She was still processing that intimate touch, breathing too fast as she absorbed the lightning strike sensation of his palm on her clit, when he slid a thick finger between the swollen lips of her pussy, and into the tight clasp of her body. Maeve groaned, her hand gripping his muscled arm, short nails digging into his skin. She felt every inch of his finger’s glide into her soaking wet channel, the intrusion seeming four times thicker than it was. And it was all wonderful. Her hips rose up to meet his hand, wanting more, wanting faster. But he kept his own pace, gliding his finger in and out slowly, adding a second finger when her pussy juices covered his hand and trailed down her thighs.
She groaned, already so full, so tight, and tried to imagine having his cock inside her instead. Her inner muscles flexed in anticipation, sending a wave of erotic pleasure coursing through her abdomen, rolling up over her torso to make her breasts ache so much that she’d have sworn his mouth was on her nipples, sucking and biting. And just the idea of that, the anticipation of the wet heat of his mouth on her breasts, sent a fresh wave of desire storming through her body, swelling her already engorged clit, until she came with a shocked cry that spilled into their kiss, every delicious sensation reflected in clashing teeth and torn lips, until blood mingled between them.
Maeve lay in his arms, heart pounding so hard that her breasts trembled with every beat. It wasn’t her first orgasm. She’d gotten quite good at masturbation. But hell, she’d never had one that good. If she’d known a man could make that much difference, she’d have given it up a long time ago. Though, she had to admit, she doubted any of the young men she’d dated could have come close to Dragan. For one thing, she’d never cared that much about any of them. Not the way she did him. She was beginning to understand, in a way she could no longer deny, that when he left her, she was going to end up with something she’d never considered before—a broken heart.
His arm tightened around her without warning, as he turned, pulling her onto his chest. “I can hear that big brain of yours spinning.” He brushed his mouth over her lips. “Don’t worry, Mae. I don’t expect anything more from you.”
“No,” she protested, pushing up to see his face better. “I don’t mind. I love—” She sucked back the word before she embarrassed them both. “I want to be here, right here, with you.”
He smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She caught the scent of her own arousal on them and blushed furiously, but he only kissed her forehead and settled her back down on his chest.
“Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”
Her eyes closed at the soft assurance, and lulled by his strong arms around her, and the intense heat of his body, she drifted to sleep.
DRAGAN CAUGHT THE upward curve of Maeve’s lips as her body relaxed into sleep, and felt something crack open in the black thing that was his soul. Hope, optimism for the future—emotions he’d walled up so long ago that he’d forgotten they existed. But he knew where these came from. It was Maeve, his very own fountain of laughter and insatiable curiosity, with her driving need to know, to understand the how and why of everything she encountered. A lifetime of loneliness, millennia of the worst sort of imprisonment . . . it all fell away in that moment. He wanted to be with her. Wanted to see the world through her eyes. But what did he have to give her in return? Nothing. Worse than nothing. Yes, he could destroy any vampires who attacked her, but that was hardly a major concern. She’d gone her entire life without encountering a single vampire, until she’d met him. He’d made her less safe, not more. And while he was a skilled lover, he doubted a good orgasm was sufficient compensation for endangering her life.
He stared into the dark room, with its shards of yellow light down one side of the drapes, and struggled to find a way ahead for both of them. He loved his Mae, but could he keep her? Better yet, should he?
The Sonoran Desert, Mexico
SOTIRIS WAS ALL but rubbing his hands together as Ramiro began their return trip north far sooner than he’d dare hope. He’d lucked onto a motherlode of vampires the previous night. Ramiro had steered him toward a well-armed village he knew of, expecting to find no one but the master vampire who controlled the place. Instead, they’d discovered master vamps from all over the immediate region, gathered together in one place for who knew or cared what reason. If they were arrogant enough to huddle together, then he was going to take advantage of it.
It had taken more time, and a lot more of his personal power, to subdue so many of them at once, but he’d managed it with his usual aplomb, casting a wicked blast of power that knocked out half the people in the village, including the vampires who’d been meeting in a single, barn-like structure that had smelled of marijuana and sweat. With Sotiris standing by like the devil himself waiting to draw their souls into hell—he’d only had to incinerate two of the local men to convince them of the danger—Ramiro had bullied those civilians who’d been unaffected by the initial blast into setting up a vampire assembly line to charge the device.
It had taken past daylight to finish every vampire, but since the barn had sheltered them, sunrise had posed no problem. If anything, it had made them easier to handle, since he hadn’t had to worry about them recovering from his first attack before he could hook them to his device. Unfortunately, Ramiro had also fallen into his daylight sleep, which had been inconvenient, to say the least. But by then, the villagers had been so thoroughly cowed and dedicated to the process, that they’d finished off the transfer and buried what was left of the bodies. Which wasn’t much. Once you drained whatever power a vampire possessed, he died. If the vampire was old enough, he dusted, just as he would normally.
He’d spent the rest of a boring day in the master vamp’s own house, eating what food there was and drinking his wine—it wasn’t as if he was going to need it anymore, Sotiris thought with a chuckle. But now he and Ramiro were heading northward once more. Along with a device that was full to the brim with magical power just waiting to be used.
He’d have to return to New York first, to give the fully-powered device a final diagnostic. There could be no error when it came to his upcoming presentation.
Opening the small bar behind the front seats, he cracked open a bottle of single malt scotch and poured a conservative two fingers. They weren’t out of danger yet, and wouldn’t be until they’d crossed back into the U.S., but he no longer had to worry about rescheduling his internationally promoted demonstration, which was a huge burden off his shoulders. Maintaining the promised schedule would please his clients, and protect his profit margin, which would be considerable.
But that reminded him of why he’d had to rush down to Mexico, and his mood soured. His device didn’t need Dragan anymore. He should have been celebrating right now, might even have pulled his investigator off the case, if that bitch hadn’t walked off with the fucking hexagon. It never would have existed if not for the worst kind of betrayal, and now he’d been betrayed again. The worst of it was that the girl couldn’t possibly know what she’d stolen. She didn’t have an ounce of magic in her. He’d never have hired her if she did.