But he didn’t want to think about that. He just wanted to think about sinking back inside the warmth of her body and making her come a second time. Three was his current record with her, according to his fictionalized version of what had happened, so he wanted to best himself. What guy wouldn’t?
“Lizette, open your eyes,” he commanded as he plunged into her again. He wanted to see those expressive inky pools, wanted to see how good he made her feel. It mattered to him.
She did, but it clearly took effort, her arms slack, thighs sinking farther apart. She was enjoying herself, but in a slower, slumberous way, and taking it nice and pretty was not what he had in mind at the moment. Since he had so thoroughly enjoying biting her and she had so obviously liked it, too, he dipped down and sank into her shoulder, enjoying the hiss of approval from her right along with the first taste of tangy fluid rushing past his lips.
But she surprised him by raising her head and biting him right back on the opposite shoulder.
Holy shit. Johnny paused to close his eyes and just enjoy the ecstasy, the connection, the intimate and primal joining. It felt base and elevated all at the same time. Lizette bit him harder, her heels kicking into the backs of his thighs like she wanted him harder, deeper.
Still with his teeth in her skin, Johnny rolled her so she was on top, and while he’d intended her to stop there, she continued to roll until they were across the room, crashing into the coffee table with his hip and shoulder. They were both on their sides, him still thrusting inside her, Lizette pulling her fangs out to give a satisfied cry as she exploded in another orgasm. Her chin, her chest, her teeth, were all saturated with both of their blood, and he licked his lip, gritting his teeth. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, all that red against the pale, smooth white of her vampire flesh, her normally red lips stained even darker, a gruesome eroticism that only a vampire would understand. Biting was more intense than oral sex for mortals, and looking down at her, his puncture marks in her shoulder, her cries of anguished passion, he couldn’t resist his own body anymore.
Leaning down and taking her mouth, blending her blood with his, her tongue with his, her body with his, Johnny exploded in the most intense orgasm he’d ever had.
Stunned, they both lay there intertwined for a good two minutes, blinking at each other. Finally Johnny reached out and wiped some of the blood off her lip and licked it. “That. Was. Amazing.” There were actually no words to describe how off-the-charts awesome that had been.
“Indeed.”
It was such an understated, typical-Lizette response, he gave a choked laugh. “I think I found the most authentically French thing in the Quarter,” he told her.
“What? Me?” She brushed her hair back off her forehead, her breasts still rising rapidly from their vigorous encounter.
“Your vagina.” He grinned and waited for the reaction.
It was immediate.
“Ah!” She gasped in indignation and smacked him on the shoulder. “How dare you!”
“Or as I like to call it ‘La Pussy.’”
“I like to call you ‘L’Asshole.’ Note the liaison due to the vowel sound.”
That made Johnny laugh even harder and he shifted, pulling out of her. “You’re killing me.”
“No, I am going to kill you. You are outrageous and inappropriate.”
“So you keep telling me. But I actually think you kind of like that about me.” He winked at her. He did think she liked it. It was like he said all the things she might think in her head but didn’t allow herself to say out loud.
“I think you are arrogant and insufferable.” Then she gave a smile. “But you are also right. I cannot exactly explain why I like you, but I do.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t suffer from low self-esteem.” Johnny stroked her arm lightly and reveled in her smile. This felt good. “Maybe you like me for my stellar penis.”
“It is adequate.”
That was a ringing endorsement from Lizette. He’d take it. This felt amazing, all of it. The sex, the teasing, the comfortableness of lying next to her.
If it had been like this last night, no wonder he had handcuffed himself to her.
She was the bomb in bed. Or in this case, on the floor.
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked, because they both looked like a crime scene. There was drying blood smeared all over.
“That would be wonderful.”
Johnny sat up and waited for her to follow, then he stood. It was then she seemed to remember that they were handcuffed, which meant they would be showering together, because she said, “I would prefer to shower alone.”
“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “I’ve already seen you naked. In fact, you happen to be naked right now.” He put his free hand on her smooth ass to further prove his point.
“I know, but sometimes a woman requires privacy.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s not like you’re taking a crap, you’re in the shower. With soap and water and a sponge. That is sexy. What’s the big deal?”
Her tongue clucked. When her tongue clucked, Johnny was starting to realize there was no point in arguing with Lizette. She had made her mind up about some moral piece of whatever and she wasn’t going to back down. But she didn’t say anything. Maybe because she was realizing that it was a fortunate thing they were vampires, because neither one of them was ever going to need to use the toilet like a mortal would. Even he had to admit that would have been awkward.
And now he had officially killed the mood. Johnny mentally kicked himself. They’d been on such a sex high and he had fucked it up by pushing the point and mentioning crap. He was L’Asshole. So he lightly kissed her. “Never mind. Of course you can shower by yourself if you want. I’ll just sit outside the shower curtain, okay? We can take turns.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” Even if it was completely stupid, in his opinion. But he was willing to do it for her.
Which was how he found himself sitting on the cold porcelain tub, freezing his ass off, chin in hand. While his other arm dangled behind him getting hit by the warm spray and flopping around at Lizette’s will as she jerked him to and fro, washing her body. Washing her body. Damn. He really wanted to be a party to that process. He wanted to squeeze gel soap into his hands and slide them all over her, from head to toe. He wanted to lick between her thighs and listen to that catch in her breath she gave.
Now he was sitting naked on the edge of the cold tub with a boner.
Lame. That’s what this was. And honestly, he was pretty damn sure he would have just ignored her protestations and jumped in anyway with any other woman because they had already had sex. That entitled him to shower sharing. But for whatever stupid reason he just perched like a naked bird feeling bitter while his arm went numb from hanging there in the cuffs.
“Finished. May I have a towel?” She popped her head out from behind the curtain.
Damn it, she was beautiful. It was making him grouchy. But he stood up without hesitation and grabbed her a towel. “Need help drying off?”
“No, thank you.”
Of course she didn’t. Because that would be fun for him. “I’m coming in,” he told her, the dried blood on his shoulder and neck starting to pull at his skin. He was just about out of patience.
But she was quick, emerging from the shower wrapped in the towel. “It’s all yours.”
They traded positions, and she managed to avoid any contact with him whatsoever in the transition.