I said to the night air, “Why did you follow me?”
“Why do you think?” Blackthorne appeared beside me, hands in his pockets.
“I thought you were resting.”
“I changed my mind.”
I sighed. “Look, I’m a cop. I don’t need your protection.”
“Maybe.” He considered me. “You’re looking to keep busy, right?”
“Ye-es.” That was no change of topic. I recognized a trap when I heard it.
Sure enough, he said, “Prove you don’t need protection. Spar me. If you win, I’ll know.”
“A cop fighting a criminal? PR nightmare. Besides, you don’t look so good. You should go rest.”
“First, I’m not a criminal for another six days. Second, we can spar in private at Miyagi’s dojang. Third, I took a few minutes for some…refreshments. I’ll be good for a while.”
“Do I want to know what you mean by refreshments?”
“Probably not.”
I sighed again and looked at the cop shop doors. “Well, as much as I’d like to kick your ass, Miyagi’s is half an hour away and I have to do my reports. After that I have to go on patrol. I don’t have a couple hours to burn, walking to the dojang and sparring you.”
“Half an hour.”
“What?”
“It’ll only take the time to spar.” He picked me up—and set off so fast I squeaked again. It took me a minute of wind-in-face exhilaration to recalibrate my vocal cords to yell at him gruffly, “Put me down!”
“As you wish.” He set my feet on the sidewalk—in front of the Miyagi School of Martial Arts.
“You’re sneaky.” I turned on him to tell him “no”, in no uncertain terms.
“Sometimes.” He gave me a faint smile. “Tonight I’m just fast.”
I stared up into his black eyes, and it hit me—our verbal sparring had made me forget my anger and shame and fear for a moment. Physical sparring might be exactly what I needed to work off my emotions, at least for now. I’d probably be living with the shame for the rest of my life.
So instead of saying no, I nodded. “Okay, let’s. When I win, I want you to promise to let me fight my own battles.”
“And when I win…” he bent until our noses touched, his eyes glittering black with an intent that made me shiver, his breath billowing across my skin until I was flushed and a little sweaty, “…I want you to…to…” He straightened. “I want you to call me Aiden.” His forehead ruffled ever so slightly, as if he was surprised and maybe a little confused by his own request.
It surprised me too. From that hot, pregnant moment, I’d expected him to name sex as his prize. Somehow that small thing, me using his first name, was more intimate.
“If you win.” I sneered it to offset the strange fragile state his request had put us in.
It fell flat. He only continued to stare at me, his eyes a night sky holding forever.
Then he backed off and sneered in return, “When I win. What are you waiting for? Scared?”
“Pfft. I have to change first. Don’t want to get my clothes dirty with your flop sweat.”
In the dojang’s lobby, a full-length oil painting of my martial arts teacher, Mr. Miyagi, greeted us. It could’ve been a separated-at-birth pic for Pat Morita, but my teacher was actually Miyagi Park. He’d taught Taekwondo in Meiers Corners for as long as I could remember. Nowadays he also taught hapkido, weapons fighting, and a Baby-and-Me kickboxing class.
I kept a dobok, a loose workout uniform, in a locker downstairs. I changed, considering just who I was about to spar, and came up with the germ of a plan. I tucked my badge into the front of my belt and my gun in back.
I ran back upstairs, almost eager. Eager to show him I was his equal or better. Eager to bury my kicking toes into his rippling abs, pound my fists against the muscled hillocks. I flashed an image of us sparring nude and screeched to a halt, swallowing my sudden influx of saliva. I had to get rid of that distraction, fast.
So though there were only the two of us and I’d thought about skipping it, just inside the doorway I bowed, an action done ten thousand times. It automatically purged all thoughts of the outside world, spilling them out my tipped head and onto the floor.
When I straightened I’d left everything at the door but for one thing. Beating Blackthorne. Striding into the room, I was a fighting machine.
Blackthorne’s back was to me, examining the posters on the wall, but he knew I was there. I stopped, hands cupped at the base of my spine.
