Without waiting on me, Eli turned me around to face the door; I struggled to jam the key in the lock. Behind me, Eli’s body pressed against mine, his front to my back, and as his fingers pushed my hair aside, his lips sought my neck and his hands slipped around my waist, down over my hips, where he pulled me against him. Urgency and raw need ripped through me at his touch, so much that it didn’t even strike me to think that a vampire’s mouth was on my throat—skin that barely sheeted a vessel carrying a unique, druglike blood type. Honest to God, I didn’t care at that point. I did not care.
Finally, the key worked. I grabbed my pack off the ground and opened the door, and we stumbled inside. Eli’s hands never left my body, and as the door shut, the pack dropped from my hand, and we fell back against the door, his body pressed into mine, our tongues entwined, tasting, not getting enough. I felt him everywhere at once; every nerve ending throughout me hummed with heat, and the unique way he tasted made me crave, beg with my hands as I slipped my impatient fingers over the buttons of his fly. There was nothing gentle about either of us. I wanted him yesterday.
“Upstairs,” he muttered against my ear, and before I could hit the first step he’d pulled me against him again, both hands on my face as he lowered his mouth to mine; he kissed me long, then pulled back, and only the stream of light shining in from the storefront caught his eyes, making them appear dark, almost black. Never had I seen desire so heavy in a pair of eyes. “Hold on,” he said, his voice husky, raspy, and as I slid my hands around his neck, he lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. It was sixteen steps up to my apartment, and he kissed me the whole way.
Upstairs, I slid from his arms, and we stumbled together in the shadows, down the hall and into my room, our lips fastened, hungry, and I found myself once again hard against a brick wall, my fingers desperately grasping at Eli’s button fly and unfastening a few. I pushed his shirt up, and he took over, yanking it over his head; my palms skimmed the ripped muscles of his stomach, his chest, and I eased my hand inside his fly and over the hard ridge of his cock; his painful groan escaped his throat at my touch, and I slid my other hand around his ass and pulled him harder against me. When his gaze met mine, his eyes were dark, glassy, dangerous, and lost in desire. It turned me on even more.
Without words, Eli slid his hands up my stomach and over my breasts, where he nimbly released the single clasp keeping my top together. He slid it off my shoulders and dropped it on the floor. At the same time his mouth claimed mine once more, his hands claimed my breasts, and I pushed my body against him with blinding need. I couldn’t get close enough, fast enough—as though I wanted to just sink into his skin. I wanted him all over me, everywhere.
With deft fingers Eli trailed his hands down my abdomen to the buttons of my pants, and as he released each one I shivered with anticipation. I kicked out of my boots, he kicked out of his, and finally, we were both free of clothes and restrictions. The only thing that remained was a pair of slender black G-string panties; even those felt more like armor than the weightless, seductive cloth they were meant to be. I wanted to rip them off; Eli read my mind, lowered his hand, and did it for me, then tossed the shredded material to the floor.
We were nothing more than silhouettes and shadows as we stared at each other, with only the tapered band of light streaming in through the French doors. Eli’s hands slid to my hips, over my ass, his eyes watching me intently. “Turn around,” he said, his voice neither a whisper nor a growl but something in between. It sounded more inside my head than in my ears, and I did what he asked, my front now facing the wall.
Eli’s hands pushed my heavy hair aside; his fingers drifted to my lower back, then slowly up my spine; he was tracing my dragons, and continued up my shoulders and down each arm, where he slipped his fingers between mine, his lips and tongue tasting my neck, my shoulder. I shuddered with anticipation. It was the only thing gentle that occurred between us after that. In a blinding move, he spun me around and pinned me against the aged bricks of my bedroom wall and kissed me frantically, desperation in every suck, every lick, every taste, and I met his fury with the same enthusiasm, gasping in between. His hips were muscular and narrow, and I glided my hands around them to his ass and pulled him against me. Eli’s hands were everywhere, touching every curve, every valley, and when his hardness throbbed heavy against my thigh, a groan escaped my throat, and I reached down, found it, and palmed its sleek ridges. In one effortless move he lifted me, the grainy bricks scraping my back, and as I wound my legs around his waist, he pushed into me. The deep groan that came from Eli’s throat made me shiver, and he muttered something in French. God, I was so wet, out of my mind with need, and Eli satisfied it in three hard thrusts; lights exploded behind my eyes as the fiercest orgasm I’d ever experienced wracked my body, and Eli continued to pound into me, his mouth buried in the crevice of my neck and shoulder, his groans muffled, his orgasm violent as his body spasmed against me. Strong hands grasped mine, spread them out against the wall, and laced his fingers through mine. The kiss that followed nearly undid me all over again; different from the frantic kiss from before, it was slow, erotic, and Eli took his time tasting every inch of my mouth and neck. Without words and with me still clinging to him, he walked backward, turned, and laid me on the bed. There wasn’t anything either of us could have said; everything was still fresh, tantalizing, and my whole body hummed with pleasure. For a moment, my eyes drifted shut, but when they opened, Eli stood over me, and I froze. His eyes had turned opaque—literally luminescent as he stared down hungrily at me.
