When Miss Delilah had sent me on the quest for an elusive black orchid, I visited quite a few greenhouses to talk to the artists—really, that’s what they are—who try to marry beautiful plants to create new, even more beautiful hybrids. It had all happened in the middle of summer, and walking from the hot, humid streets into the hot, humid spaces the plants required was an exercise in endurance.

Morgan’s ‘sun room’ was just as hot and humid, but somehow in the middle of winter and even though I’d come from inside a warm house, it felt much more comfortable. Or maybe I was too stunned to pay much attention to any discomfort.

As far as I could tell, the room covered a large part of the roof of the building. Glass panels were everywhere. So were flowers.

Now, it wasn’t merely flowers in their pots, lined up on shelves. When I said I entered a tropical forest, I wasn’t exaggerating, or at least not much. The trees were planted in pots—pots so large they had to require a crane to lift them, but pots nonetheless. And while the trees would have grown much taller in their natural habitat, they still climbed a good fifteen feet up to the glass roof. The orchids clung to the bark, like they would have halfway across the world, the aerial roots exposed and sucking in moisture from the environment. A sweet smell permeated the air, like a hundred different perfume notes melding into an olfactory symphony.

“This…” I turned on one spot, my gaze unable to settle down from all there was to see. My voice dropped to a tone I’d used in churches as a child. “This is amazing.”

Morgan was all but beaming.

“Of all the art in this house,” he said, reaching to touch a flower with his fingertip, “this is the one that is truly priceless. Nature didn’t create these shapes for recognition or fame, and it didn’t pick these colors on a whim. It took centuries or more to perfect each flower. And they will continue to evolve when both of us are long gone.”

When our eyes met, he blinked and looked away. Of all things, he seemed embarrassed. Did he feel he’d said too much? Revealed a part of himself he’d rather have kept hidden?

It reminded me of the balcony when his words and eyes had given me a glimpse of what a lonely soul he was. He’d just granted me another peek, and this time all I’d seen was beauty.

I didn’t let myself think. I took one step toward him. A second one, and we were toe to toe. With the most delicate of touches, I brought a hand to the back of his neck and pulled gently. For a second, maybe not even that long, he resisted. But then he yielded and tilted his head down, his arms coming up to encircle my waist and draw me closer. Our lips pressed together.

As far as kisses go, this one wasn’t half as hot as the air around us, but it was sweeter. I hadn’t started this for heat. I just wanted to let him know I’d heard him—his words and how they resonated against his soul—and that he had nothing to be embarrassed about.

It could have turned into something else, like on the balcony, but a discreet cough behind Morgan broke the moment.

“My apologies,” Stephen said. “Will you still be wanting dessert?”

Morgan and I pulled apart. Stephen was standing five feet away, his eyes averted. He was holding a different tray from the one he’d served dinner with, on which a single plate carried a generous slice of chocolate cake and two flutes of champagne were filled almost to the brim, topped by a layer of bubbles.

Morgan looked at me; he must have noticed that the cake had caught my attention because I could hear the grin in his voice when he said, “We do, yes. Thank you Stephen.”

Stephen inclined his head and passed us. Morgan smiled at me and, with a gesture, invited me to follow Stephen. We passed more trees, more orchids, even some large boulders that served as support for yet more flowers.

At the center of the green house, a circle had been left open. Three paths radiated from it into the trees, including the one we’d followed. A rug of woven grass softened the concrete, with a chaise lounge and two armchairs, all made of weathered wood, set around a low, rectangular table of solid wood. The tree it had come from must have been massive.

Stephen set the tray on the table and gave Morgan a questioning look. At Morgan’s nod, he retreated.

“Will you take a seat, Angelina?”

I did, sitting in one of the armchairs. Morgan picked up both glasses and handed me one before taking the seat next to me.

“Would you be offended if I suggested a toast to Lilah?” he asked.

I’d been about to take a sip, but I froze and turned my eyes to him.

“She’s not my favorite person at the moment,” I said, unable to keep the anger I felt toward her out of my voice.

“I guess not,” Morgan said quietly. “And I understand, of course. I’ll keep trying to get her back here to release you, and I’m sorry you have to endure this… captivity.”

