With a hard yank he jerked the bottle off her foot. A resounding pop filled the air and Sam screamed.
"Ouch! You big bully, you did that on purpose!"
"Of course I did. I had to get the bottle off," the Prince explained patiently, without any trace of remorse.
"Well, I won't go to bed with any vampire who hurts my big toe, even if his kiss knocked my socks off." And with those faintly damning words of praise, Sam closed her eyes and went to sleep.
Petroff picked up the sotted female, sighing as he realized what a hard day's night this was going to be. It appeared that Samantha Hammett was never going to go easy into any bed, let alone his.
Carrying her to her room, he pulled back the covers of her bed with one hand and gently deposited her on the mattress. Trying hard not to think about what he was doing, he removed her jeans. He sighed again.
Sam was short in height, but her legs were perfectly proportioned for her size and well muscled. She was very toned and fit. He bit his lip, his body at full attention.
This was murder: standing here staring at her luscious legs and the paradise between. Cursing softly in Russian, he unbuttoned the tiny pearl buttons and slipped her sweater off her shoulders. She was wearing a low-cut lacy bra in dark blue, which matched her lacy panties. Pale, rose-colored nipples peeked through where the lace was sparse.
Oh, she was beautiful, half-naked and he was hungry, horny and dying to do what a man did when a woman was dressed only in her underwear: unzip his Levi's and hump away.
But reaching for his zipper, he struggled with his conscience, damning both himself and Sam. He couldn't take her like this.
Sam woke up to see the Prince standing over her, his expression taut. She smiled sleepily. He was better than the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus all rolled into one, and she could only imagine the gift he had for her. "You're pe… peeping."
He seemed genuinely offended, his voice harsh. "I'm not peeping. Russian princes don't peep."
Sam looked down at her half-clad body and giggled. "Looks like you're peeping to me."
"I wasn't peeping," he repeated huffily. "I was helping you undress. I reasoned that you would be more comfortable undressed."
"Imagine, a Russian vampire prince getting all hot and bothered about peeping." It had clearly wounded his dignity, and she regretted that. "Jeez, I'm sorry I accused you of peeping, and I'm sorry I fell asleep. But I'm not sleepy now." She yawned.
He arched a brow. "You drank too much. Now go back to sleep." His expression dark and hungry, he turned away. His conscience had won against his nether brain, and he was not a happy prince.
She yawned again, patting the bed beside her. "I don't want to be alone. I want you to make love to me. All night long. All through the night, and with that rather impressive bulge I see making a dent in your jeans, Peter." She grinned at her own silliness.
Unfortunately, the Prince didn't share her smile. It appeared that he was hard to make laugh. Well, he was at least hard.
"I told you time and again that my name is Petroff!" he warned grumpily, watching every move she made. His body was tense and aching.
"Peter, Peter, vampire feeder. Had a guest and couldn't keep her… satisfied." Sam giggled.
"Is this some kind of new American torture? You get drunk, ask me to have sex with you and then insult me with childish nursery rhymes?"
"What can I say? I'm a fun kind of girl." For a man who had been hunting her since the moment they met, his reluctance struck Sam as rather old-fashioned. It was sweet, but just plain stupid.
"Hellfire!" he said. "You're a pain in the ass and other more important regions. Besides, I thought you didn't get involved with your clients, mix business with pleasure." But if she jiggled her breasts just, one more time, he just might forget honor and give her the most wickedly wonderful ride of her young life, his conscience be damned.
Sam shrugged, her hair falling into her eyes. She pushed it sloppily back. "You are technically no longer a client. The business is done. You are ghost-free as of tomorrow."
"Hmm. It would appear so," he agreed.
She stared at him, then asked softly, "Did you know you're a hunk? Even if you are undead. Every now and then I can still see some of the boy in the man and the man in the vampire. And I'm lonesome," Sam pouted. She pushed herself up on her elbows, causing her breasts to squeeze together, a feast for the eyes and mouth. She hoped the Prince was paying attention. With rapid movements made messy by her inebriated state, she patted the mattress beside her one more time.
"I don't take advantage of women," he said, his voice hoarse with need. "But I must admit, you don't seem as drunk as you were in the wine cellar."
She wanted him, but she was suddenly sleepy and a little bit dizzy. "I have a weird metabolism. Alcohol moves fast through my system. Give me a couple of hours and I'll be good as new. So if you come to bed now, you can wake me later with a surprise. How about it, Peter?"
He growled at the use of his name and the image she created with her hot little mouth. Still, he held his ground, searched her face for the truth. He could both see and smell her lust for him. The dizzy, unfocused look she was wearing earlier had receded. Now she merely looked tired.
She dropped back down on the pillows, opened the covers and sighed, "For Pete's sake, come to bed."
He almost shredded his clothes getting undressed. For Peter's sake he would come to bed. He grinned as he climbed in, then laid down beside Sam and pulled her close, holding her tight and breathing in her spicy sweet scent. She was again asleep. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was close to midnight. He would give her three hours and then she was in for the longest, hottest ride of her life.
All for Pete's sake. Wasn't Pete a lucky boy?
For Pete's Sake
Sam awoke to the silken glide of Petroff's tongue lightly stroking her own. He continued to kiss her expertly, stroking erotically, his hands reaching up to cup her breasts, his thumbs and forefinger plucking at her nipples. Sighing, she arched toward him, feeling his long, hard arousal alongside her thigh. His size had her pulling back and yanking down the sheets and blankets that covered them.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice heavy with lust as he stared down at her. The bedside lamp glowed softly, revealing his handsome features, taut with desire. He didn't want to ask, but felt obligated to make sure that sex was truly what Sam wanted.
Pulling the sheets past his hips, Sam glanced down at his erection; huge, hard, enormous. Gulping loudly, she blurted, "Wow, Peter. I can see you were certainly appropriately named."
Then she giggled, surprising him. Women did many things in his bed, but laughter was usually not one of those activities.
"Peter the Great. How true!"
Taking in what Sam was staring at, Petroff began to chuckle. This woman was a breath of fresh air blowing through the cobwebs of his jaded past. "It's just the luck of the draw."
She snorted.
Gazing down at her, he tweaked her nipples, loving their responsivity. He said, "I like your style, Samantha Hammett."
Before he could say more, Sam slid her fingers down his stomach and grasped him. She began a slow gliding motion up and down, which reduced his chuckles to harsh breathing.
"Now, who's had the last laugh?" she taunted smugly. But upon those challenging words, Sam was flipped on her back, and Petroff pinned her.
Again he took her mouth in a passionate assault, his caresses scorching her skin. His strong fingers slipped through the pale curls between her thighs, playing in the dampness he discovered there. He groaned. She trembled.