Lucinda, Darkly Page 3

  His hand retreated, making her wiggle in small outrage, in tiny disappointment, her eyes flashing with that echoing heat building slowly within. Stefan smiled and wandered his fingers back up, caressing the dipping indenture of her waist, so small. “Let me feel your skin.”

  With her dark chocolate eyes languid, opaque, and unreadable, she nodded. He grasped the silk of her blouse and pulled it from her waistband, making vulnerable the soft flesh beneath that he so craved to feel and explore.

  Finally . . . bliss. The silk of her skin beneath his rough hands. He had to see what his hands enjoyed. Had to lift his head so that he could feast with his eyes as well as his touch. Slowly he pushed her shirt up, a silken tease, exposing increment by increment the naked, golden skin. His hands trembled at the sight gradually revealed, the soft feminine flesh, the wonder of touching it, caressing it. The contrast of his white hands against her honeyed darkness. The tenseness of her belly as he glided his hands over her, finding her responsiveness more precious than the moon’s renewing rays.

  “How soft you are,” he murmured in pleased wonder. “Soft and fine. Firm yet fluid. Lovely, so lovely.”

  The shy dip of her belly button drew him and he followed its silent calling, tracing one finger down around its rim, then dipping in deep to search out its hidden secrets. She gasped, the golden goddess, as he pierced her in this small way. Her hand flew up to cover his like a sun-kissed benediction, tawny skin over white, the long sharp curves of her nails gleaming like elegant ivory. Another difference to explore.

  Leaving one hand captured beneath hers, he lifted free the unfettered one—how nice to have two—and stroked along those slender fingers, so tiny, so much smaller than his. Slim and elegant, yet capable and strong.

  He lifted her hand, drew it to his mouth, kissed the silken skin on the back, inhaled her soft subtle fragrance. His to do with what he willed, that lovely hand. To turn it and press his lips into her palm. Firmer skin here but just as fine. Smooth, unblemished by calluses, soft and yet hard. A lady’s hand. A warrior’s hand, too. He tasted it with his tongue. Stroked along the lines of her palm. Pressed his tongue, surging its thickness between her fingers, felt her gasp and tremble as he pushed deep. His lips slid up her elegant finger and traced the smoothness of her nail with his sensitive tongue. Freezing her into stillness as he delicately explored its pointy tip.

  Despite Stefan’s care, its razor sharpness pierced his tongue, and the sweet metallic tang of blood filled the air, fresh against the scent of old blood. Her eyes drew irresistibly to his mouth.

  “Kiss me,” he said. “Taste me.”

  He watched as another hunger filled those dark, lovely eyes. Watched as her mouth moved toward his. Then he could only feel: the sweet press of her soft lips against his; the wet stroke of her tongue against his seam, asking for entry. He parted his lips and opened to her. She entered, seeking, finding his bleeding tongue. Guiding it into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. Sucking upon it gently at first, humming her pleasure with that initial taste. Then drawing upon it more ravenously. Fiercer, harder, with almost painful suction.

  A sound came from him—pain or pleasure, even he could not tell—and she relaxed with a shudder against him. Stefan’s arms came around her, so small and tiny in his arms, the softness and fullness of her body pressed lusciously against the hardness of his. He stroked his tongue against her own, delicately explored the sharpness of her fangs. Traced along the soft, pillowy fullness of her lips, enjoying the tangy tart flavor of her.

  It was the most exquisite tease, that tongue, giving Lucinda a tiny potent taste of him. Drawing her hunger suddenly, sharply, to the fore. Submerging, for a moment, that other hunger he had unexpectedly drawn out—skin hunger. The need to feel another’s body against your own, the press and rub of naked flesh to naked flesh.

  “Drink from me,” he urged against her lips, pressing kiss after kiss upon her mouth. Learning the shape of her bottom lip, the upper peaks, the hidden corners. “I offer it freely. Drink from me.”

  All the most dangerous parts of her he deliberately sought out, not shying away from them. Making love to her there. It made Lucinda tremble against him—his voice, his words, his hands upon her waist, splayed across her belly, touching her skin intimately as he kissed her lips, traced her fangs with his tongue. The memory, both visual and tactile, of him drawing her finger and its sharp lethal nail into his mouth . . . all flooded her mind with rich stimuli.

