me.”
“But you like how I positioned you.” He licked.
She shivered. “Yeah, but I don’t like being forced.” Force me. Wait. What?
Rather than sink his teeth into her neck, he moved lower. Kissed her sternum as if she weren’t wearing a T-shirt. “I’m not forcing you.”
What was he planning to do? “Are you purposely frustrating me, then?”
“No. I’m trying to relieve your frustration, and collect my reward.” Lower still. He stopped and rested his chin on her pubic bone, looking up at her without any emotion. “You do want to reward me for helping AIR, yes?”
“Yes.” She gulped. “Just … promise me that you won’t stop time for me again.”
He snorted. “I’ll make no such promise. You use what weapons you have at your disposal, and I use what weapons I have.”
Irrefutable.
A few minutes passed, yet he never moved from his new position. Finally, she forced her gaze away from his beautiful face. His blank expression had never wavered, and she feared what her expression revealed. Longing. Need. More of that confusion.
She peered up at her ceiling, flat, white, but every second that ticked by caused her anticipation to intensify. When would he move? When he did move, what would he do? And why was she giving him this time? She should find the strength to stand and walk away. If he felt nothing, she didn’t want to feel anything either.
“Why aren’t you running away from me?” he asked, breaking the silence. “I could do anything I wanted to you, and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”
Promises, promises. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Others are.”
“Well, why aren’t you running from me?”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Others are,” she parroted.
He kissed the flare of her hip, soft, sweet. “Your nipples are hard.”
Way to change the subject, she thought, shivering. “I know.” No reason to deny the obvious.
“I’ve seen them, you know.” His voice was drugging desire, melted and poured over her.
Do not moan. Do not arch. “When?”
“When I stripped you. The first night I met you.”
Do not cup your breasts. “You left me in my bra and panties.”
“Actually, I stripped you naked, then decided to return your undergarments to protect your modesty when you traveled home.”
Do not ask him to demonstrate exactly how he stripped you. “So … did you cop a feel?” She nibbled on her bottom lip, gaze returning to him unbidden. Mistake. Or not.
No longer did he appear unaffected. The color had reignited in his cheeks, his eyes an inferno of the desire she’d heard in his voice. This was more than hunger on his part. This was need. Why had he tried to hide it? The answer didn’t matter, really. She reacted. Moan, yes. Arch, definitely. There was no stopping her now.
“Cop a feel?” He blew on her belly, warm breath seeping past her shirt. “Are you asking if I touched you?”
A fever spread through her, pulling her skin taut. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.” And begging for.
“No. I didn’t.” Another breath wafted over her. “But I wanted to,” he added on a moan of his own.
Pulling … tauter and tauter … “So you liked what you saw?” Whispers, echoes of her need.
“Oh, yes.”
“Even though I’m a lowly human?”
A minute passed, then another. He never replied, and she was glad. She hadn’t meant to voice the fear, or even acknowledge it, but it was there, buried deep, yet somehow never far from the surface. Right now, though, she didn’t care. Couldn’t. The here and now was for pleasure, only pleasure. Pleasure he wanted, too, no matter the other things that had passed between them.
He smoothed her T-shirt away from the waist of her jeans, revealing a patch of needy skin. His tongue dipped inside her navel, swirling, and the fever spread again, causing her veins to expand.
Another moan slipped from her.
“Say the word, and I’ll open your jeans and move lower.”
Anything. “What word?”
“Yes.”
And have his tongue dip into her core, licking, sucking, tasting? Her body arcing into him, demanding more? Satisfaction leaving her utterly sated? Until the fever returned—and it would return.
“No.” A tiny voice of reason in the face of unequivocal temptation. Still. Stupid, stupid girl. But she couldn’t regret her decision. Much. A kiss on the mouth could be written off. Heavy petting, too. But a kiss between the legs? No. That was sex.
He stiffened, lifted slightly. “Why not?”
She almost grabbed his head, almost pressed him back against her stomach. She had an excuse for her resistance, she knew she did, she just had to remember what it was. An eternity ago, she’d even told Noelle—oh, yeah. It came to her in a rush. “I just can’t sleep with an AIR target.”
“I’m helping AIR.”
“So.” An uncaring statement meant for her, not him.
“And besides, we wouldn’t be sleeping.” He darted back up, covering her body with his own. “We would be pleasuring.” His weight shot the air from her lungs, and as she opened her mouth to breathe, he descended. No more hesitation. No more lingering.
His tongue plundered deep, destroying her reason. Their teeth scraped, and his hands slid underneath her, lifting her up, pressing her into his erection. Finally, rubbing. Hard. Perfect.
