“Tell me what you want, Sidonie,” he growled.
“You,” she nearly sobbed. “I want you.”
She felt a smooth drizzle of liquid, felt its cool touch as it rolled down between her butt cheeks to caress her overheated sex. She had a heartbeat to realize what he was going to do, to think that she’d never done that before . . . and then he was pinching her clit, and she was coming harder than she’d ever come in her entire life, and his cock was pushing into her ass, filling her in a way she’d never known, filling her so completely . . . He pulled her onto her knees, her back to his chest, his fingers still fucking her pussy, his cock buried in her ass. He gripped her chin with his other hand, turning her mouth to his kiss before he bared her neck and lowered his head, his lips just brushing the skin below her ear before his fangs sliced into her vein with a sting of sensation, his mouth hot as he sucked her blood, the euphoric in his bite lighting up every nerve in her body with exquisite, unimaginable pleasure.
And it was too much. Sidonie screamed as every part of her body crashed instantly into orgasm, muscles clenching, nerves firing with an ecstasy she’d never known before. She thrashed in his grip, his strong fingers holding her steady as he took her blood, his hips thrusting his cock into her ass, his fingers easing their caress of her clit, as if he knew that the engorged nub could take only so much before intense pleasure crossed into pain. His own climax struck as he held her, his fangs still buried in her neck, his groan rolling through her body as she felt the hot rush of his release filling her, pumping deep inside her until she was limp, and the only thing holding her up was Aden.
ADEN PULLED OUT of Sidonie’s sweet ass. She’d been so tight, as he’d known she would be, like a warm velvet glove around his cock. Holding her closely, he eased them both down onto the bed, cradling her limp body in the curve of his much greater strength. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed half-asleep as she smiled and snuggled closer to him. Aden stared down at her, a foreign sensation squeezing his heart. He cared for this woman. She was strong and passionate, innocent in a way that was at complete odds with her fearless persistence in pursuing the slavers who’d murdered her friend.
And for some reason, she seemed to trust him.
He let her sleep, drifting into a half doze that let his thoughts go their own way. Vampires didn’t sleep, not the way humans did. Their daytime sleep was far deeper and more restful than human sleep and inescapable because of their vampire blood. But he sometimes found this sort of half sleep to be useful, letting his mind drift over problems and solutions.
Such as who was left to challenge him, and when would they strike? Silas was the most obvious contender, his only real competition in the field. But there were others whom he couldn’t disregard. His opponent’s chance luck could be as fatal as superior strength. He’d have to meet with Bastien and the others first thing tomorrow night. Maybe the time had come to attack, rather than sit back and wait.
“What are you thinking?” Sidonie’s voice was the lazy drawl of a satisfied woman, and he couldn’t help his own smug smile.
“I don’t trust that smile,” she murmured, snuggling closer.
He kissed her forehead. “I’m not allowed to smile?”
She made a dismissive noise, then kissed the side of his neck, a liberty he allowed no one, but that he somehow allowed her.
“So what were you thinking about so fiercely?” she asked, drawing his thoughts away from his own confusing emotions.
He shrugged. “The challenge. What happened tonight needed to be done, but it doesn’t change anything. The challenge continues.”
Sidonie stroked a hand over his bicep, her fingers pausing to rub the line of his slave band.
“What is this?” she asked. “And the other arm, too. It’s like you covered the original tattoos with something different.”
“Because I did.”
“What did they used to be?”
“Are you always this chatty after a hard orgasm?”
He felt the heat of her blush before she answered. “I don’t know,” she said softly, not looking at him. “I’ve never climaxed that hard before.”
Aden felt a rush of concentrated pleasure at her words. It was almost like the sensation he got after defeating an enemy, the exhilarating high of victory. But it was a new experience in this context. He knew he was a skilled lover; he’d had hundreds of years to improve on what he’d learned about a woman’s body during his time in Zaahira’s brothel. But he’d always taken the satisfaction of his lovers for granted. He always got them off, but it didn’t matter. It was simply a by-product of his need for sex and blood.
But not with Sidonie. For some reason, she mattered. She was his. He didn’t know how long this new sensation would last, but he knew that he’d kill anyone who came near her. He blinked in surprise at the intensity of that thought. Huh.
“They’re slave bands,” he told her abruptly, not wanting to pursue his previous line of thought any further, and certainly not with her.
Her brow wrinkled. “Slave bands,” she repeated, clearly troubled by the concept.
“Yes,” he said, before she could ask the question. “I was a slave a very long time ago.”
Sidonie pushed herself up so she could meet his eyes. “Were you born that way?” she asked, her eyes full of a compassion he didn’t want.
“No,” he said simply, watching her reaction. “I was sold when I was five.”
“Sold. How can . . . by whom?”
He stared at her, trying to decide if he’d answer truthfully or not. “My father,” he said simply.
“Oh, Aden,” she breathed and hugged him tightly, her soft breasts crushed against his chest.
“It was a long time ago, habibi,” he said, stroking his hand down her back, feeling the need to comfort her, despite the fact that it was his story.
“But still . . . What about your mother? Where was she?”
“You have a lot of questions.”
“And you’re avoiding the answer,” she said, but then caught her breath. “Never mind. I’m sorry. I’m prying. It’s a bad habit. It comes with the territory . . . investigative reporter and all. I’ll be quiet now.”
Aden continued to rub his hand idly up and down the elegant curve of her spine. What would she think if he told her about his mother? That she’d given him up, because she preferred playing the whore for his father over caring for her own child. Would Sidonie hate his mother for him? Did he want her to?
Seeming to sense his reluctance, or maybe his indecision, she crawled up onto his chest and propped her chin on her hands, so she could smile into his eyes. “What about the tattoo on your back?” she asked, changing the subject for him.
He slid his hand down to cup her delicious ass, smiling when he saw her wince in anticipation of another spanking, catching the relief on her face when he only rubbed her firm little butt cheek fondly.
“The back tattoo is mine. It’s a phoenix and all it represents.”
“Why do it on your back? Is that significant?”
“I offended a wealthy man once, when I was still a slave. That particular man liked to inflict pain on those who couldn’t fight back. His preferred victims were very young women. I objected . . . forcefully to his torture of someone. He demanded satisfaction, and my mistress gave me to him in recompense. He had no interest in fucking me, he couldn’t even get an erection, a fact that I’m certain disappointed him. But there are other ways to humiliate a man, and there was always the whip.
“He had free use of me for three days and nights. I received no medical assistance and only enough water and bread to keep me alive and able to feel pain. My mistress wouldn’t let him blemish my face or genitals, but my back was so damaged it took weeks to recover. And even then, the scars were so numerous and so thick that I was in constant pain even after I healed.”