I shivered. “Eric, I love you, but sometimes you give mesuch a case of the creeps.”
He smiled at me. “Good.”
Chapter 13
We took our bloodlust straight to the downtown Marriott, where Sinclair, the sneaky bastard, had booked a room. We'd barely made it through the door when we started tearing off our clothes, groping, kissing, sucking—everything but biting. And God, it was hard. It was like jerking off and not letting yourself come. Why, why, why was I doing this?
Because I would not be ruled by my fiendish blood-lust. I was the queen; it had to count for something. I was my own person, not a slave to my hungers.
I managed to keep those coherent thoughts until Sinclair tossed me on the bed, ripped through my skirt and panties, pushed my legs apart, and stuck his tongue inside me. I wrapped my legs around his neck and rode his mouth, both of us clawing through the bedspread. Then he was rearing over me, holding me apart with trembling fingers as he rammed into me with no finesse whatsoever. I didn't hold it against him.
Elizabeth you queen you brat you darling
“Back atcha,” I groaned while he pumped and worked between my legs, while I bit my own lip so I wouldn't bite him, wouldn't eat him like the wolf ate Red Riding Hood.
Another weird queen thing: I could read Eric's mind during sex. He couldn't read mine. Yeah, that had gone over well. I'd finally told him, at the worst possible time, but the good news was, he hadn't had the worst possible reaction. We'd patched things up, but it hadn't been easy.
I can't believe I'm going along with your stupid bid for independence I should have you over my knee this minute
“Later,” I panted. “You can spank me later.”
I will you brat you lovely you darling
I yelled at the ceiling as I came, yelled and clutched at him and tried to pull him farther into myself. He slid his hands beneath my ass and pinched me viciously as he shuddered into orgasm.
“Owwwww.”
He rested his forehead on mine for a long moment.
“What was that for?” I bitched. To hell with afterglow.
“You deserve that and worse,” he said, rolling off me. “Cutting me off from my favorite blood source. Why don't you take my testicles while you're at it?”
“Stop whining. If you really minded, there wouldn't be a thingI could do about it.”
He smiled thinly, and contemplated the ruin of our clothes. “You really think so, don't you, darling?”
“What are you bitching about? You got fed, you got laid. No baby in sight. The whole night in front of us—alone.”
The smile came again, a little more real this time. “Sometimes,” he said, “you almost make sense.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes I have panties on. What'd you do, eat them? There's scraps of clothing all over the place.”
“I took the liberty of packing a bag.”
“Well, thank goodness. You didn't, uh,like that whore, did you?”
He pulled me on top of him and suddenly I was looking into his black eyes, which, since I had just been looking around for my underpants, was startling. “You know my heart and my soul,” he said quietly, tenderly. “You can read my mind, something no one else on the planet can do. There is. No. Comparison.” He shook me a little at each word to make his point. “Though I must say I find your insecurity quite charming.”
“Shut up. I'm sorry to make you drink from strange women—”
“Idon't mind,” he said silkily.
“—it's just something I have to do for myself, you know? Not drink, I mean. I know it seems dumb to you—what'd you call it? My stupid bid for independence? If I was you, I'd probably think it was dumb, too. But it just seems—this whole past year—like I've been on a ride I can't get off. This is something I can control. I'm sorry if it screws you over.” To my surprise, I suddenly felt like crying.
He hugged me to him. “Darling, don't do that. I know what it's like to be a slave to the thirst. I think what you do is wondrous. I'll support you as long as you—”
“Can hold out?”
“—decide to stay with this course of action,” he corrected himself.
“Thanks. For a puke, you can be pretty nice sometimes.”
“Crumbs from the lady's table,” he said with grim good humor, and got up to find the overnight bag.
Later, we made love again, slowly and tenderly, sliding against each other and purring like the big predators we were. And for a whole night, I didn't think about BabyJon or Sophie or Alonzo, or even Jessica.
Chapter 14
“There's a zombie in the attic,” Cathie said, and I nearly yakked up my gum. She was a ghost—literally, the spirit of a dead person—and as she spoke she floated through the wall, into my bedroom. Cathie had been a tall woman, almost as tall as me, with honey-tinted hair pulled back in a perpetual ponytail, a green sweatshirt, and black stretch pants. Barefoot. For eternity! At least her feet were attractive. They were little and pretty, with unpolished but nicely shaped toenails.
“This is no time for your quirky sense of humor.”
I snapped as I lugged a pile of near-empty journals into my closet. It never failed—I'd buy a new journal, write like a madwoman for ten pages, then lose total interest in the process. Three months later, I'd start the whole process all over again. I think I just liked buying new notebooks.
“Well, well! You seem touchy! What's the matter, didn't get laid last night?”
It was scary how much she sounded like me sometimes. Maybe that's why she totally got on my nerves. “That's not the problem at all. I just hate it when you dart out of solid walls to tell me ridiculous stories.”
“Well, it's not like I have a choice,” she said crossly, floating through my bathroom door and then back out again. “After all, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. You'd walk through walls, too, if you could. And it's not like I can ring a doorbell to get your attention. As for the zombie—is it my fault you're in denial about reanimated corpses?”
“I'ma reanimated corpse,” I said glumly. “Let me deal with that. There's no such thing as zombies anyway.”
Cathie stuck her head into the wall (probably just to creep me out, since she knew it drove me crazy), pulled it back out, and said, “Why do I bother?” and stuck it back in. “Where is everybody?”
“Sinclair isn't up yet, ditto Tina, Jessica's at an appointment, Marc's at work, Toni and Garrett haven't left her bedroom since she got back, and Iwas enjoying my privacy.”
“Too bad. I'm bored, and you guys are exciting company.”
She'd been killed by a serial killer a few months ago, and had come to me for help. Unlike other ghosts who came to me for help, once she got what she wanted, she stayed. I wasn't a vampire queen, I was a damn soul collector. Nobody left; they all just chained themselves to me like eternal chattel. But they were all too fucking sassy for the phenomenon to be nattering.
“I bring good news from the underworld,” she was booming in a terrible Vincent Price imitation. “All's quiet on the Midwestern Front.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, there have been ghosts, but I've been helping them.”
“You've been helping ghosts who seek my favor, without even telling me? So you're like my—”
“You know those Hollywood assistants who handle all the producer's problems so she can concentrate on making movies? That's what I do now. I help the little people.”