His mouth twisted on the last word as though it tasted foul.

It was true that I was trapped in Morgan’s house against my will, and I resented Miss Delilah for it. But at the same time…

“It is captivity,” I agreed. “But the company makes it easier to bear than I’d have thought possible.”

I couldn’t help but finish with a smile. Morgan reached toward me, took my free hand, and led it to his lips.

“The reason I am grateful to her,” he said, holding on to my hand, “is that even though she was deeply… misguided in the methods she used, she did allow me to meet you. For that, you’ll have to forgive me, I am glad.”

“Forgive you for being glad we met? Hmm, I don’t know, let me think about that.”

His chuckle rumbled like the deep purr of a big cat. It vibrated down my spine and made me shiver.

We clinked our glasses and each took a sip, but as good as the champagne was, it wasn’t quite what I wanted. I started to reach for the cake. Morgan got to it before me.

“Let me,” he said simply, his voice still rumbling.

He cut a small piece of cake with the fork, speared it, and held it out to me. When I leaned forward, he pulled back slightly so that I’d have to lean even closer. The spark in his eyes told me he knew exactly what he was doing.

Well, if that was the game he wanted to play…

I crossed my legs and rested an elbow on the armrest. I licked my lips and held his gaze as I leaned toward the chocolate goodness.

He’d been grinning, but his smile faltered when I closed my lips over the tines of the fork, pulled back slowly, dropped my eyelids to half-mast, and made a humming sound low in my throat.

The cake really was good—it was the same delicious treat Stephen had offered me at lunchtime—but yes, I was exaggerating a little.

Only a little.

Come on, if he was going to tease me, I had the right—no, the moral obligation—to tease right back!

The hunger in his eyes as he cut and speared another morsel of cake had nothing to do with chocolate. He held my gaze and presented me with a second bite. I ate this one with a loud, happy sigh. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and he moistened his lips, but he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t you want to try some?” I said when we’d gone through half the cake like that. “It really is very good.”

“I know it is,” he said with a half smile. “It’s my birthday cake, after all.”

I felt silly that that hadn’t occurred to me. I had caught a glimpse of the cake last night: it had been in the main foyer, surrounded by a crowd admiring the different tiers and sugar sculptures.

“Did you do the whole ‘song and candle blowing’ thing?” I asked. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“No, you didn’t miss anything. I wasn’t really in the mood last night.”

A shadow passed over us, shaped like Miss Delilah. He turned the fork between his fingers and handed it to me, handle first.

“I wouldn’t say no to a bite now.”

I cut a small piece and offered it to him like he’d done for me. I expected to be teased like I’d teased him, but even so a wave of warmth spread through me as I watched him shut his eyes and close his mouth over the fork. He held it so tightly between his lips that when he pulled back, the fork and my hand followed.

He caught my wrist and held it in his hand as he finally released the fork and swallowed the piece of cake. His eyelids opened, and he dipped his head again, watching me from under his eyelashes as he pulled the fork from my suddenly nerveless fingers, set it and the plate aside, then turned my wrist up and pressed his lips there.

A jolt of electricity flashed through me at that delicate touch.

“Delicious,” he whispered, kissing my wrist again.

I’m not quite sure whether he tugged on my hand to invite me to join him or if it was my doing entirely. Whichever it was, I stood from my chair and let him draw me into his lap. I couldn’t straddle his thighs in the dress, not without it riding up to my hips, so I sat sideways with my back to the armrest. I curled an arm around his neck. He freed my wrist to twine his fingers with mine. His other hand was on my waist, stroking lightly.

He waited for me to lean down for a kiss. I took my time, back to teasing him, but I was teasing myself, too, because I craved the feeling of his mouth on mine again. And soon, there it was, with the deep flavor of dark chocolate clinging to his tongue and making me want more.

I freed my hand from his and ran it over his chest, seeking the light bump of a nipple under his shirt. When I found it, I teased it with a few flicks of my thumb before pinching it between two fingers. Morgan hissed into my mouth and kissed me harder still, stealing my breath. His own hand was playing on my legs, drawing circles and arabesques and slowly moving upward, where my thighs were pressed tightly together but only waiting for a caress to open for him.