He turned, a smile curling one side of his mouth. “So. Think you can take me, cop?” He fell into an easy fighting stance then waved two fingers beckoningly at me. “Bring it.”
It was an invitation to rush him. I hesitated. He was taller and bigger and I’d be insane to take him up on it. Punch to punch, his mass ensured I’d lose. And his reach was far longer. With a normal man my strategy was get in tight to survive. But a vampire was too fast to use that tactic.
He tickled the air. “Scared, cop?”
I swore as though he’d gotten under my skin and ran straight at him, letting him think he’d provoked me into a rash attack.
A smile touched his lips. He thought I’d be easy.
Just outside his kill zone I slid to a stop. Confusion flickered in his eyes before they shuttered.
Good. My only chance relied on surprising him, throwing off his rhythms and expectations.
I threw my badge at him.
His forward hand snapped up, catching it easily, although not his usual vampire-instantaneous. Whatever he’d done for Dirk had cost him. “Unanticipated.” He tossed it in his hand and the smile lit in his eyes. “But I still have one hand free.” He tickled the air again. “Come get me, mouse.”
I drew my Glock.
He shifted instantly to the balls of his feet, clearly ready to dodge a flurry of bullets.
I threw the gun at him.
He caught it with his other hand. “Also unantici—”
I rushed him. His hands were full and I was counting on that to keep him from punching me. He could’ve dropped the gun or badge but the gun’s safety was off and I didn’t think he’d chance it. Hopefully the decision to drop one but not the other would lock his brain for the split second I needed.
He could’ve also curled his fingers around either gun or badge and punched me, but I didn’t even consider that, subconsciously trusting him not to ever truly hurt me.
To my relief, he held on to both gun and badge. But he didn’t freeze. When I jabbed, he slid right to avoid it. My jab missed.
I could’ve launched a right cross, but any new technique would give Mr. Suprahuman time to evade or counter.
So I torqued the jab into a roundhouse back fist.
My left knuckles plowed into his mouth. His teeth and bones were concrete. That punch hurt me like misery with agony frosting—but it snapped his head back.
Win.
He straightened, blood trickling from a gash to his sexy lips. I was momentarily mortified, until he wiped a thumb across his bloody lip, gash already healing, and grinned. “Point. Now it’s my turn.”
Yikes. I’d wounded him; the question wasn’t whether he’d annihilate me in return, but how bad I’d have to beg for mercy.
I whipped into fighting stance and opened my awareness as far as it would go.
His left leg eased back into a reverse fighting stance. His left shoulder twitched. Left cross coming.
Block? No, my arms were toothpicks compared to his, his biceps as thick as my thigh. Thigh. I kicked up my right leg to meet him.
But instead of punching, he slid right. It was a fake. And my leg was up in the air. I’d have to land, but he’d attack the instant I was most vulnerable, when my leg came down but before I was grounded and could launch an effective counterattack.
My only option was not to land. I continued the roundhouse leg-block up higher into the air, throwing my body into a step-on-air spin, and hooked my left leg up, around and down.
My heel caught him in the back of the head. Momentum assisted by gravity would do damage even a vampire couldn’t ignore.
But he rolled with it, minimizing the impact, and sprang back, just fine. Damn, he was good.
Now, as I landed, he’d do his worst. I could only hope he pulled it at least a little, because this close I wouldn’t be able to dodge even a slowed Blackthorne and I only had toothpick arms to block.
Still, I twisted as I landed and jabbed up a right-leg sidekick. I was no Bruce Lee; without being able to prepare the kick it would barely make an impact. But maybe it would distract him enough so that his attack wouldn’t be quite so bone-shattering…
No blow hit. No pain. In fact, no Blackthorne. My foot punched air.
I landed forward and glanced cautiously around my guarding first.
He was standing just outside my kill zone, a delighted smile on his face. “Nice! You think ahead a move or two.”
