He started moving inside her.
His eyes, their black heat, bored a hole straight through to her soul. “No other male will lick you, drink from you, fuck you, or make you scream.”
She cried out as he pulled out of her, then slid all the way down to her sex and plunged his tongue into her cunt. For several mind-altering seconds he fucked her, speared her. Then just as quickly, he left, replaced his tongue with his cock again, and covered her mouth with his own.
Petra nearly climaxed right there.
She kissed him fiercely, tasting herself on his tongue. The combination of the two of them was shockingly heady, and she wanted more. She wanted everything. And Syn was determined to give it to her.
He tunneled under her body and lifted her hips. The harsh cry that escaped her lungs when he drew back and thrust into her rent the air around them. Slightly weak from a long night of lovemaking and Synjon’s intense blood drain, Petra could only hold on and take whatever he had to give her.
Syn gripped her ass cheeks and pummeled her with stroke after honeyed stroke until she was breathing heavy, moaning his name, and ratcheting up her hips for one last thrust as she came. One loud, raspy scream tore from her throat, and Syn followed her, draining his hot, creamy seed inside her sex.
Coated in a very sexy layer of sweat, Synjon eased out of her and collapsed to the side. Before she could even release the breath hovering inside her lungs, he caught her up in his arms and pulled her ass to his groin. Petra sighed and melted into his chest. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, any sweeter, he covered her—her and their balas—with the softest, thickest blanket in the world.
19
Petra woke to near blackness, and it took her a moment, and a good glance around, to realize where she was.
Syn’s room.
Syn’s bed.
And it had to be morning because the skylight overhead was sealed.
She glanced over her shoulder. She was alone, though the impression of Syn’s body on the mattress remained. And, of course, his scent. It was everywhere. On the sheets, in the air, all over her naked body.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she spotted the robe she’d gotten on her shopping trip. It was laid out over the arms of an almond-colored leather chair against the wall. She smiled, knowing Syn had placed it there for her. In any other situation, at any other time, she would’ve let her mind run wild with that gesture. The implications, the potential outcomes. The hopes. But she wasn’t going to do that this time.
She got out of bed and scooped up the robe. She refused to ruin herself and the wonderful memories of the night before by overanalyzing. When reality settled in, whatever happened, happened. But right now she was going to live in bliss for however long that lasted.
After slipping the black silk robe on and tying the sash above her belly, she ventured out of the room. Clearly, it was full-on morning now, because every window was sealed and the house was lit by all things electric. As she walked down the hallway, past the teardrops of metal art on the wall, she wondered if Syn was even at home. It was so quiet. She also wondered what she was going to do today. She knew she needed to check in with her family and with Dani. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry about her and once again come to Manhattan to investigate.
Especially Dani. That female would force her to recite a virtual laundry list of affirmations about never sleeping with vampires named Synjon Wise and listening to genius best friends who were always right.
Petra laughed to herself at the thought, and didn’t see Synjon until she was nearly on top of him.
Well, Synjon and a . . . pine tree?
“Morning, darling,” he said, plugging something into the outlet behind him. “How did you sleep?”
“Good.” Lights erupted inside the pine tree. “Oh!” She looked from the tree to Synjon and back again. “What’s this?”
She stepped over a small pile of boxes, wrapped in beautiful silver-and-gold paper.
Synjon was looking at her like she had two heads. “Christmas. Don’t you know about that?”
Oh, right. She’d seen trees lit up when they were in the city. “We don’t celebrate it in the Rain Forest, but I’ve heard of it. Seen pictures. But”—she looked at him with a confused expression—“why are you doing it?”
He gave her an almost boyish shrug. “You had a chance to shop for yourself.”
“I know. It was great. I loved it.” She still didn’t understand.
He stood up, went over to her and ran his hands up her black-silk-covered arms. “Sexy. Crikey, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, love.”
“Back atcha,” she said, smiling. “Now, tell me what this is, please.”
“All right. I thought you should have the same chance for the balas.” He gestured to the gifts. “Go through them, see if there’s anything you like.”
She stared at the boxes. “You got things for the baby?”
“It’s nothing. Just a few bits and bobbles.”
Petra felt a huge lump form in her throat. “You picked out gifts for the baby.” It wasn’t a question. Gods, it wasn’t even directed at him really. She was just unloading her surprise. This wasn’t the Synjon Wise who’d had his emotions drained and who had seemed completely impassive with regard to her and the balas growing inside her just a few days ago. And frankly, this wasn’t the Synjon Wise from the Rain Forest tree house so many months ago either.
She turned to look at him. This was a Synjon Wise she’d never met before, but had fantasized about in the wee hours of the night when she’d been on her own, looking for Cruen, scared, lonely. The real and open Synjon. The nurturer, the gentle, thoughtful, sensual, playful caretaker.
“They’ll come to pick up whatever you don’t like,” he continued, his eyes on her, studying her expression.
She heard him, knew what he was saying, and yet she found herself asking, “When did you do this?”
“While you were sleeping.”
Overcome with the moment, the gesture, the happiness inside her, she rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her eyes searched his. “Santa, right?”
He laughed. “No, veana. Just a father.”
She gasped, stilled, her gaze locked with his. Oh, gods. His words. This was bad. Or it could be bad. Even she hadn’t gone there in her mind. She’d wanted to. So badly. But she knew where it led. That impossible road. Damn it, why did he have to say that? Something so completely committed? When neither of them knew what the future held. When he was still determined to destroy her father.
“Petra?” His eyes searched her own. She wondered what he saw there. The truth, or a veana so in love that she was overcome by his thoughtfulness?
“I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“You like it?”
She nodded. “I bloody love it.”
His face broke into a ridiculously gorgeous smile. “I told you. No one claims this balas but me.”
Right. The balas.
And what about her?
Don’t ruin it. Don’t. For yourself. For him. For Little Fangs. Just don’t. Because odds are you’ll hear something in there you don’t want to deal with right now.
Her gaze traveled the length of the beautiful pine tree. It smelled amazing. It smelled like family and memories, and a new couple sharing their first Christmas.
She wondered if it would be the same next year. Or if this was it, all she would get.
He broke from her grasp, leaned down, grabbed one of the presents, and held it out to her. “Ready?”