Another moan emerged. So good. Stupid clothes. She despised them. Wanted to rip them off. Almost ripped his off, as her fingers kneaded his back, traced the length of his spine.
The rasp of their exhalations crackled in the air. They continued to grind against each other, propelling her need to new, vehement heights. Soon she was groaning, gasping, biting at him. No blood, she thought. No blood. There was a reason, but again, she had to remember what it was.
He didn’t seem to care what she did. He just fed her kiss after electrifying kiss, panting, sweating, groping. Unrelenting.
This was what she’d wanted, what she’d needed. And as always with this man, being with him was heaven and hell. She knew she should stop, but couldn’t. Consequences were for tomorrow, pleasure for today. Right?
He lifted one of his hands and massaged her breast, fingers rolling against her hardened nipple. How she ached. How she craved. More, more, more.
You already told him no more, she thought, that small kernel of reason returning.
Stupid.
“McKell,” she gasped out.
His grip tightened, as if he knew where she was headed and hoped to misdirect her. The ache increased—and so did the pleasure. It had been a long time for her, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted a man this desperately. As if she couldn’t survive another moment without his cock inside her. Maybe because he tasted like butterscotch. Maybe because he felt like the final piece to the puzzle she’d been trying to finish for years.
All from a kiss.
That … scared her.
Think. She had to think about this, rather than plunge headfirst into an abyss of complications.
Again, she pulled from the kiss. “What do you hope to accomplish, kissing me?” she managed to say. Hopefully, he would stop before they reached the point of no return. Because she still couldn’t stop him. Physically she could have, maybe, but not mentally. Not emotionally. She had to have this.
He lifted his head, and she wanted to scream. His lips were swollen, pink, and wet. “I told you. Pleasure. For us both.”
“We can get that anywhere.” Liar! She wanted him, and only him. Loved what she’d done to his lips. Loved that he looked well-kissed, aroused beyond measure, his features tense, desperate.
Fury flashed through those violet eyes, angels and demons dancing in the midst of the flames. “You will not touch another man, Ava.”
Loved that he’d said that. “And if I do?”
“I’ll kill him.” Simply stated, proving the unbendable oath behind the words.
“Do you plan to touch another woman?” What was she doing? Why was she pushing him like this? And in this direction?
“No.”
That was why. She’d needed his assurance, and the relief that accompanied it. “Not even a precious vampire female?” Ah. The deeper reason. So clear now. The question of his superiority and her inferiority had never truly left the surface.
He ran his tongue over his too-sharp teeth. “Not even.”
He didn’t sound convinced or convincing, and that pissed her the hell off, wiping away her relief in one fatal sweep. So she was supposed to abstain, but he could do as he pleased? She raised her knee between their bodies and planted her foot on his stomach. One forceful kick, and he was flying backward.
He hit her couch with a grunt, but he didn’t freeze time or launch at her, merely settled comfortably against the furniture and glared over at her.
Panting, she sat up, shoving the hair from her face.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“For your being an ass.”
“How so?”
Her lips pressed together in a mutinous line. As if she would say it aloud. Again. “You were telling me about vampires. Why don’t you finish telling me so we can get to work?”
McKell peered over at Ava, confused by her, yet still so highly aroused he could have torn her home apart. She’d tasted unbelievably sweet. Had been soft beneath his hands. Soft and curved and perfect. His hands itched to return to her. To learn more about her, to memorize her.
His back stung from where she’d dug in her nails, beseeching him for more. More—which was exactly what he wanted to give. He’d almost ripped her jeans from her body and licked into her feminine core, even though she hadn’t asked as he’d instructed.
Had he done so, he might have died from the pleasure. Pleasure he’d meant to give her, taking nothing in return, addicting her to his touch, his tongue, before convincing her to giving him total access to her vein.
Only, along the way, her blood had ceased to matter. Only her passion had concerned him. Then she’d pushed him away. Why?
What had they discussed before her passion had faded? Her being with another man, he quickly recalled. His teeth gnashed together. The thought of her with someone else nearly sent him into a killing rage. Whether he liked it or not—whether she liked it or not—she belonged to him just then.
She’d demanded assurance that he wouldn’t stray, and he hoped that meant she wanted him all to herself. So he’d given her that assurance—even though he knew he would one day purge her from his system. He would have to, if he hoped to wed someone of his own race, as was proper. Someone who wouldn’t wither and die, leaving him alone and suffering.
That assurance was more than he’d ever given another. And he’d meant it. While they were together, he wouldn’t be with any one else. Which wasn’t a requirement, damn it! He couldn’t drink from anyone else, but as he’d already considered, he could damn sure fuck a thousand others. But would he? The answer was still a solid no. Did she appreciate that, though? Again, one big, solid, fucking no.
