Yvette's Haven
Page 31
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Yvette’s hands divested him of the remainder of his shredded shirt, fully exposing his chest to her view. Her eyes showed the hunger she tried to keep leashed, but Haven saw it nevertheless. What if she fell into bloodlust now that she’d tasted his blood? Was it the same way it was for an alcoholic, who once he’d tasted alcohol again couldn’t stop himself? Was that what would happen to her?
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Wesley shift and adjust the hold on his stake. He briefly wondered where he’d gotten it from since Haven’s own stake was still in his jacket pocket, and his jacket was nowhere to be seen.
Yvette’s hands felt surprisingly warm as she took his hand and lifted it from where he was still pressing it against his wound. He’d always thought that vampires would be cold, being the heartless creatures they were. He’d fought plenty of them in hand-to-hand combat, but had never really noticed their body temperature. There’d never been the time during the fight to really register what they felt like. And he’d never wanted to anyway.
But now Haven had all the time in the world to feel and sense what a vampire’s hands were like. And why shouldn’t he? The more he learned about these creatures, the better he could fight them in the future. Because nothing would change. Just because he was thrown together with a vampire and had to work with her to get out of the predicament he and his brother were in, didn’t mean he’d suddenly become friends with one of their kind. At the very least, hell would have to freeze over first.
“What did she use?” Yvette asked and stroked her fingers along the gashes as if mapping them.
“A whip.” It took all his restraint not to moan out the answer. Pressing his jaw tightly together, he tried to ignore the effect her warm fingers had on his body. Like a sensual caress, she explored his injuries.
“They’re deep.”
Yvette bent over his stomach and lowered her head to his wounds. Her tongue flicked against his flesh, spreading the same tingling sensation as before. With long, sure strokes, she licked along his damaged skin, lapping up the blood as she went. Haven’s head dropped back. He was unable to watch, not because it disgusted him, but because her actions got him hotter than a lap dance. With every lick of her tongue, he grew harder. He could only hope that neither his brother nor Yvette noticed how his cock expanded beneath his black pants and strained against the zipper, threatening to destroy the last piece of his rented tuxedo and any remaining hope for his deposit.
Haven closed his eyes, not wanting to be exposed to the embarrassment that would follow if either of them discovered his arousal. His brother’s lack of discretion would make the situation uncomfortable at the very least.
“Are you okay?” Wesley asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I’m fine.” Fine? Who was he kidding? He was about two steps away from paradise.
While Yvette’s mouth kept licking his wounds, her hand slipped to his side as if trying to hold onto something. Her fingers dug into him, and by the intensity with which she gripped him, he suspected she was unaware of her own actions.
Haven let out a ragged breath. How long was she going to torture him like this? Did she even know what kind of effect she had on him? Was this her way of paying him back for kidnapping her?
When she suddenly lifted her head, cold air wafted against his wounds.
“It’s not working,” Yvette said.
Haven’s eyes flew open.
“Why?” Wesley hissed. “Are you just sucking him dry? Is this all a trick?”
Yvette ignored Wes’ snide remark and instead looked at Haven. “The wounds are too deep and too large. We need to try something else.”
Wesley lifted the stake as if to strike.
“No, Wes!” Haven yelled. He couldn’t let his brother hurt her. When Wesley lowered the stake again, Haven let out a relieved breath. Then he looked at Yvette. “Was it a trick to get my blood?”
She graced him with an indignant glare, then shook her head. “As I said—”
“Too deep, yeah, I heard you. What now?”
“I can get the wounds to close from the inside,” she hedged, darting a cautious look from him to Wesley.
Suspicion rose in him. “How?”
“You have to drink my blood.”
For an instant, Haven was unable to speak. His vocal cords constricted.
“Hell, no!” Wesley protested. “You fucking bitch—you’re trying to turn him into one of you.”
He raised his stake and lunged for her, but Yvette had already jumped up. She dove in the other direction, out of his reach.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Wesley shift and adjust the hold on his stake. He briefly wondered where he’d gotten it from since Haven’s own stake was still in his jacket pocket, and his jacket was nowhere to be seen.
Yvette’s hands felt surprisingly warm as she took his hand and lifted it from where he was still pressing it against his wound. He’d always thought that vampires would be cold, being the heartless creatures they were. He’d fought plenty of them in hand-to-hand combat, but had never really noticed their body temperature. There’d never been the time during the fight to really register what they felt like. And he’d never wanted to anyway.
But now Haven had all the time in the world to feel and sense what a vampire’s hands were like. And why shouldn’t he? The more he learned about these creatures, the better he could fight them in the future. Because nothing would change. Just because he was thrown together with a vampire and had to work with her to get out of the predicament he and his brother were in, didn’t mean he’d suddenly become friends with one of their kind. At the very least, hell would have to freeze over first.
“What did she use?” Yvette asked and stroked her fingers along the gashes as if mapping them.
“A whip.” It took all his restraint not to moan out the answer. Pressing his jaw tightly together, he tried to ignore the effect her warm fingers had on his body. Like a sensual caress, she explored his injuries.
“They’re deep.”
Yvette bent over his stomach and lowered her head to his wounds. Her tongue flicked against his flesh, spreading the same tingling sensation as before. With long, sure strokes, she licked along his damaged skin, lapping up the blood as she went. Haven’s head dropped back. He was unable to watch, not because it disgusted him, but because her actions got him hotter than a lap dance. With every lick of her tongue, he grew harder. He could only hope that neither his brother nor Yvette noticed how his cock expanded beneath his black pants and strained against the zipper, threatening to destroy the last piece of his rented tuxedo and any remaining hope for his deposit.
Haven closed his eyes, not wanting to be exposed to the embarrassment that would follow if either of them discovered his arousal. His brother’s lack of discretion would make the situation uncomfortable at the very least.
“Are you okay?” Wesley asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I’m fine.” Fine? Who was he kidding? He was about two steps away from paradise.
While Yvette’s mouth kept licking his wounds, her hand slipped to his side as if trying to hold onto something. Her fingers dug into him, and by the intensity with which she gripped him, he suspected she was unaware of her own actions.
Haven let out a ragged breath. How long was she going to torture him like this? Did she even know what kind of effect she had on him? Was this her way of paying him back for kidnapping her?
When she suddenly lifted her head, cold air wafted against his wounds.
“It’s not working,” Yvette said.
Haven’s eyes flew open.
“Why?” Wesley hissed. “Are you just sucking him dry? Is this all a trick?”
Yvette ignored Wes’ snide remark and instead looked at Haven. “The wounds are too deep and too large. We need to try something else.”
Wesley lifted the stake as if to strike.
“No, Wes!” Haven yelled. He couldn’t let his brother hurt her. When Wesley lowered the stake again, Haven let out a relieved breath. Then he looked at Yvette. “Was it a trick to get my blood?”
She graced him with an indignant glare, then shook her head. “As I said—”
“Too deep, yeah, I heard you. What now?”
“I can get the wounds to close from the inside,” she hedged, darting a cautious look from him to Wesley.
Suspicion rose in him. “How?”
“You have to drink my blood.”
For an instant, Haven was unable to speak. His vocal cords constricted.
“Hell, no!” Wesley protested. “You fucking bitch—you’re trying to turn him into one of you.”
He raised his stake and lunged for her, but Yvette had already jumped up. She dove in the other direction, out of his reach.
