Home > Sex and the Single Vamp(11)

Sex and the Single Vamp(11)
Author: Robin Covington

She was in his lair.

The discharge from the hospital had been efficient and mostly silent as Deacon bundled her up and whisked her out the back of the building and into his black Suburban. She was still pissed over his bullying her into staying with him. She could get over it—or not. He preferred the pissed Cici over the scared Cici he’d found in that corridor tonight. If being mad at him kept her fighting, then he’d willingly be her punching bag.

Not talking, she’d gazed out his tinted windows and he’d watched her as DC slowly woke up in the early-morning hours. The streets were mostly empty as they made their way to his office building, into the secure parking garage underneath, into the elevator, and up to the floor that contained the offices of Aura Mortis Security.

In spite of her protest, he picked her up and carried her as the doors slid open. She was still limping from the pain and he had no patience to pretend and soothe her ruffled feathers. She went still in his arms as they bypassed the double doors to the office and continued to another door farther down the hallway. It was a heavy gray metal block that shone in the dim light of the sconces on the wall. Inside was his space. His refuge. He’d dreamed of having her there with him, but now he hesitated. Maybe she wouldn’t like it, and for some reason her acceptance of his domain was important.

It was him. Every item in it handpicked to reflect his tastes, his needs.

He keyed in his pass code and the door slid open. Everything was on a large scale—the furniture, the artwork, the space itself. The big-ass security panel next to the door that would keep others on the outside and Cici on the inside.

She stiffened in his arms when the door slid shut behind them. Too tired to hide her mood swings, he assumed she was alternately worried, panicked, and afraid but right now the overwhelming emotion emanating from her was fury. She was angry. White-hot balls of pissed off flashed in her eyes.

It had been a long damn night.

He slowly lowered her to the ground, hungrily taking in her reaction as she took a long look around.

“Follow me,” Deacon said, his voice low and dark in the silence of the apartment. When she hesitated, he blew out a long breath. “Please.”

She followed him, curiosity or fatigue compelling her forward. Either one was a possibility. She probably just wanted a bed where she could collapse for the next three days. She wouldn’t be happy to find out the only bed was his. You didn’t need a guest room when you discouraged guests. He had no family who would stay for the holiday, and if his friends needed to crash, the couch was good enough.

He took her to his bedroom. The large, looming monolith of a bed sat almost in the middle of the room and was covered in bedding the color of dark chocolate. Behind it, the DC skyline shone stark and lovely against the pinking sky of dawn. He couldn’t stop the vision that flashed in his mind: Cici spread out on that bed, open to him, clasping him inside her as they ignored the world roiling below. And now he knew the little sounds of pleasure she made in the back of her throat when he touched her.

After what he’d spilled tonight, the dream of her in his bed, under him, over him was never going to happen again. He’d admitted to killing the man she loved enough to agree to marry, even if Daniel had been a monster. Murder of the rival was usually a huge sex buzzkill. Dead, bigoted a**hole: 1; Deacon: 0.

And then he’d told her to close the doors of Your Other Half, her baby. Her passion. It hadn’t been fun to take that from her, but he had been serious when he’d told her he didn’t care about her business. Cici alive was all that mattered.

She still didn’t know the big lie lurking in the corner. She didn’t know he was her Maker. When she found out, he’d be lucky if she didn’t kill him.

Deacon walked through the room, turning on lights, which illuminated the master bathroom. Glass tilework in a variety of bronze, dark brown, and cream covered the walls of a large dual-head shower and blended in with the decorator’s idea of perfection with the high-end fixtures and cabinets. He headed straight for the bathtub—a huge slab of stone carved into a tub with jets positioned around the perimeter—turned on the water, and fished around in a basket placed on the edge.

“What are you doing?” Cici asked, her voice tight.

“Running you a bath. I figured you’d want to soak.” He held out two bottles of bath salts for her to view. “I don’t know which one to put in. Marguerite bought these for me when I called her earlier.”

“Who’s Marguerite?” Cici pointed to one of the bottles, but she didn’t come any closer. Still skittish. Still mad. Good, it was probably best if they gave each other lots of space tonight. Too many thoughts clashing in his mind. The past. The present. Murder. Lust.

“She takes care of things at the office and here.” He poured the contents of the bottle into the churning, steamy water, the scent of something spicy but sweet rising into the air. “I’m not great with the everyday living details thing.”

He let the silence fall between them as the tub filled, turning off the water when it hit the right level. He stood; his skin itched for him to get the hell out of there. He needed space. He needed to get some control over his emotions, his body.

“Water’s ready. Towels over in that basket. Stay as long as you want—the heater will maintain the temperature.”

Cici brushed past him, his body tingling where she touched him. He was hyper aware of her movements behind him, jerking slightly at the thump her high heels made when they hit the tile floor, groaning with the hiss of her minidress slithering over her skin and sliding to the floor. The swish of water as she climbed in; her sigh as she settled under the tumbling warmth.

Fuck, he should leave. Where was that space he was thinking about earlier? He needed to get there. Now.

“Come here.”

He froze. His body tensed as he willed it not to move. This was a bad idea.

“Deacon.”

He turned, her blue gaze clashing with his as steam rose around her, flushing her skin and making her auburn hair twist into curls that dragged and clung to her damp skin. He wanted to follow their path, licking and tasting, making her burn.

“Come here.”

He groaned. This was the time to leave. She’d want to talk and he couldn’t be trusted to keep the secrets he needed to keep for just a little while longer. One wrong slip to Cici and she’d bolt, vulnerable and too angry at him to pay attention to the danger.

“I’m…I can’t…too jacked up. My nerves are shot.”

