Midnight's Kiss
Page 53
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She almost fell asleep leaning against the sink as she brushed her teeth, only coming awake with a start when she started to slide sideways.
Unh, Melly. Oh, no you don’t.
Not even her own exhaustion was going to hold her back. With single-minded determination, she climbed into the tub, submerged in the water and lathered her hair twice. By that point, the water was so dark with dirt, she had to let it drain and run a new bath. She had been cold for so long, the warmth that sank into her bones felt glorious. After running a soapy washcloth all over her body, she curled on her side and fell asleep.
She woke up to Julian lifting her out of the bath. Blearily, she took in details of his appearance. He was still shirtless but he must have showered, because he was damp all over, his hair slicked back. It looked darker when it was wet, which in turn emphasized the faint crow’s-feet fanning out from his eyes and the lines bracketing his hard mouth.
It felt so good to be in his arms, she curled against him and tucked her face into his damp neck. He carried her into his bedroom.
“How long was I in here?” A wide yawn cracked her jaw.
“Maybe forty-five minutes.”
“Any news?”
“Nothing to speak of.”
Reluctantly, she roused. “Put me down. I need to dry my hair at least partway. If I don’t, it’ll go crazy.”
“Don’t be so picky.” He set her down, but on the bed, not on the floor. The covers had been pulled back. She rolled off the bed to avoid getting the sheets wet, only to have him scoop her up and put her on the bed again. “Nobody cares what your hair looks like.”
“I don’t recall you being this annoying when we spent nights together before,” she told him grumpily, scowling. “It has nothing to do with what I look like. When my hair gets too tangled, it takes forever to get it brushed out again, and besides, I don’t want to sleep on a wet pillow. Stop moving me around like that, damn it. I want a towel and a hair dryer.”
He frowned at her. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
Yawning again, she watched him walk into the bathroom. He had wrapped a towel around his waist, and it rode low on his hip bones. She imagined licking his skin along the top edge of the terry cloth and looked around as she forced herself to think of something else. The door to the room was closed, and a covered food tray sat on the table beside the armchair.
She had a brief impulse to explore the contents of the tray, but he reappeared again almost immediately, carrying two thick towels, a hair dryer and a brush. Setting the hair dryer and brush aside, he slung one towel across her lap. Taking the other one, he scooped the long dripping weight of her hair up and draped the towel across her shoulders. Then he took each side of the fluffy cloth to her head, rubbing her scalp with strong, gentle fingers.
The sensation ran down the length of her body. All the starch left her spine, and she slouched forward until she found herself leaning against the tight muscles of his lean waist.
She mumbled, “I can do it.”
“Sure you can,” he told her. “But you’re going to let me.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to,” he said quietly.
The words tugged her attention up to his face. Looking down at her, he caressed her cheek. His expression was introspective, brooding. Even though they were connected by the touch of his hand and by recent events, in that moment, there was something so alone and self-contained about him, she abandoned all impulse to argue and gave him an uncertain nod.
He plugged the dryer into an outlet by the bed and lifted long, curly strands of her hair with the brush, working out the tangles as he blow-dried them. More welcome warmth suffused her. She gave up trying to sit up straight and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his flat stomach. He stroked the back of her head, his long fingers pressing against the curve of her neck.
Maybe he couldn’t let down his barriers for her. Maybe their past was too heavy for them to leave behind. Maybe he couldn’t let his barriers down for anybody. He had spent such a very long time alone.
Unexpectedly, tears prickled at the back of her eyes. Pressing a kiss to his stomach, she whispered, “Tell me what the fuck you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
He stood frozen and tense. When he clicked off the hair dryer, the resultant silence seemed shocking.
She had said it because she was remembering what he had said and done for her. Until she heard it out loud, it hadn’t occurred to her that the statement could sound so erotic.
She rubbed her face against him, reveling in the vitality of his bare, scarred skin. The white that had begun to frost the dark hair on his head had not yet reached the sprinkle of hair on his chest that arrowed down his abdomen. He was caught forever between masculine strength and mortality, at the height of his power with just a hint of the death that would never take him.
“Melisande.” Her name sounded wrenched out of him.
Glancing up, she saw that his expression had turned raw and open. He had hardened, and underneath the towel that cloaked him, his erection pressed against her collarbone.
Giving in to what she wanted to do felt like falling. Her own arousal pulsed as she pulled the towel from his waist and took him in both hands. As she touched him, he sucked in a breath. The long, heavy muscles of his thighs were taut and hard as steel.
The skin covering his penis felt silken. He was thick, the sensitive head broad, while veins traced the sides. His sac had pulled tight underneath. With one hand, she cupped his testicles, massaging gently as she rubbed his cock against her cheek.
She knew his body like an old, treasured companion. Verbally, they might have fought and caused each other pain, but physically, he had never given her anything but pleasure. She remembered and welcomed every detail about him, his clean, masculine scent, the warmth that radiated from him, the touch of his hands on her skin. Vampyres were supposed to run cooler than other races, but she had never found him cold.
She made a hungry, eager sound, parted her lips and took the tip of his cock in her mouth. Belatedly her mind caught up with what she had done.
Um, maybe she should have asked first. If somebody had grabbed her crotch and helped himself without so much as checking in with the rest of her, you can bet your ass she would react with a strategically aimed knee to the privates.
Just because he had an erection didn’t mean he was willing or prepared to act on it. People were complicated. Bodies were complicated. God only knew, it was tough enough to try to balance what was in the head versus what was in the heart, let alone trying to figure out how to meet the rest of a body’s needs as well.
