Do it, she urged him.
He reached down between their bodies, sought the source of her pleasure.
An orgasm ripped through her, wringing a cry from her lips as her muscles tightened and her body clenched around his cock.
Pain followed as his fangs pierced her neck.
Krysta’s hands clenched, her nails digging into his flesh.
I’m sorry, he thought.
She forced herself to loosen her hold and tried to relax into it. It’s okay.
He continued to move inside her with slow thrusts. His fingers went to work once more, stroking her clit and sending sparks of renewed pleasure dancing through her.
Her breath caught.
Yeah. That helped.
He thrust harder, squeezed her breast.
That helped a lot.
She felt him smile against her.
The pain continued. But he fed the pleasure, building it until she was once more thrusting and straining against him.
Another orgasm swept through her.
Cold began to seep in. As did weariness.
As darkness closed in, she thought she heard him say, I love you.
Krysta woke to the feeling of being watched. Frowning, she opened her eyes, then jumped when she found Étienne lying inches away, staring at her intently.
“Don’t do that!” she said, heart racing. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It took you longer to regain consciousness than I expected and I was worried.”
“Oh.”
She lay there for a moment, taking stock of things. “I don’t feel any different.”
Smiling, he brushed her hair, still damp from their shower, back from her face. “You will.”
He wasn’t kidding. Within hours she felt like she had a really bad case of the flu. Nausea. Vomiting. (Étienne was a little miffed when she wouldn’t let him hold her hair for her, but she did not want him to watch her puke. Gross.) Fever. The worst headache she had ever had in her life.
For someone who hadn’t been sick himself in over two centuries, Étienne was surprisingly helpful. He brought her hand-squeezed orange juice mixed with club soda to settle her stomach. Crackers and salty pita chips, too. He kept her supplied with ice packs for her head and a wide selection of DVDs to keep her entertained while the virus raged through her.
He told her stories of his youth. Stories of his immortality.
He even admitted that he and his twin had once wagered over which one of them could go the longest without sex.
“No sex at all?” she asked, fever making it feel like flames were pouring from her eyes.
He nodded. “No sex. No pleasuring oneself. Nothing but cold showers. It was the longest thirty-two years of my life.”
“Thirty-two years!”
He nodded, his smile wry.
“Who won?”
“Neither. It was a draw. Lisette found out why we had been so pissy, as she put it, and told us to cut the crap and get laid or she’d tell Seth it was distracting us when we hunted.”#p#分页标题#e#
She smiled. “What would Seth have done?”
He laughed. “Honestly, I have no idea.”
The room began to spin. Her stomach turned over.
She closed her eyes and hoped it would calm. The whole vomiting thing was getting old.
“Krysta.”
Had Étienne just said her name? She tried to pry her eyelids open, but couldn’t.
Krysta, darling, please wake up.
Wake up? She wasn’t asleep. She had just closed her eyes for a second.
Cold needles pricked her skin. Pain pierced her. Everywhere.
Screaming, Krysta finally managed to open her eyes and found herself in a bathtub full of ice and water with Étienne at her back.
Étienne ignored the cold stinging his skin and locked his arms around Krysta, holding her tight as she fought to get out of the tub.
Melanie and David emptied more bags of ice into the water.
Tears threatened as Étienne subdued Krysta. Tears of relief. He had thought he had lost her. He had been talking to her, telling her about that stupid bet, and she had lost consciousness.
There had been no dreams or thought. Her breathing had become shallow.
David had sensed his panic and come to check on her. Melanie had followed. The alarm that had crossed her face when she had taken Krysta’s temperature had scared the hell out of him.
Krysta’s struggles slowed. Her breath came in pained pants.
Étienne could regulate his body temperature enough to warm her, but that would defeat the purpose. I’m sorry.
She didn’t think an answer to him. Étienne wasn’t even sure she was lucid.
Then one of her hands—shaking violently—rose, clasped one of the arms he had clamped around her, and gave it a light squeeze.
Eyes burning, he dipped his head and buried his face in her hair.
“Could I just say again that this is awesome?” Krysta asked as they strolled, hand in hand, through UNC’s campus in Chapel Hill.