The headache came back, crushing her skull, making her vow to get that CAT scan ASAP. With a moan she grabbed onto her head, bracing herself against what was probably going to be hours of agony.
Except almost immediately the pain floated away… and so did she. A blanket of sleep eased over her, coated her, calmed her.
Right after it landed, a man's hand touched her hair. Her face. Her mouth.
His warmth and love healed the bottomless pit in the center of her chest: It was as if her life had been in a car wreck, but now her parts were put back together, her engine rebuilt, her bumper reattached, her broken windshield replaced.
Except then the touch left her.
In the dream she reached out blindly. "Stay with me. Please stay with me."
A big palm enveloped her hand, but the answer was going to be no. Though the man didn't say a thing, she knew he wouldn't stay.
"Please…" Tears welled. "Don't go."
As her hand was dropped, she cried out and reached forward-
The covers rustled and cold air rushed in, as did a mammoth male body. In desperation she grafted herself to the hard warmth and buried her face in a neck that smelled of those dark spices. Thick arms shot around her and held her tight.
When she burrowed even closer… she felt an erection.
In the dream Jane moved fast and decisively, as if she had every right in the world to do what she did. She shot her hand down between them and gripped that straining length.
As the big body jerked, she said, "Give me what I want."
Man, did he ever.
She was flipped onto her back then her legs were spread and her core covered with a heavy hand. She came immediately, torquing up off the mattress, crying out. Before the sensations faded, the sheets were tossed from the bed and a mouth was on her between her thighs. She grabbed onto thick, luxurious hair and gave herself up to what he did to her.
While she orgasmed for the second time, he pulled back. There was the sound of clothes being pushed down and then-
Jane cursed as she was filled nearly to the point of pain, but she loved what was happening… especially as a mouth came down on hers and the erection inside of her started to move. She grabbed onto a surging back and followed the rhythm of the sex.
In the midst of the dream, she had some thought that this was what she had been mourning. This man was the cause of the pain in her chest.
Or rather, the loss of him was.
Vishous knew that what he was doing was wrong. The sex was tantamount to stealing, because Jane didn't really know who he was. But he couldn't stop.
He kissed her harder, moved in her more powerfully. His orgasm rolled in like a firestorm, taking him in a burst of heat, consuming him with a burn that was relieved only as his cock jerked and released inside of her. She came as he did, milking him, drawing out the sensations until he shuddered and fell still on top of her.
He pulled back and looked down at her closed eyes, willing her into an even deeper sleep. She would think that what had happened was nothing more than an erotic dream, an enticing, vivid fantasy. She wouldn't know who he was, though. Couldn't. Her mind was strong, and she could well go insane in the tug-of-war between the memories he'd hidden and what she felt when he was around her.
V eased out of her body and slipped from the bed. As he rearranged the covers and pulled up his sliks, he felt like he was shaving his own skin off.
Bending down, he put his lips to her forehead. "I love you. Forever."
Before he left he looked around her bedroom, then wandered into her bathroom. He couldn't stop himself. He had no intention of returning here again and needed images of her private spaces.
The upstairs was more "her." Everything was simple and uncluttered, the furniture unobtrusive, the walls free of fussy pictures. There was one wild extravagance, though, and he loved it, had the same one back in his room: books. There were books everywhere. In her bedroom the shelving ran floor to ceiling, with each level filled with volumes on science and philosophy and math. In the hall there were more stacked in a nine-foot glass-front wardrobe, with works by Shelley and Keats, Dickens, Hemingway, Marchand, Fitzgerald. Even in the bath there was a short lineup of them next to the tub, as if when she was in the thing, she wanted a few favorites nearby.
She liked Shakespeare, too, evidently. Which he approved of.
See, this was his kind of decorating. An active mind didn't need distractions in its physical environment. It needed a collection of outstanding books and a good lamp. Maybe some cheese and crackers.
V turned to leave the bath and caught sight of the mirror over the twin sinks. He pictured her standing in front of it and combing out her hair. Flossing. Brushing her teeth. Clipping her short nails.
Such normal things, which people did all across the planet every day, vampires and humans alike: proof that in certain prosaic activities the two species were not so different after all.
He would have killed to see her do them once.
Better yet, he wanted to do them with her. Her sink. His sink. Maybe they would argue over the fact that he dropped his floss on the edge of the wastepaper basket instead of making sure it got all the way in.
Life. Together.
He reached forward, put his fingertip on the mirror, and ran it over the glass. Then he forced himself to dematerialize without going to her bedside again.
As he disappeared for good this time, he knew that if he'd been a male who cried, he would have been bawling now. Instead he thought of the Grey Goose that was waiting for him back at the Pit. He had every intention of being completely faced for the next two days.
They were going to have to pour him back into these Hugh Hefner silks and hold him up at that fucking Primale ceremony.
Chapter Thirty-seven
At midnight John was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling above him. It was a fancy ceiling, with a lot of molding and stuff around the edges, so there was plenty to look at. It made him think of a birthday cake, actually. No… a wedding cake. Especially because in the middle there was a light fixture with a lot of curlicue thingies around it, kind of like what those little bride and groom dolls would go on.
For some strange reason he liked the way it all came together. He didn't know jack about architecture, but he was drawn to the lushness, the stately symmetry, the balance between the ornate and the smooth-
Okay, maybe he was stalling here.
Crap.
He'd woken up about a half hour ago, hit the bathroom, and then gone back between the sheets. There was no class tonight, and he should be catching up on his work before he went out, but that whole textbook thing so wasn't happening.
He had some business to take care of.
Which at the moment was lying rock-hard on his belly.
He'd been hanging in bed debating whether he could do this. What it felt like. Whether he'd even be into it. What if he lost his erection? God, that conversation with Z hung over him. Like if he wasn't… successful at it, there might be something wrong with him.
Oh, for fuck's sake, he needed to jump off the bridge already.
John took his hand and put it on his pec, feeling his lungs expanding and contracting and his heart beating hard. With a wince he moved his palm downward, heading for that throb that was literally talking to him, it was so loud. Man, the damn thing was craving sensation, desperate to boil over. And underneath it? His balls were so tight he felt like they were about to crack open from the pressure. He so had to do this, and not just to check that his plumbing was right. The need to release was past the ache stage and into flat-out pain.
His hand hit his belly and he pushed it farther down. His skin was warm and smooth and hairless and stretched over hard muscle and heavy bone. He couldn't get over how big he was now. His stomach seemed to stretch as far as a football field.
He stopped just before he touched himself. Then, with a curse, he grabbed the thing and pulled it.
A moan rumbled out of his chest and leaped from his mouth as his erection kicked in his hand. Oh, shit, that felt good, He repeated the slow tugging motion, sweat breaking out across his chest. He felt like someone had put him under a heat lamp-no, it was more like warmth was radiating from inside of him.