Page 93 of Fortune's Blade

“But what?”

“But I was enjoying what you were doing before.”

He stared at me some more; he was doing that a lot.

“I enjoyed it very much,” I added, in case I had not been clear.

“I—you—this—auugghhhh!” He threw a pillow across the room. And then just sat there, looking at me and panting.

“Can I . . . do anything?” I asked, somewhat at a loss.

“You—” he grabbed me. “You deserve better,” he grated out. “For your first time, for every goddamned time. But if this is what you want—”

“It is.” I hesitated, but I needed to know. Because I wasn’t sure anymore. “Is it what you want?”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, and kissed me. And simultaneously went back to doing the thing, so I assumed that the answer was yes. It would have been nice to hear him say it, however—”

“Yes,” he kissed my lips, my chin, my neck. “Yes,” he nuzzled my collarbone. “Yes,” he found my breast, and oh, that was nice, too. It was all so nice!

“Just ‘nice’, huh,” Ray growled, and seemed to take that as a challenge.

I laughed; I had not meant it as one, but I was not averse to finding out what he intended to—

Oh!

His tongue replaced his fingers, and it was . . . it was very . . . oh, yes, it was very . . .

I gave up trying to form sentences, as they required concentration and all my attention was on something else. His hair was like silk between my thighs, except for the occasional scrape of stubble, which was a different kind of pleasure. And his tongue was warm, warmer than his fingers had been, and our scents mingled together was quite . . . intoxicating . . . and—and—and—

I lost my train of thought again, and my eyes kept wanting to roll up into my head and I couldn’t seem to make them come down. Because he had learned a few things over the years, hadn’t he? A great many things, I thought, as hard hands grabbed my hips, adjusting my position, and that talented, evil tongue had me thrashing and laughing and groaning and—

Was the term coming?

“That’s the goddamned term,” Ray said, grinning at me as stars exploded behind my vision, spangling the room.

I did not grin back. What should have sated me appeared to have done the opposite, and my hunger ignited. That had been an appetizer and only served to make me want more, to make me want everything. I growled and pulled him up to me.

“Oh, shit,” Ray said, and then said nothing more as I devoured his mouth, grasped the evidence of his own, unfulfilled, and rather substantial excitement—

“Oh, shit!”

—and guided it into me.

“Oh, shit!” Ray said, as I jerked our bodies together, as I savaged his earlobe and grabbed his very serviceable butt. And snarled into his ear. “Move!”

He moved. And he seemed to know a lot of them and he used them all, and I kept pace with him because I was discovering that this was a new way to fight and a much more pleasurable one. We rolled off the bed and onto the floor, wrestling about, and Ray had a look of a man who wasn’t sure that he was enjoying this, but wasn’t sure that he wasn’t.

I decided to help him out with that, but didn’t get a chance. Because his expression suddenly turned determined, and he showed me that he did know this fight, this dance, this . . . I wasn’t sure what it was. But he was good at it!

“You sound surprised,” he growled.

I laughed. I was not surprised. But I was delighted.

And greedy and needy and hungry all over again. “Faster,” I told him. “Harder!”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Ray said, gasping.

“Dhampir,” I reminded him, as we hit a wall. “You won’t.”