Things were growing heated, and I found myself imagining making love up here, in the warm, humid environment, with those flowers all around us—Morgan’s very own paradise island in the middle of New York City. He, on the other hand, had something else in mind.

“Last night,” he murmured against my ear lobe, “you said you’d want a bed next time. Do you still want that?”

Did I?

God, yes.

“Please,” I said, and the word was barely out of my mouth before he was already standing. His arms settled around my back and legs, and my feet never even touched the floor as he carried me out of the sun room and down to his bedroom.

I curled my arms around his shoulders and couldn’t help but draw in closer and kiss his neck, jaw, cheek, even his lips. Every few seconds, on the way down, he stopped and captured my mouth, kissing me deeply before taking a few more stumbling steps. It’s a miracle we didn’t end up sprawled on the floor.

Finally we reached his room. He pushed the door open, carried me right in like a not-at-all-blushing bride, and kicked the door closed again. It was the first time I’d been in here, but somehow the decor, so different from the rest of the house, did not surprise me. I couldn’t put it into words, really, but the clean, simple lines suited Morgan.

Regardless, I wasn’t there to analyze his style choices.

I pushed away from him just enough that he understood I wanted to be let down. He released me but held on as I wobbled a little. I started to reach for him and the buttons and zipper that hid him from me, but he stopped me with a few words.

“Wait. May I undress you?”

I nodded yes.

How could I have said no?

Wait. I don’t mean I couldn’t say no. I wasn’t under compulsion or anything. I just didn’t want to say no. I wanted this as much as he did—and judging from the fumbling of his fingers as they sought the zipper at the back of my dress and the way his eyes darkened a little more, he wanted it a lot. He tugged the zipper down one slow inch at a time, and I held my breath when he finally reached for the straps of the dress and pushed them off my shoulders.

The dress fell down, and Morgan murmured, “I’ve wanted to do this since last night.”

He stepped around me and gently unhooked my bra before guiding it down my arms. When I looked back, he was kneeling, hooking his thumbs into the sides of my panties much like he had on the balcony, and pulling down. He lowered them to the floor and helped me out of them, picking up my dress and panties off the floor and setting them on a nearby chair with the bra. When he stood again, he took my hand and made me twirl in front of him, wearing only my shoes.

I started to feel self-conscious, and it was all I could do not to cover myself. Yes, his mouth, fingers, and cock had been on me, inside me, but he hadn’t seen me out of my clothes until this second, and the intensity of his gaze as it swept over me made me feel like he could see even beneath my bare skin, all the way down to the core of me. It didn’t help that he was still fully clothed.

“You know,” he said in a husky voice, “those shoes are really amazing.”

His words were the very last thing I had expected, and they drew a burst of laughter out of me.

“But not half as beautiful as you are,” he continued, and the laugh died on my lips.

I inhaled sharply and toed off the high heels before stepping closer to him.

“One of us is grossly overdressed,” I pointed out.

He kicked off his shoes while I worked on his shirt. I am proud to report I did not rip this one.

“You know,” I said as I tugged it off his shoulders, “there is something I wanted to do last night but never got the chance.”

He didn’t ask, but curiosity filled his eyes. Curiosity and desire, matching the hardness now pressing against my fingers.

He stood still as I unfastened his pants and pushed them and his boxer briefs down his thighs. His cock immediately leaped to attention, flushed and needy, beckoning. I resisted the impulse to take hold of it and rested my hands on his hips instead. I guided him a couple steps backwards, and when his legs touched the edge of the bed, he understood what I wanted and sat down.

I knelt in front of him and finished tugging off his clothes until he was as bare as I was. Then, with a hand on each of his knees, I pushed his legs apart so I could fit between them as close as possible.

It had been dark last night, and while I’d seen enough of his cock to think it was lovely, now I could tell just how beautiful it was. I can’t say I’ve seen many of them in person, and I’ll admit that to me they’re not always the most appealing part of human anatomy. But there was something about Morgan’s dick, the subtle curve of it, its light, pink color, how silky his flesh was when I trailed my fingers along the length, even the tight fullness of his balls…

If anyone had told me I’d be waxing lyrical about a man’s cock someday, I’d have laughed at them. And yet, here I am.