  “No,” she said against his lips. “A taste of you is enough.”

  A soft kiss pressed to her lips. “Why?”

  “You are wounded.” Then because he was so tempting she said, “Perhaps later, when you are well.”

  His lips inched outward to explore the sweet curve of her cheeks, to nibble the soft lobe of her ear. “Will there be a later?”

  The feel of his breath blowing softly across the shell of her ear made her shiver. “I don’t know.”

  His wet tongue delved into her ear’s tantalizing canal with a delicate probing stroke, making her squirm against him. “You are hungry,” he said. “Let me feed you.”

  A part of her marveled at how he could make her tremble like this, offering freely what she usually took. “No. You test my control, and that is not a good thing to do. You taste so good, so incredibly good. If I start, I won’t stop until I’ve taken more blood than you can afford right now.”

  “Do I?” He sounded pleased, silly man.

  “What?”

  “Taste that good?”

  She smiled. “Yes, Stefan. Deliciously potent with power, rich and sweet.”

  “Lucinda.” He said her name like a caress. “Tomorrow. Take from me what you need tomorrow. I will be more healed by then.”

  She sent him a slanted look, eyes smoldering, cynical and puzzled. “Why?”

  His long lashes lowered, fanning across his cheeks. “Because it would please me to give you what you need. To serve you in this small way.”

  “Why? Why would that please you?”

  His eyes lifted back to hers, lost and sad. “Is that not what is bred into every Monère warrior? The desire to serve his queen?”

  The words thrust sharply into her like a knife. She rolled away from him. “I am no longer a Monère Queen but demon dead. I cannot be your queen.”

  “No, please. Don’t move away.” His arms came around her, held her from behind. “I’m sorry.”

  She could have easily broken free, but she didn’t, staying there for a moment in the bittersweet comfort of his embrace, in a fragile, brittle silence.

  “Forgive me, I spoke without thought.” His lips pressed against her hair, and he rubbed a penitent circle on the back of her hand. “If you will not let me ease your hunger tonight, allow me to please you another way,” he said in a husky murmur.

  Ah, what words that came out of his mouth. What desires he stirred. But the things one yearns for are not always possible. “Perhaps we are not compatible. Without chemistry like a human is to a Monère.”

  “I do not think that is the case. I know that my touch gave you pleasure.” His voice sounded sure, arrogantly male.

  She rolled to face him, aggrieved and amused by him at the same time. Moved by him. “But will my touch give you pleasure in turn? Just my simple touch, unadorned by my magic or any enthrallment.”

  He gave that endearing lopsided grin again. “I am most eager to find out. It is a question worthy of pursuit, in the name of science, of course.”

  Lucinda smiled slowly, wickedly, a smile touched with both mischief and sultry promise, hinting of both torment and bliss, stealing his breath, hardening his body with anticipation.

  “Ah, yes. Our duty then, such hardship.” She stroked him boldly with her hand, grasping him, measuring his length. Feeling him leap and pulse eagerly in her tight, squeezing grip. “Such terrible, terrible hardship.”

  “Mother Night,” Stefan gasped, and found himself suddenly on his back with her crouched over him.

&nbs
p; “Don’t move.” Delicately she hooked the zipper with one sharp nail and pulled it down.

  Looking at those nails poised so intimately close to his groin made Stefan shudder, made his eyes dilate with both pleasure and fear. But it was eagerness that rode his movements as he rid himself of his pants, baring himself to her.

  He was lovely. So pale that he was almost luminous in his fairness. An exquisite blend of power and grace, of beauty and masculinity. Creamy white skin framed by the raven darkness of his hair spilling out about him. Eyes gone dark, burning with heat and excitement, framed by long sooty lashes. The splashing redness of his lips, full and swollen from their kisses. Blue veins tracing over the marble white perfection of his skin like the most delicate of etchings.

  Lucinda lowered down to his neck. Breathed in the pounding life that ebbed and flowed just beneath that thin layer of skin, concentrated most tantalizingly over the pulse point that throbbed with each heavy beat of his heart.