“Thanks.” I noted he’d put down the badge and gun, and started to plan my next series of attacks.
Which were totally derailed when he stomp-checked me, front foot slamming the floor, freezing me a split second.
I breathed through it, tried to be ready for anything…
He misted. My gaze ping-ponged around the room. Where was he?
The next thing I knew steel bands wrapped me, pinning my arms against my body.
Blackthorne appeared before me, attached to the bands. I was in his embrace.
I struggled to loosen his hold while I raised my heel for a good stomp of his instep. He countered by lifting my feet off the ground.
And then he was kissing me.
For the few seconds I was still in fighting mode, he didn’t do anything aggressive. He didn’t put his tongue into my mouth—I’d have bitten it—and he didn’t set me down, so I could only kick his bent legs. Shins and flexed knees weren’t nearly as vulnerable as locked knees or fragile insteps and he held me too tight to get a knee in his groin. I couldn’t do any real damage…his heat and taste seeped through and I relaxed in his arms.
He continued safe kissing a bit longer, as if he thought I was faking the relax. Would’ve been a good move too, but I’d already moved past competition to total cooperation, his dark taste better and more effervescent than champagne.
Maybe even better than beer.
Better than beer? Oh no. This was serious.
He slid me down his body, set me on my feet and loosened his tight hold. Letting me decide whether to fight or run away or continue letting him kiss me.
I reached out with my tongue and swiped his lips.
He laughed, a surprised chuff. Other than that he continued to stand there, lightly kissing me, letting me make up my mind, but it’d been made up long ago, before the sparring started and actually long before that, but I wasn’t thinking about that now.
So there’d be no mistake, I grabbed his ears and reared back to nail him in the eyes with my gaze—then yanked his head down for a kiss that was not him-doing-me but us-doing-each-other, sparring on a much more pleasurable level.
He groaned and opened. Tongues tangled. Jaws worked. Teeth nipped. Hands grabbed. I found myself hoisted. My arms wrapped his neck. His fingers bit into my butt. My legs wrapped his lean hips. With better leverage, I tongued his tonsils. With his better leverage, he scrubbed my hips against an already sizable bulge. It ballooned bigger.
Need flooded me at the evidence of his excitement. When he swirled hips against me again, his burgeoning cock pressed into very wet cotton-poly, releasing the scent of my arousal, so strong I could smell it. We both groaned.
He dropped me to my feet, holding me with one hand as I swayed.
I barely found my balance. “Blackthorne—”
“Aiden.” He grabbed a katana from the weapons display—and cut me out of my uniform top. He was very ninja about it, the blade whisking, a few brief tugs and then my top and bra falling off in pieces. I stood there, awed, while he gazed at me, eyes burning with desire.
He dropped the katana, swept me into his embrace and fell with me to the floor, his body between my bent legs, his arms protecting my back as we landed. If I’d thought he’d had leverage before, it was nothing compared to now.
The first thrust of his hips ground me into the carpet. The ridge behind his zipper had raised the fly almost to its edge and he drove it with breathtaking precision against my swelling clit. I gasped. Sparks flew. My groin caught fire, spreading heat through my pelvis. He thrust again. Pulse racing, I grabbed his muscled shoulders and angled my hips for maximum fireworks. He set up a steady rhythm and I met him thrust for thrust. Our clothes, already damp and heading for wet, tugged at first, then slipped. I was panting into his face and he was breathing heavily back, his fang tips extending between his lips, growing steadily longer.
My heart hammered and each doubled thrust ratcheted me closer to the peak of Mt. Climax. “Harder,” I urged him. “Faster. More.”
His eyes shaded red—and dropped to my throat.
Sharp anticipation sheared my gut. I kicked my head back in a gesture older than time.
“I’ll bite you.” His rasping breath made it a plea. “Drink your essence.” His fangs grew even longer.
“Yes.” The sight of those canines…oh yes. My need, deep and throbbing, doubled. “Do it. Please.”