It wasn’t the first time I’d done this, but two things were new. For one, Morgan was watching me hungrily, but his hands were on the bed at his sides, not trying to end my exploration to get my mouth touching him. For the other, I could really touch him and only him, with no condom between us; I was sleeping with a vampire—somehow, other risks didn’t seem important anymore, or at least not enough to interrupt the moment and raise the condom issue.

When I was satisfied I’d touched every millimeter of his dick with my fingertips, I swiped my thumb along the clear wetness at the tip and brought it to my mouth. The taste was bland, but not unpleasant. I wrapped my hand at the base of his dick and looked up at him while I leaned in. His eyes were wide, and his nostrils flared right before I closed my mouth over the tip. The shudder that rocked his body made me feel powerful and proud. Such a strong man, different from other men and not only because he was a vampire, but here he was, moaning quietly at the first touch of my mouth.

The sheer power of it made me giddy, made me want to go fast, to make him come in moments, when seconds ago I’d been ready to take my sweet time and make it last. There’d be other times, other occasions to make it last—to tease him until he was begging for me to let him come.

Wouldn’t there?

I gave up on finesse and might even have been a little sloppy, but honestly I doubt he minded. I bobbed my head up and down, hollowing my cheeks, taking as much of his cock into my mouth as I could and stroking the rest with my hand.

In seconds, one of his hands flew to the back of my head. I was ready to shake it off. I hate it when guys try to push me; I usually end up gagging and having to pull back. But he didn’t force me forward. He just rested his hand there, his fingers tangled in my hair, accompanying my movements without trying to guide them. I rewarded him by redoubling my efforts, inexorably pushing him to the end.

He tasted… Well, okay, if it was a choice between his come and another slice of that sinful chocolate cake, the cake would win. But the margin would be pretty narrow. I’d never tasted semen before; I didn’t know if this was him or all guys. But I won’t lie, I enjoyed the taste of him enough that I sucked and licked until I was sure I had taken every last drop he had to offer.

When I pulled back and opened my eyes again—I didn’t remember when I’d closed them—I looked up and found him shaking, his lips parted on harsh pants, his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding my hair so carefully, fisted in the sheet.

The torn sheet.

He hadn’t said a word the entire time, but now he did. Just one. My name.

Before a shiver finished coursing through me, he’d pulled me up and pressed me onto the bed, quickly enough to startle me. His mouth was already on mine, and he swallowed my gasp of surprise. He devoured my mouth as though trying to reclaim every bit of flavor I’d stolen from him. His hands were flying over me, barely touching here, kneading there, pinching and stroking and caressing. Worshipping.

I tried to emulate him, but somehow my hands couldn’t leave his arms and shoulders. I might—just might, mind—have a thing for a nice, strong set of arms and thick shoulders. And Morgan definitely had those.

When I broke our kiss to gulp for air, he didn’t lose a beat. His mouth pressed against my cheek, licking my earlobe, then drifting down to my breast to suck on a nipple until I cried out and grabbed his head to force him away. He gave me a wicked grin before plunging down again, and this time lavished one areola then the other with broad swipes of his tongue. I closed my eyes and arched up against his mouth.

And froze, my eyes snapping open again, when his teeth raked over the swell of my breast. A flash of sheer, animal fear tore through me, and there was nothing I could have done to control it. As it was, I only realized why warning bells were ringing so loudly in my head when Morgan rose again.

Teeth. Vampire. That couldn’t be good, right?

“Hey.” When he lay down alongside me, his expression was pained. “Don’t be scared of me, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Or bite you. I swear.”

“Not unless I wanted it,” I said shakily. “Isn’t that what you said earlier?”

A shadow darkened his eyes, and he looked away.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he breathed.

I laid a hand on his cheek and led his gaze back to me.

“Because you didn’t mean it?” I asked. “Or because you did?”

He covered my hand with his own.

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

I kissed him, and this time it was only a peck, as brief as it was chaste

“Thank you,” I murmured.

He frowned and shook his head. “For what?”