“Eli?” I said warily, and when he didn’t move, I repeated myself, except stronger this time. “Eli!” No other words would come out of my mouth. I was scared. And I could tell he struggled for control.
He quickly turned, grabbed his clothes off the floor, and left so fast my eyes couldn’t follow. I wasn’t in total shock. Now that my mind and body had started to recover from the mind-blowing sex I’d just shared with Eli, I recalled how many times he’d said how he wasn’t sure his control could last. It had barely lasted. What did shock me, though, was that he didn’t just leave my room. He left my apartment. Leaving me totally alone—as in wide-open prey for the Arcos brothers and their growing hoodie cult.
As I slipped beneath the sheets, I reached over, switched the ceiling fan on low, and closed my eyes, letting my mind wander. I was a big girl, and I’d been through a hell of a lot in twenty-five years. I’d been used in the very worst of ways; rejection and abandonment weren’t unfamiliar to me. I’d be a liar if I said it hadn’t stung to watch Eli walk out, but I understood. I guess I wasn’t like other girls in that sense. Being a crybaby just wasn’t in my repertoire. I’d learned over the years not to be greedy; take what little bits of life’s pleasures you could, while you could—you might not get another offer.
I turned onto my side and stretched, pulling one of the spare down pillows to my middle and cradling it against my bare body. Before slumber dragged me under, I replayed the past hour of my life with Eli, and I knew then that another man would never be able to satisfy me like he had. The way I’d responded to his body, his mouth, his touch . . . no one could ever live up to that. Never. I knew what I spoke of, if you know what I mean. I wasn’t sure whether I should be pissed, or grateful for the experience. Part of me knew—felt it in my gut—that something much deeper than wild, nasty sex had occurred with Eli Dupré, but it’d do no good to dwell on it now, and it may very well have been solely on my part. He’d almost transformed, almost lost control. I mean, seriously—he’d lived for nearly two hundred years. He’d had plenty of experiences, and I’m positive I wouldn’t be the last orgasm he’d ever experience. For a hot minute, it was a nice thought. But like I said—I wasn’t stupid. Rough around the edges maybe, definitely a little perverted at times, but never stupid. I was a survivor. I’d damn well survive this.
Finally, I drifted off to sleep. I knew, even though Eli had left my apartment, that he was still close by. I knew one night of hot, rampant sex certainly wasn’t a marriage proposal. Not that I wanted one. But if I knew Eli at all, I did know he wouldn’t leave me unprotected. He was out there, somewhere. I knew it. Watching. Just like he had been when I was oblivious to the fact that vampires existed.
Sometime during the early-morning hours, before dawn, I awoke with fear choking me—literally. I was coughing as though I’d been strangled; my heart slammed hard against my ribs, and adrenaline surged through my veins. I sat up and tried to catch my breath, and the bare threads of a nightmare rushed back. Sweat plastered my bangs to my face, and I pushed them behind my ears and rubbed my eyes, trying to remember.
In the dream, I couldn’t tell where I was; long shadows blocked street names and building signs, but it was desolate—almost postapocalyptic. Everything was gray, colorless—except me. My black hair with red-and-fuchsia highlights, and white skin stuck out like a sore thumb, and dressed in nothing but a short leather skirt, tall leather boots, and a vest, I ran, fast, down a cracked, broken sidewalk. What few cars sat parked along the sidewalk were as abandoned and derelict as the buildings. Where I hurried to, I didn’t know, but I knew something chased me. Maybe more than one. They slinked through the shadows overhead, on the rooftops. I glanced behind me, only for a second; when I turned back around, he was there. Young, virile, flawlessly beautiful, and very, very powerful; his very nearness caused me to burn for him. Seductively, he licked his lips, and just that fast I envisioned his mouth and tongue between my legs, erotically caressing until I fell to my knees as spasms of orgasm wracked my body. I didn’t want it—I couldn’t help but take it. It infuriated me, his seduction, and I knew then that he would haunt me always, and never cease his pursuit of me. He had power over me. He wasn’t Eli. . . .
I sat up with a start. Somehow, I’d fallen asleep again, even after remembering that most vivid of dreams. It left me feeling dirty; it left me with heavy desire. Early dawn was just beginning to break, and as I slipped from the bed, I noticed the French doors were wide-open. They were closed before. . . .