  The scent of blood rode thick in the air and the lingering taste of him was full in her mouth. The press of his invisible power was sweet against her skin as she took in his scent so rich and full of life. It almost made her drunk, the potent punch of him, as she followed those marbled veins down the swell of his chest, the ridged flatness of his belly. Coming finally to his potent manhood standing flushed and darkly swollen with blood.

  She rubbed her nose along the velvet length of him. Caressed him against her cheek, bare skin to bare skin. How lovely he felt. Soft but full, hard but tender. So potent, so rich. So vibrantly tempting she had to run her lips over him, make him cry out and lift up and press himself against her. His scent, his pulse, his vitality so incredibly, incredibly tempting that she shook with hunger and restraint with him so close to her mouth.

  A taste. Just a small taste.

  Almost against her will, her tongue swept out, licked over that round head. And Stefan’s skin began to glow softly with that beginning kiss of light, like the moon rising up in the night. As if their lunar home was captured within him, and a part of it was. He was a true child of the moon—Monère. Descendants of another race, another world. They were a people who glowed only in pleasure; they did not shine with humans. But this one shone for her.

  “Please,” Stefan said, voice strained.

  Lucinda knew what he wanted—for her to take him into her mouth. What she most desired, too. She trembled with the control she had to exert not to do so. “My fangs . . .” she said thickly.

  Stefan became aware then. Aware once more of her blood thirst. And of the blood filling him down there, swelling him up in that place where a man was most strong and vulnerable. The realization dilated his eyes even more until they became like a sea of blackness, swallowing up the blue green rim. “Can you taste me as you did with my tongue? A small prick?”

  Lucinda shuddered violently at what he was offering. “You would trust me? You would allow this?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Dear Goddess, Lucinda prayed. Help me control myself. Let me please him. Not hurt him.

  THREE

  KNEELING AT HIS side, I grasped him carefully, my hand closing around his thickness, my nails carefully held away from his tender flesh. Aware, so aware of the pulse that beat there against my palm, a living throbbing thing, calling to me.

  “You must not move,” I said as my other hand clasped his hip, securing him.

  He nodded, face grim, breath coming fast, the lunar glow of his skin intensifying as he watched me lower down to him. Watched me open my lips, lap him in one wet swirling caress. Then with my pink tongue wrapped around him, guide him carefully into my mouth. His belly tightened beneath my hand, and a tremor passed through his body as my fangs brushed against his succulent flesh, scraped over its firmness. I heard his breath catch but he did not move. He lay there, still and trusting, my nails upon his skin, my fangs against the most tender part of him. And even that part of him glowed with a rosy whiteness, light shining from within.

  Oh, how sweet he was. Long and thick and hard, thrumming in my mouth. I explored him with my tongue, rimmed the head of him. Swept under the bumpy ridge, delved into the little hollow behind that helmeted head. Traced those veiny ropes of life that pumped his shaft with life, and watched him watch me as I savored him, that shiny long length of him. I could only take half of him in before the press of my fangs against his flesh became too dangerous. I slid him out, suckled along the side of him, nibbling, scraping, running my lips, teeth, and tongue along him in long sure strokes, testing his thickness, measuring his length. Enjoying the feel and play of him in my mouth until that ultimate taste of him became a calling too strong to resist.

  I moved back to his tip, and there at his taut shiny head, I nicked him. Watched as a drop of crimson welled up like a cherry red beauty mark, a colored twin to the clear drop of fluid oozing like a tear from his little slit. I put him back in my mouth carefully, just the head of him, and lapped at the twin juices—liquid life, liquid desire. The two flavors twined within me, filling my senses. And the taste, the scent of him sliding down my throat triggered a burning hunger for more. I closed my mouth in a tight seal over the head of him and sucked hard. Long deep pulls, milking blood and desire’s seed both from him as frantic little sounds escaped his throat. His head thrashed, his hands fisted in my hair, and his body shone brilliantly bright as if he had swallowed down the moon. He was a beautiful, glowing thing stretched out for my pleasure upon the bed and in my mouth, his body held still as I sucked upon him, as I felt the twin nectars flowing down my throat.

  A tiny taste of him.

  So little blood for such abundant pleasure.

  I squeezed and pumped him hard with my hand. Felt him swell more, becoming even thicker, even longer. His blood ran down my throat in a steady trickle as I milked him with my hand and milked him with my mouth. As I sucked upon him with my lips. Lapped and laved him with my tongue.