“For being honest. For talking to me. For trying to answer my questions even when you don’t know what the answer is. You could just… I don’t know, shut me out and refuse to explain. But you don’t.” Somehow, I could imagine all too well how lonely, how scary it would have been if he had tried to keep more distance between us. “It makes things easier.”

He pulled back and broke eye contact with me. He looked troubled for some reason.

“Angelina…” He sat up a little straighter and took my hand in his. “What we’re doing here… You’re not… You don’t believe you have to do any of it, right? You’re stuck in this house, but that doesn’t mean… I wouldn’t want you to think… And I certainly don’t want to take advantage—”

I shut him up the best way I knew how: with another kiss, brief but deep.

“All right,” I said when I pulled back, “stop before you say something I will misconstrue in a wrong, insulting way.”

He remained quiet, but from the way he looked at me, I knew he was still wondering. And still worried. On one hand, it was sweet that he’d worry about it; given the situation, I suppose it was a legitimate concern. On the other hand, the simple fact that he believed I’d have sex with him despite not really wanting to only proved that he didn’t know me. Not yet. I intended to remedy that fact, starting right now.

“No, I’m not here because I feel I owe you anything. All I owed you was a thank you for the shoes, and I gave you that this afternoon. Anything else…”

I could feel a blush spreading over my face and neck. As though attracted by the heat, Morgan touched my cheek, cupping it.

“Anything else?” he repeated in a lulling voice.

I pushed into his fingers like a cat butting her head into a petting hand.

“I told you last night,” I murmured. “I feel like there’s… something between us. Even knowing what Miss Delilah did, I still feel it. She has nothing to do with it. And you have everything to do with how I feel.”

His thumb ran underneath my eye, brushing along my eyelashes.

“So when you kiss me, it’s just because you want to kiss me.”

“Yes.” I tried not to smile but couldn’t help it. “And because you’re a very good kisser, too.”

He grinned.

“Why, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” I said, matching his prim tone.

We shared a quiet laugh, then a slow, toe-curling kiss that proved my claim about his kissing abilities. Too soon he pulled back again.

“And when you let me do this?” he asked in a whisper.

The very tip of his fingers caressed down my neck, over my collarbone, then down the swell of one breast. He flattened his hand so that every inch of it, from his fingertips to the heel of his palm, pressed against my tight nipple. Sparks of sensations flared through me, and my breath hitched in my throat.

“It’s… It’s because you have gorgeous hands, and… and I love feeling them on me.”

His hand continued downward over my stomach, slow enough to be torture as well as a caress. I squirmed a little, goose bumps rising all over my body.

“I don’t know about gorgeous,” he said, still as quiet, “but they’re definitely cold. I’m sorry about that.”

Truth be told, I hadn’t noticed until now, but yes, his hands were cooler than my skin. It hadn’t been obvious on the balcony because I’d been cold myself, and in the sun room the fabric of my dress had been between us, but now I could feel the temperature difference. Vampire, my mind whispered, but this time no fear came with that warning.

“Not cold,” I said with a little hum, shifting under his touch. “Perfect. It makes everything… more… intense.”

I finished with a sigh when his hand slipped right where I wanted it between my legs. He traced my folds with his fingertips, gathering wetness before sliding back up to my clit and pinching it between two fingers.

I canted my hips to press into his fingers, but he sat up and rested his free hand on my stomach, pressing softly.

“Let me,” he asked.

I tried to relax—hard to do when he was teasing the entrance to my body with a slick finger—and reached for him, touching his side and leg before moving up his chest, but he captured my hand, kissed it, and said again, “Let me.”

He led my hand back to my side and leaned closer against his forearm, touching me with nothing more than those clever fingers. He wasn’t watching what he was doing, letting his fingers do the exploring. His gaze was on my face, deeply intense.

“What…” The word came out like a whimper. I started over, but couldn’t steady my voice, not when he was playing my body like he was learning a new musical instrument. “What are you doing?”

Amusement touched his lips but did not stop his fingers. They continued to alternately flick my clit back and forth and tease my entrance until he finally pushed in a single long, thick finger.

“I thought it was obvious. I’m trying to make you come. Maybe I need to try harder.”

