He wanted her like crazy.
Except suddenly he could go no further.
It was as if the fantasy jammed up, the tape breaking, the DVD scratched, the digital file corrupted. And all he had left was his attraction and this wrenching, on-the-brink ecstasy that was going to drive him insane--
Xhex reached up to his face and cupped it, and with the gentle contact, she abruptly commanded all of him, his head and his body and his soul: She owned him and everything he was from his eyes to his thighs. He was hers.
"Come to me," she said, tilting her head to the side.
Tears turned his vision wavy. Finally, they were going to kiss. Finally, what she had denied him was going to happen--
When he leaned down . . . she guided his mouth back to her nipple.
He felt a momentary sting of rejection, but then this weird elation hit him. The deflection was so true to her, he figured that maybe it wasn't a dream. Maybe this was actually happening. Pushing aside his sadness, he concentrated on what she was willing to give him.
"Mark me," she said in a deep voice.
Baring his fangs, he ran one sharp white tip around her areola, circling, stroking. He wanted to ask her if she was sure, but she answered that question herself. In a quick move, she jacked off the mattress and held his head down to her skin so that he struck her and a sliver of blood was drawn.
John jerked back, afraid he'd hurt her . . . but he hadn't, and as she arched in an erotic wave, the glistening wellspring of her life made him orgasm.
"Take from me," she commanded as his cock jerked and hot pulses poured out over her thighs. "Do it, John. Now."
She didn't have to ask him twice. He was captivated by the bead of deep red that bloomed up, and with slow grace eased down the pale side of her breast. Leading with his tongue, he caught the trail and swept it back home with a flick that ended with her nipple--
His whole body shimmered at the taste of her, another release shuddering out of him and marking her skin as he fell into the throes of another release. Xhex's blood was bold and heady in his mouth, an addiction fully formed on the first try, a destination he didn't want to ever leave now that he was there. As he savored what he'd taken, he thought he heard her laugh in satisfaction, but then he was lost to what she gave him.
His tongue dragged over both her nipple and the cut and then his lips formed a seal and he suckled on her, taking her dark flavor down his throat and into his gut. The communion with her was all he'd ever wanted, and now that he was feeding from her, joy overtook him along with the nuclear energy that came to him from her blood.
Wanting to give her something back, he shifted his arm down so that his hand swept over her hip and between her thighs. Tracing the taut muscles he found her core. . . . Oh, God, she was slippery smooth and hella hot, ready and aching to receive him. And although he didn't know a shitload about female anatomy, he let her moans and thrashes tell him where his fingers should go and what they should be doing.
It didn't take long before what he was touching her with was as wet as what he was stroking and it was then that he slid his middle finger in deep. Using his thumb, he massaged the top of her and found a rhythm to match the pulls he was making at her breast.
He was bringing her to the edge, taking her with him, giving back as much as he was getting, when he knew he needed more. He wanted to be in her when she came. Then he would be completed in some ethereal way, made whole inside his skin.
It was a bonded male's drive and necessity. What he had to have in order to feel at peace.
Lifting his lips from her breast, he dragged his hand from her sex and repositioned himself so that his glossy cock was poised over her open legs. Meeting her eyes in the incendiary moment, he brushed the short hair around her face. Slowly, he dropped his mouth downward--
"No," she said. "That's not what this is about."
John Matthew shot upright, the fantasy of the dream shattered, his chest banding in frigid cords of pain.
With disgust, he let go of his arousal--not that he was hard anymore. His cock had positively shriveled up, in spite of the orgasm that had been on its way out of the thing's head.
That's not what this is about.
Unlike the dream, which had been a total hypothetical, those words were ones she'd actually said to him--and in precisely that sexual context.
As he looked down at his naked body, the releases he'd had, the ones he'd imagined he'd had on her, were all over his belly and the sheets.
Why the hell did that spell out alone like nothing else could.
Glancing at the clock, he saw he'd slept through his alarm. Or more likely he hadn't bothered to set it. One bene to insomnia was that you didn't need to recharge your phone from all the snooze buttons you hit.
In the shower, he washed himself quickly and started with his cock. He hated what he'd done in that odd half-asleep zone. It felt totally wrong to jerk off, considering the situation, and from now on, he was going to sleep in his jeans if he had to.