His eyes closed, and for a moment I thought he hadn’t heard me. Then he breathed “thank you” like a prayer and gently lowered his mouth to the crook of my neck. His breath heated the sensitive skin. His careful control contrasted so sharply with the pounding he was giving my wet, cloth-covered pussy, it was actually more arousing.
I trembled. Waiting. Anticipation soaring.
He opened his mouth. Fang tips ran lightly across the flesh. Teasing.
“Blackthorne,” I breathed.
“Aiden.” Again he ran his fangs along my throat, a little harder, the sharp tips gently scoring, foretaste driving me wild.
“Aiden, please.”
He bit.
Twin forks of lightning skewered me. I screamed, arching so hard the top of my skull touched floor. So hard I saw the wall behind me.
Orgasm hit me, a wallop that blew time apart. I was a brilliant pulse of contraction and release, roaring in silence.
Seconds or hours later reality snapped back. My ears thudded with the pounding of my heart. My ribs vibrated with the rhythmic rumble of his purr. My legs fell, my bare feet hitting the carpet with a whop.
He licked my neck, his tongue warm, rough and strangely soothing. With a final kiss to my throat, he eased off me.
The inset and front of my white pants chilled. I’d come so hard and so long I was drenched. Glancing at him, I’d come so hard I’d also drenched his jeans, or he’d climaxed too.
He rolled onto his back and snugged me into his body. I lay in his arms, my head on his chest as our hearts slowed. This was what intercourse would be like with him. Hard yet tender, and immensely satisfying. I closed my eyes and pictured it. Me and him, laying in bed on a lazy Saturday morning, making intense love and then relaxing together, reading or watching television… My eyes snapped open.
I could see it, far too clearly.
“What’s wrong?” he murmured sleepily.
“Nothing. Since I won our match, are you going to stop smothering me now? Let me do my job to protect and serve?”
“You didn’t win.” He wasn’t sounding so sleepy anymore. With a heaved sigh, he rolled to his feet then offered me his hand.
I took it and found myself instantly standing. “Well, you didn’t win either.” I glared into his eyes.
The corners wrinkled in amusement. “Debatable.” He wrapped an arm around me and ushered me out of the practice area. We both bowed and he opened the door and let me precede him, then steered me downstairs. “Let’s call it a draw.”
“Let’s not.” I dug in my heels when he steered me into the women’s changing area. Useless. “You can’t come in here.”
“Why not? No one’s around to see.” He lay my badge and gun on the bench—my head must have been totally blown because I hadn’t even thought of them—twisted my combination into my lock and snapped it open.
“How did you…? Never mind. You can’t stay. I’m going to change. You’d see me naked.”
“Good.” His gaze traveled along my body like a match.
Jump-starting my heart again. “Not a draw. Neither of us wins? Why’d we spar in the first place?”
His eyes rose to mine and his mouth got serious. “To let off some emotional steam?”
Damn, he was smart.
“Tell you what. Let’s both do the forfeits. You call me Aiden.”
“And you’ll leave me alone?”
“Yes, if.” He reached past me into my locker. Came out with my phone, thumbed and swept, then handed it to me. “That’s my cell number. I’ll respect your need to defend yourself if you promise to call me when you need help. No, before you need help.”
I stared into his black eyes. He was as deadly serious as I’d seen him. “It’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”
“Humor me. Please.”
I huffed. “All right. Only because you’ll nag me until I do.”
“Good. We have a deal.” He turned and glided out.
I ran after. “Wait! Where are you going?”
“Keeping my end of the bargain. Trusting you on your own.” He smiled briefly, and while I was dazzled, disappeared up the stairs.
I turned and slowly made my way back to the changing room. I stared at the phone in my hand. I now had a direct line to Aiden Blackthorne. I got the feeling he didn’t hand that out very often at all.
Then I slapped my forehead. He’d distracted me so much that I’d totally forgotten to pump him for information about what he’d done for Dirk.