As he spoke, he pressed his thumb hard against my clit and slipped a second talented finger inside me. My hips arched up of their own accord to meet his touch. I realized I was clutching the sheet and made myself let go to reach for his cock instead. I’d already forgotten his request.

“Maybe you could try with this,” I said, giving it a few fast strokes.

So soon after coming, he was already hard and ready for more. And yet, he clucked his tongue and sat up so he could pull my fingers off him.

“Not yet,” he said, and I didn’t hear the promise in his words, only the denial.

“Why not?”

I was losing my breath, and the question was buried in a moan, but Morgan heard it anyway.

“I want to watch you come,” he murmured.

I closed my eyes, back to clinging to the sheets. Pleasure was close, so very close, and as delightfully sinful as his fingers were, dancing on me, inside me, I knew all it would take was a thrust of his hips, that beautiful cock back where it belonged, and I’d come.

“A—again? You did. Las… Last night.”

His rhythm never faltered as he asked, slightly bemused, “Are you saying you don’t want me to make you come, Angelina?”

The way he said my name… That small lilt in his voice… The sound that felt like a caress…

I shook, a full body shudder that lifted my hips off the bed and into his hand.

A slow, sensual grin curled his lips.

“I think,” he said in a tone of deep confidence, “that you like it when I say your name. You like it very much. Don’t you, Angelina?”

I shook harder this time, too hard to even manage a coherent word. All I could offer was a breathless moan. I was poised on the edge, ready to fall into that gleaming abyss of pleasure I could see opening in front of me. I only needed a few more strokes of his fingers. Or maybe only another word.

He leaned in close, and our eyes met when he murmured, “Come for me, Angelina.”

And I did.

His fingers never stopped moving, intensifying the pleasure that was flashing through my entire body. Before long, it became too much, and I closed my thighs over his fingers, trying to stop their maddening dance. At the same time, my hands flew to his wrist, and I tried to push his hand away from me.

“Let me,” he whispered yet again, resisting my efforts.

“It’s too much!” I gasped, squirming against him.

“Angelina… Let me, please. Show me just once more.”

My ears were buzzing, and I barely heard his last words. I wanted to protest again, tell him I couldn’t bear more, my clit was oversensitive almost to the point of pain and, surely, if he didn’t stop, I would break apart into a million pieces.

I didn’t manage to say any of it. I didn’t force his hand off me, either. I let him push me further and further, beyond that point I had thought was the limit of what I could take—beyond what I’d ever felt before.

I think I remember crying out. Or maybe I only wanted to cry out? It all became kind of blurry and… I almost said dark, but that’s not the word. There were lights in my head, colors, shapes, but none of it was anything I could put a name to. It was like flying in a maelstrom of sheer sensation.

I had to blink a few times before my vision cleared again. When it did, I found that Morgan had moved to kneel between my legs. He was stroking his cock with a lazy hand—the same hand that had brought me so much pleasure—and watching me with eyes darker than the deepest recesses of space.

“May I?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

A slow, contented smile spread over my face. I felt too languid to even lift a hand and pull him closer.

“Well, since you ask so politely…”

Before I finished, he grabbed my hips with both hands and drew me toward him. I gasped. It only took him a second to line his cock up to my entrance; half a second later, he was deep inside me and reigniting my body.

My inner walls, my labia, and clit were all still hypersensitive, pulsing with blood and pleasure from my last orgasm. The simple act of Morgan entering me, my flesh yielding to his thick cock, pressing tight all around him, sent another small, quicksilver orgasm flashing through me.

Moaning, I gripped his biceps with both hands, telling him by touch what I couldn’t say in words: wait, slow down, let me cool off a little. He must have understood because, while he did start moving on top of me, it was slowly, gently, just enough to draw moans from him.

I didn’t need to say a word when I was ready. His eyes met mine, he dipped his head for a quick kiss, and then he picked up the pace of his thrusts. I clung to his arms, moved with him, and before long I was moaning continuously, a breathless, low-pitched ‘Oh’ that spurred him onward.

It started to become too much again, too intense, and I opened my mouth to tell him—and again he seemed to read my mind. He slowed down, gentle enough that I could catch my breath while he caressed my sides, breasts, and neck with his hands and lips. It was his cue to accelerate again.