  “Ah, Lady.” He shimmered like a beautiful unearthly thing, casting shadows upon the wall, so brightly did he glow. He cried out, jerked against my hand, and only my pinning hold upon his hip held him down. His length leaped like a living creature in my fist, and he spurted like a geyser, bursting forth a rich bounty of fluid and blood, filling my mouth.

  I swallowed him down. Savored his last ebbing pulses. Sucked upon him sweetly now, gently. Finally released him with a last healing lick that made him shudder in satisfaction. He lay limply on his back, gasping, his eyes heavy lidded and slumberous as the light faded slowly back into him, a pink flush tingeing the whiteness of his skin, making him look like a pale rose stroked by dawn’s first crimson rays.

  “Lady,” Stefan sighed and smiled. Slowly, languidly, he rolled to his side invitingly. “Let me hold you.”

  The barest, briefest hesitation at the odd request, the first time it was ever made, and I lowered myself down beside him. I felt his arms close about me, draw me full against him. Felt him sigh in peace and contentment, my head resting on his shoulder, his chin spooned over the top of my head. And I found a pleasure in that firm, gentle hold. In bringing him such ease.

  His hand stroked my back for a quiet moment, rubbing over the silk of my shirt. “You have too much clothes on,” he murmured. “Take it off. Let me see you unclothed. Let me feel your bare skin against mine.”

  I smiled against the smoothness of his silky skin. Brushed my hand over the soft fur arrowing down his midline. “You wish for more?”

  “Oh, yes.” He rubbed his chin over the top of my head. “You have had your wicked way with me. Now it is my turn. Allow me.” His fingers slid around my waist to rest on the lowest button of my shirt. When I made no protest, he slipped the button free. When I still made no murmur, he moved up swiftly and surely until the last button was undone.

  “Take it off,” he said softly and watched, face tense, eyes un-smiling, as I slid free of the shirt. His nostrils flared.

  “You are so lovely,” he said. “So lovely. Your pants . . . take them off
.”

  He watched me with an almost unnerving intensity as I yielded to his words, to his desire, and slid my pants free. I lay naked and bare before him, feeling strangely shy. It felt odd to have a man, un-beguiled, desire me so without fear. Seducing the seducer with nothing but his words, the look in his eyes, his needs, his wants. With me lying before him with no intent of drinking of his blood, no intent to beguile. Just us coming together for the sake of coming together. So terribly unusual.

  Mix in a little blood and I was your girl. But having sex with my prey . . . that was rather unusual for me. For him, too, come to think of it. Monère males could gain power mating with a queen. He would get nothing but pleasure, however, in joining his body with mine. Oddly enough, he seemed more than happy with the deal.

  His eyes burned bright and hot upon me, but it was from simple desire and simple pleasure, not that inner lunar glow yet. He ran his eyes upon me, over me, and it felt as if he were drinking me in. As if he were the one sipping from me with those hot, burning eyes, almost feverishly intense. Devouring me without a touch.

  He lifted his hands, lay them upon my collarbones like butterflies settling upon their chosen flower, readying to sip the nectar. The first gentle stroke upon my skin and I shivered beneath his hands. He smiled down at me, so male that look. Slid those rough, callused hands down my arms in a gentle abrading caress that prickled my skin and tightened my nipples. He found my hands and slid his fingers between mine, sliding back and forth, back and forth, letting my slender fingers sheathe his thicker ones. A moment to savor the sensation, the foreshadowing of what was yet to come, then he moved down to cup my hips, to splay a hand over the smoothness of my belly.

  I lowered my gaze. Saw the contrast of our skins together, dark and light. Like moonlight falling upon earth’s rich soil. His hand so large, spanning my entire waist with fingers long, strong, and elegant. Resting there for a moment, making me tense. Making me wonder if he would choose to go up or down . . . both places yearned to feel his touch. My nipples peaked, rising up, while down below moistness gathered, softening me, preparing me for his coming, filling the air with my wet fragrance, my desire as keenly evident to his senses as his body’s reaction was to my eyes. Eyes that fell upon him and watched him as he lengthened and swelled, grew full once more, filling again with that wondrous blood and desire.