Her only answer to his unvoiced question was a shake of her head. She couldn’t even remember what she’d whispered only a few seconds ago. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was him. “Xavier,” she breathed, and closed the small distance between them, her tongue sliding between his sexy lips, using his distraction to explore his warm mouth, his tongue as it stroked hers. Strong, claiming.
A wordless snarl said her explorations were over as he gripped the bottom of her shirt and tugged it over her head, tossing it to the side while he fisted a big hand in her hair and slammed his mouth against hers in a growling, vicious kiss of possession. His fingers were already at the front of her bra.
Not a pretty bra. The thought floated through her thoughts and was gone before she could remember why it mattered, when he unhooked the front closure of the tight sports bra and let her breasts spill free. He caught them one at a time, squeezing, pinching, his calloused thumb strumming her nipples with firm strokes that hurt so good. She almost came in that moment, the release of her breasts from their tight confinement, the rasp of his skin against hers, the aching need filling her every pore.
But Xavier pulled back with a guttural oath and ripped her pants open to the sound of tearing fabric, then yanked them down her legs, taking her panties with them, cursing when he realized they wouldn’t go over her boots, then splitting them right down the center seam with a roar of furious impatience.
Layla laughed, desperate to have him inside her, crazy with it and him. She spread her legs wider, bending her knees, and grabbing his shirt to pull him down on top of her until their mouths crashed together, blood flowing as his fangs cut into her lips, and he licked it up greedily.
Muscles flexed when he reached between them to rip his own pants open. She had a moment to enjoy the hard length of his arousal against her thigh, and then he was gripping her hips and pulling her onto his erection, slamming deep inside her with a determined thrust.
She cried out when he filled her, shocked by the sharp ache of flesh that hadn’t felt any man’s cock in a very long time, much less one as big and thick as Xavier’s. Xavier, her mind whispered. Finally, he was hers. But for how long? that same whisper asked.
Before the last word of doubt penetrated her thoughts, he was pulling out and slamming in again, his hips driving with a force so desperate that she had to cross her legs behind his back to keep their bodies together.
He leaned down, bringing their faces close, and the eyes that met hers were now fully engulfed in the pewter gleam of his power. He bent to lick the side of her neck, his tongue rough and hot against the delicate skin below her ear lobe. When he lifted his head, his fangs were on full display, slick and white below his snarling lips. “Say, ‘yes,’ Layla. Say, ‘yes’.”
Her stomach clenched at the realization of what he was asking. Blood. Of course. He wanted to take her blood. She should have known. She did know. Sex and blood were linked for a vampire. She’d never let one take her, had never even had sex with a vampire. But still, she knew. His eyes darkened with emotion at her hesitation. Could he read the fear in her eyes? The doubt?
For one second, she thought his arms stiffened, bracing to lift himself off her, to pull back from the connection they’d finally made. No. No, she wasn’t letting him go again.
She looked into those amazing eyes and said, “Yes.”
He sank onto her with a hard groan, his cock seeming to pulse inside her, growing impossibly longer, thicker when she felt the hard press of his fangs, the sharp pain as they sliced into her skin, the pressure when he pierced her vein, and then . . . .
She screamed as her entire body seemed to convulse at once, every muscle flexing and stretching, every nerve coming alive while her pussy pulsed in hard contractions, and hot juices ran down her thighs. The orgasm was magnitudes above any she’d experienced before, rippling over and through her as it rolled on and on. She was aware of Xavier’s breath hot against her neck, his chest a heavy weight on her breasts, crushing her against the table . . . and then the rushing heat of his climax, while he lifted his head in a rumbling growl of triumph.
She must have passed out then, because when she opened her eyes, she was on his lap, cradled against his chest while he stroked her hair and murmured sweet words, saying she was beautiful, that he loved her . . .
Wait, what? She sat up enough to look at him.
“Are you well, cariño? I was rough.”
She blinked, feeling . . . foggy. Out of it. She must have dreamed that part about him saying he loved her. Xavier had never said anything like that to her before, not even close.
“Layla?”
She gave a weak smile. “I’m recovering.”
His grin was pure male pride.
Good grief. He was over three hundred years old and still proud of his dick. She rested her head on his shoulder. How could she describe sex with Xavier? Amazing? Exponentially better than any lover she’d ever had before? She swallowed a tired sigh. If he heard, she’d have to explain, and maybe soothe his ego. And sad to say, she was simply too tired for another mind-blowing orgasm.
Xavier’s deep chuckle made her frown. Where did that come from? Had he read her mind? Could he? She’d never really asked. Eh, most likely it was more of that male ego preening at his ability to wear her out. Hah. Little did he know. Yeah, sure she was exhausted from him and a truly mind-blowing climax. But before that, the op at the compound had been both stressful and demanding. She kissed his neck with a smile. She’d never tell.
She dozed a bit on his lap, coming awake to a bed that was not hers, with a delicious male body crushed against her back, a hard-muscled arm curved around her waist, and a very hard cock sliding into her pussy. He lowered his mouth to her neck, and she moaned, his kiss hot and open-mouthed, his tongue scraping over the big vein beneath her ear, as if plumping it for penetration. She pulled his hand from her waist to her breasts, crying out when strong fingers pinched her nipples to the edge of pain when he cupped one full mound and then the other. Reaching back, she stroked her hand over his hip and his ass, urging him even closer, feeling his cock swell when he shoved impossibly deeper inside her. She writhed under the weight of desire crushing the breath from her lungs and struggled to remain conscious, to make the moment last, even while her mind was lost in a flood of sensation that threatened to drown her.
“Xavier.” She heard herself whimper his name and wanted to pull back, to retreat from the dangerous edge of an emotion she’d buried long ago . . . locked away behind steel doors and too many years of denial.
“I love you.” The words were whispered directly into her ear, impossible to deny, to pretend she hadn’t heard, that it had all been a dream.