Page 22 of Unholy Gambit: Checkmate in Blood (A Paranormal Halloween #5)

And then his mouth was on her again, worshipping her lips, her jaw, her throat, the slope of her shoulder. He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, reverently, like unwrapping a priceless gift. Her breath caught, chest rising. Her nipples hardened under the fabric of her bra.

She gasped when his lips brushed the top swell of her breast. Her hands caught his shoulders, not to push him away, but to hold on. Her hands trembled. Her breath came faster.

There were no signs she wanted him to slow down, much less stop. Only the thrum of anticipation running hot and high in her pulse.

He slid her slacks down next, careful with her knee, easing the fabric off and then kissing his way up her good leg, brushing the inside of her thigh, skimming her mound through soft cotton.

Her panties were damp. The scent hit him again, dizzying.

He kissed his way back up her belly, the centerline of her chest, over her functional bra, back to her mouth.

He opened her with his mouth, kissed her like he meant to memorize the taste of her thoughts. His hand slid to her bra and stroked her gently through the fabric, thumb circling once, slow. He didn’t bare her. Not yet. He wanted her breathless first.

She drew her feet up, knees bending, hips tilting as if of their own accord. The tiniest moan escaped her throat, and her hips moved again — a clear answer. A plea.

And that was all he needed.

She was ready for more.

He kissed down her belly, lingered at her hip, trailed heat over her thigh, then back again. When her breath turned fast and shallow, he finally pressed his palm between her thighs and cupped her through the cotton, slow and claiming.

She moaned, just a whisper, and tilted her hips into him.

For her first intimate experience, he let her stay covered, let her feel safe. He slid his hand inside the edge of her panties and explored her outer folds with gentle, deliberate strokes, learning what made her tense. What made her melt.

The very top of her clit, where it dove into her body, seemed the most sensitive, and her deep, reverberating moans threatened to undo him.

Until he slid a finger into her heat, and her breath caught on a sharp, startled yelp somewhere between surprise and surrender.

She was so tight. So slippery.

And fucking beautiful.

He added another finger, slow and careful, and stroked her just right, with his thumb ready to press down on the spot he’d discovered earlier.

Her hips lifted. Her body shook.

He kissed her neck again, torturing himself with her scent, but she didn’t flinch away. She trusted him completely.

When he felt her cresting, about to break loose, he pressed the top of her clit with his thumb and scraped across the front wall inside of her with every plunge, and his Aurélie came apart in his arms. No violent thrashing.

No spasms. No jerking. Deeper . Her whole body fluttered, trembling around his fingers, her thighs closing tight as her hips bucked once, twice. Her mouth opened in a silent cry.

Because there had been no words since they’d started, he telepathed, That’s it. Come for me, Aurélie. I have you. Let it go.

He kissed her jaw, her lips, her throat. Pulled his hand out gentler than he could ever remember being with anyone, and drew the blanket up around her.

She didn’t have to ask him to stay. Unless the hotel caught fire — and truly, not even then — he wasn’t leaving her side.

When she was ready, he’d feed her, and then they were volunteering again at the Haunted Swamp.

But for now, she was warm, sated, and his .

* * * *

Aury came out of the hazy fog of lust and curled into him. “Aren’t I supposed to, like, do you now? Can you show me what you like?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Another time, my Aurélie. Today was about you, about me learning your body, about you learning the beginnings of what’s possible.

I can sense your hunger, what would you like to eat?

I can order room service from the hotel or from a restaurant for delivery. Your wish is my command at the moment.”

It felt wrong that he’d given her pleasure and received none, but she didn’t know for sure what to do. Sure, she’d watched porn as a teen, curious, but who knew whether that was the way people acted in private or not?

“Not today, Aurélie. I promise the next time we are intimate, we will both be naked together, but for your first time, it felt best to give you an experience without being bared to me.”

“Because you feel sorry for me, after learning about the truth of what happened to me?”

He sighed. “I can’t decide whether that hurt my feelings more, or irritated me more.”

She considered his words, really let them sink in. “You aren’t used to dealing with feelings. I’m sorry if I’m making it more difficult. I believe there was truth in my words, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to act like you were wrong for taking my emotional state into account.”

The truth is, she telepathed, I’m probably not handling it as well as I initially thought. It hasn’t sunk in yet. Thanks for getting my mind off of it.

Aloud, she said, “When Alleia has French onion soup, it’s perfect, but Panera’s version in a bread bowl comes in second.”

He ordered both.

She ate curled up in a cozy armchair, and then pulled her zombie outfit out of the bag she’d brought. She changed in the bathroom while he put his costume on in the main room, and then she got a little bossy with him.

“Sit, so I can do your makeup.”

* * * *

She’d nearly undone him before, when she’d put his makeup on at the Nature Center, but having her do it in private was even more intimate — the soft brush on his face, his throat, his chest. She used her fingers to blend it in this time, her bare skin brushing his cheek, smoothing it around the portion of abs peeking out of the ripped shirt.

And when he looked at himself in the mirror, he realized she’d made him look dangerous. Threatening. Scary.

She did her own makeup next, layering the dark shadows over the attractive makeup, making herself look a little demented.

Why did she look demented and manic, while he looked intimidating?

The makeup seemed to have been done very similarly, until he studied the differences.

She focused on the shadows for him, and had made her eyes appear wild, shaded herself more for instability rather than menace.

Her zombie clothes hung on her small frame, while his pulled tight over his muscles, but together, they were a matched set.

Her scent told him she was fine — no sharp pang from her leg, no tangled anxiety in her mind. Just a low hum of anticipation and bone-deep contentment.

On the way aboveground, she eyed the steep hotel stairs with a stubborn glare.

He could sense her resolve, but she was about to be on her feet more than she was accustomed to, so he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.

“Axel! I’m fine!”

“Of course you are.”

She kicked her heels and squirmed, her hair swinging against his back, and he calmly braced her with one hand on her ass.

Her scent bloomed with arousal, and he patted her bottom.

He settled her back on her feet at the top, and she growled at him.

Growled .

By the time they made it to the parking garage, she’d stopped arguing that he can’t just pick her up anytime he wants.

Mostly because he didn’t respond, and she grew tired of arguing with the air. It wasn’t open for discussion — if he felt she needed a lift, he’d give her one. End of story.

When Axel drove out of the Nature Center’s parking lot later that night, Aury leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

He knew she was exhausted, but her knee seemed to be holding up.

Her thoughts were on her live broadcast the following day, organizing notes in her mind, making lists of things to mention about both contestants. Her mind fascinated him.

He should get points for not carrying her back to the car, though he figured it was probably best not to point it out to her right then. He’d known she’d be mortified in front of peers, so he’d let her walk despite her exhaustion and pain levels.

Her lower back was bothering her, and he understood it was because her spine and hips weren’t used to her legs being the same length.

“I can come inside and massage your hips and lower back,” he told her, when her thoughts moved from chess to the logistics of when she should set her alarm to wake. “Clothes on, no hanky-panky.”

“As nice as that sounds, I think I’ll just put some pain relief patches on and crash. It’s been a long day, and I’m carrying a chess match tomorrow. Live commentary.”

He could see her exhaustion in every bone-deep breath, every tiny twitch of her leg muscles — so he didn’t push it.

Soon, though, she’d be used to him.

She’d feel lost if he didn’t come in and help her drift off to sleep.

Vampires are patient.

As are all successful predators.