Unh, Melly. Oh, no you don’t.
Not even her own exhaustion was going to hold her back. With single-minded determination, she climbed into the tub, submerged in the water and lathered her hair twice. By that point, the water was so dark with dirt, she had to let it drain and run a new bath. She had been cold for so long, the warmth that sank into her bones felt glorious. After running a soapy washcloth all over her body, she curled on her side and fell asleep.
She woke up to Julian lifting her out of the bath. Blearily, she took in details of his appearance. He was still shirtless but he must have showered, because he was damp all over, his hair slicked back. It looked darker when it was wet, which in turn emphasized the faint crow’s-feet fanning out from his eyes and the lines bracketing his hard mouth.
It felt so good to be in his arms, she curled against him and tucked her face into his damp neck. He carried her into his bedroom.
“How long was I in here?” A wide yawn cracked her jaw.
“Maybe forty-five minutes.”
“Any news?”
“Nothing to speak of.”
Reluctantly, she roused. “Put me down. I need to dry my hair at least partway. If I don’t, it’ll go crazy.”
“Don’t be so picky.” He set her down, but on the bed, not on the floor. The covers had been pulled back. She rolled off the bed to avoid getting the sheets wet, only to have him scoop her up and put her on the bed again. “Nobody cares what your hair looks like.”
“I don’t recall you being this annoying when we spent nights together before,” she told him grumpily, scowling. “It has nothing to do with what I look like. When my hair gets too tangled, it takes forever to get it brushed out again, and besides, I don’t want to sleep on a wet pillow. Stop moving me around like that, damn it. I want a towel and a hair dryer.”
He frowned at her. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
Yawning again, she watched him walk into the bathroom. He had wrapped a towel around his waist, and it rode low on his hip bones. She imagined licking his skin along the top edge of the terry cloth and looked around as she forced herself to think of something else. The door to the room was closed, and a covered food tray sat on the table beside the armchair.
She had a brief impulse to explore the contents of the tray, but he reappeared again almost immediately, carrying two thick towels, a hair dryer and a brush. Setting the hair dryer and brush aside, he slung one towel across her lap. Taking the other one, he scooped the long dripping weight of her hair up and draped the towel across her shoulders. Then he took each side of the fluffy cloth to her head, rubbing her scalp with strong, gentle fingers.
The sensation ran down the length of her body. All the starch left her spine, and she slouched forward until she found herself leaning against the tight muscles of his lean waist.
She mumbled, “I can do it.”
“Sure you can,” he told her. “But you’re going to let me.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to,” he said quietly.
The words tugged her attention up to his face. Looking down at her, he caressed her cheek. His expression was introspective, brooding. Even though they were connected by the touch of his hand and by recent events, in that moment, there was something so alone and self-contained about him, she abandoned all impulse to argue and gave him an uncertain nod.
He plugged the dryer into an outlet by the bed and lifted long, curly strands of her hair with the brush, working out the tangles as he blow-dried them. More welcome warmth suffused her. She gave up trying to sit up straight and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his flat stomach. He stroked the back of her head, his long fingers pressing against the curve of her neck.
Maybe he couldn’t let down his barriers for her. Maybe their past was too heavy for them to leave behind. Maybe he couldn’t let his barriers down for anybody. He had spent such a very long time alone.
Unexpectedly, tears prickled at the back of her eyes. Pressing a kiss to his stomach, she whispered, “Tell me what the fuck you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
He stood frozen and tense. When he clicked off the hair dryer, the resultant silence seemed shocking.
She had said it because she was remembering what he had said and done for her. Until she heard it out loud, it hadn’t occurred to her that the statement could sound so erotic.
She rubbed her face against him, reveling in the vitality of his bare, scarred skin. The white that had begun to frost the dark hair on his head had not yet reached the sprinkle of hair on his chest that arrowed down his abdomen. He was caught forever between masculine strength and mortality, at the height of his power with just a hint of the death that would never take him.
“Melisande.” Her name sounded wrenched out of him.
Glancing up, she saw that his expression had turned raw and open. He had hardened, and underneath the towel that cloaked him, his erection pressed against her collarbone.
Giving in to what she wanted to do felt like falling. Her own arousal pulsed as she pulled the towel from his waist and took him in both hands. As she touched him, he sucked in a breath. The long, heavy muscles of his thighs were taut and hard as steel.
The skin covering his penis felt silken. He was thick, the sensitive head broad, while veins traced the sides. His sac had pulled tight underneath. With one hand, she cupped his testicles, massaging gently as she rubbed his cock against her cheek.
She knew his body like an old, treasured companion. Verbally, they might have fought and caused each other pain, but physically, he had never given her anything but pleasure. She remembered and welcomed every detail about him, his clean, masculine scent, the warmth that radiated from him, the touch of his hands on her skin. Vampyres were supposed to run cooler than other races, but she had never found him cold.
She made a hungry, eager sound, parted her lips and took the tip of his cock in her mouth. Belatedly her mind caught up with what she had done.
Um, maybe she should have asked first. If somebody had grabbed her crotch and helped himself without so much as checking in with the rest of her, you can bet your ass she would react with a strategically aimed knee to the privates.
Just because he had an erection didn’t mean he was willing or prepared to act on it. People were complicated. Bodies were complicated. God only knew, it was tough enough to try to balance what was in the head versus what was in the heart, let alone trying to figure out how to meet the rest of a body’s needs as well.