I don’t know how many times we repeated the cycle. I just know that every time I thought this was it, it was too much, too intense, and still he managed to push me a little higher yet. I almost wanted him to stop, but if he had, I might have screamed and fallen apart.

I realized something then. Something so obvious that I didn’t know how I had failed to notice before: he was holding back.

From his thrusts to the way he gripped my hips, each of his movements screamed of his restraint. I had the fleeting thought of asking him to let go, to give me all he had, but I couldn’t manage a word. How could I say anything, how could I ask for more when he was already breaking my mind apart with pleasure and putting it back together with each slip and slide of his cock?

No, this was quite enough for me.

Or at least, it was enough for this time. Next time, however…

Yes, I was already hoping for a next time. How could I not when we fit so well together, when he made me feel so sexy, so special, just so damn good?

Both my hands slipped from his shoulders to the back of his head, and I pulled him down at the same time as I raised myself up. Fire burned in his eyes. Our mouths met, our tongues entwined, and that one touch was what pushed us both into a chasm of pleasure.

I had to wrench my mouth off his to cry out my joy and my orgasm—and his name. I clung to him, though, drew him tight against me, and I felt each of his quiet moans, buried against the crook of my neck, and the last of his jerky, uncoordinated thrusts as his body took over and he came inside me. His chest was still against mine, but my heart beat fast enough for the two of us.

Too soon, he rolled off me, and I made some inarticulate sounds of protest as I tried to hold on to him.

“Shh…” His voice came from a little higher on the pillows. I could feel his body alongside mine. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to crush you.”

Being crushed was the very least of my worries right then. I half turned toward him, rubbing my cheek against his shoulder and enjoying the coolness of it.

“In a bed is a lot better,” I babbled. I knew I was babbling. I couldn’t summon enough brain cells to care. I’d just shared great sex with him. I was allowed to babble. “Not that the balcony wasn’t fun,” I continued, pressing a hand to the center of his chest where the skin was silky smooth and pale. “It’s definitely more practical than… I don’t know. The back of a car.”

“The back of a car, hmm?” he repeated, brushing his fingers through my hair. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

I pressed a grin against his shoulder.

“I might be. Don’t tell me you’ve never had sex somewhere stranger than a balcony. I absolutely would not believe you.”

So, yes, I admit, it was a lame attempt at getting him to share about his past. It didn’t work. At all. His fingers stilled in my hair for a second before starting to comb through it again. He didn’t say anything, and I was afraid to look up to see his expression.

“Just…” I went back to safer subjects. “You’ve got to admit, a bed is a lot more comfortable.”

“It really is,” he said in a tone that conveyed that he both agreed and was humoring me.

“And you know what else?” I said, hiding a yawn behind my hand before resting it on his chest again.

“Hmm?”

“We can just… lie here. No fear of anyone walking in on us or anything.”

He caressed my forehead with his lips.

“True.”

“I could even… sleep here. I mean, unless you—”

Unless he didn’t want me to, but I knew, a certainty as deep and powerful as his eyes, that he wanted me to sleep right here, next to him. And I wanted it just as much. I even felt like I needed to or something bad might happen. What a silly idea!

“Do you sleep at night?” I said instead. “You don’t, do you? I mean, vampires—”

This time, my voice didn’t shake quite as hard when I said the word. But I didn’t get to finish the thought. He shifted lower on the pillow and brushed a kiss against my lips.

“No,” he murmured, “I’m not going to sleep now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

I felt his grin against my mouth more than saw it.

“Or at least,” he continued, “you could rest for a little while, until you’re ready for more. The night is still young.”

I was smiling when I closed my eyes. As light as feathers, his fingers settled on my cheek, cupping, caressing ever so gently. I drifted into sleep with that touch anchoring me to him.

I don’t remember dreaming, and I have no idea how long I remained asleep, but his hand was still there when I woke up. Still cool, too, like he’d just laid it on my skin. I opened my eyes and was startled by how close he was—close enough that I could have drowned in his gaze. Or kissed him.

Before I could do either, he did one small, innocuous, meaningless thing that changed everything.

He blinked.

 

*