“Your nerves are shot?” She huffed out a bitter laugh as she leaned back against the tub, eyes closed, the pale globes of her br**sts breaking the surface of the water and putting her hard, pink ni**les on display. “I almost got killed tonight and I need you here with me. Calm the beast and get your ass in here.”

Whoa. His c*ck hardened even more in the painful confines of his jeans. She was pissed and his sick, depraved mind got off on it. A new kink in his extensive arsenal. “Look at you. You’re a goddess. Everything about you says don’t f**k with me.”

Her eyes opened, snapping to lock with his own. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.” And he wasn’t. She was vibrating with rage and he was afraid. Afraid that her demon would reach out and grab his and he wasn’t sure he could contain the chemical reaction. He swallowed hard, loving the small burst of pain that brought him down a little. “I’m not okay tonight, Cici. I’ll hurt you.”

“Tough shit. Get the beast under control.”

“But—”

“You won’t.”

She looked at him then and he could have resisted her if she’d been a demanding shrew, but the goddam vulnerability in her eyes killed him. On the surface she was a goddess. The huntress. Diana on a rampage, but her eyes gave it away. Not far below the surface was her shimmering, open, hurting core and he had to give in to that.

His guilt, his fear, his rage would have to wait.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Don’t punish me for this later.” He reached over his head, grabbing his shirt and yanking it off and throwing it on the floor. Within a matter of seconds his jeans and boots had joined it and he was na**d, his c*ck jutting out from his body in full arousal.

Cici drank him in, her gaze following every line of his body from the top of his head to his feet and then resettled on his groin with a flash of blue around her pupils. Deacon groaned, wrapping his hand around his dick and stroking from root to tip as she watched him, turning him on more with that look than anyone’s touch had ever done.

“Get in,” she said, her voice huskier with desire.

They were both in no shape to say and do what they were going to do, but he was powerless to stop it. They’d been on this path for a couple hundred years, and now that they’d crossed over the line there was no going back.

Deacon slid in behind her, water sloshing over the sides and sluicing across the floor. He leaned back against the side of the tub, groaning when Cici positioned herself between his legs, the crevice of her hot little ass cradling his dick, causing it to throb and pulse against her skin. Cici gave a little gasp and settled in closer, wiggling to torture him.

“Sorry, it’s nature. Hot woman with an amazing ass rubbing all over me. My dick has a mind of its own.”

Silence settled around them and he wondered if she was going to let this all go for tonight. He wasn’t a coward, but they had lots of time to rehash the past and let it ruin the present. They didn’t need to burn it all down tonight.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice almost lost in the churning sound of the water.

“Don’t be. You’re a goddess, a warrior.”

“Give me a break. I’m the first one to admit when I’m in over my head.”

“Okay then. Don’t sweat it. I’m smarter now. I’ve got it and they won’t get near you again.”

She nestled in closer, her cheek pressed against biceps. “These people hold a long grudge.”

And there it was, yawning before him. The precipice of the heart-to-heart that would bring to light shit that should have stayed buried in the past. She was quiet, lying against his chest, so long he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

“When were you going to tell me about Daniel?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He murmured against her hair, his hands spreading over the silky soft skin of her belly.

She flipped so quickly her body was a blur until she settled against him, straddling his body and face-to-face. Her expression was equal parts angry and desperately hungry.

“Strike one. You told me I wasn’t a coward or a liar. Neither are you.”

He swallowed hard, knowing she had him dead to rights. He could not look her in the eyes and lie, not after a night like tonight. Not with the consequences of their beginning coming to dangerous roost in the present.

“How was I supposed to tell you I killed the man you loved?”

Cici stared at him, her eyes huge, pupils blown, and the barest sliver of blue fire circling them. Normally a man to keep his tongue, he found himself talking to break the aching silence.

“When was I supposed to tell you? I didn’t see you for years afterward. I couldn’t tell you on a mission. It was too dangerous when we needed to have each other’s backs.” His hands moved of their own volition to cup her face, but he pulled back at the last moment. “Was I supposed to show up when you were happy with your human and drop that bomb?”

She continued to stare at him and his anger rose again. He’d told her that he was in no state of mind for this.

“I was f**ked no matter how you cut it,” he growled.

Cici lunged forward, her hands weaving through the length of his hair, holding him in place for a bruising kiss. Their fangs clashed as he opened to her demand, letting her take the lead to thrust her tongue inside his mouth and claim the darkest recesses. He gripped her h*ps using pressure to guide the bump-and-grind of their bodies under the water as his body responded to her assault.

Cici pulled back, giving his hair a painful yank as she forced his head back to look at her. “I didn’t love Daniel.”

“You chose him.” Deacon bared his teeth, the beast frustrated by the end of the pleasure and the man confused by her words.

“Only because I heard you with my father.”

“What the f**k are you talking about?”

“You talked about regret and obligation.” She blinked, clearly pushing down her emotion. “You only offered because of what had happened at the party. The kiss.”

Old hurt morphed her expression into one that was sadder, wiser in the worst ways.

“Oh hell.” He lifted his hands, cupping her face as he found the words to explain to her what she’d heard, what she’d clearly misunderstood, things they might have cleared up if war hadn’t been barreling down on them. If they’d had time.

“Cici, the only regret I had was not telling you what I was before I seduced you.” He recalled the night of the party when he’d drawn her into an alcove and given in to his lust. He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. “I took your first kiss.” Deacon trailed a hand down, gliding the backs of his fingers over the curve of her breast, the hardened nipple. “The first touch of your breast, the first of your sighs. They were not mine to take and I knew that I’d f**ked over any chance you had with a normal man. I was worried I’d dragged you into this existence without your fully understanding it, because I wanted you more than I had a right.”

“You wanted me?

How could she not know this? And if she had carried around this twisted perspective on those events all this time, what had she thought of their encounters over the years?

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