Nibbled by the Vamp(4)

Wren really hoped he hadn’t been a delusion, too. That would suck.

Pulling at her eyelids, she forced her eyes open, the feeling of sand grating over the sensitive tissues bringing tears forward. Rolling her head to the side, she looked for the clock that sat on her bedside table, only to find it…gone. Of course, her bedside table wasn’t there, either. It’d been replaced by some gold-gilded, frou-frou furniture that looked like it belonged in Buckingham Palace. Last time she’d checked, she lived in a tiny studio apartment with second-hand furniture.

Another shift of muscles and she was looking to her right. Huh. There was a matching table there.

Lovely.

Groaning, she rose to her elbow, skin pulling and stretching, as if she no longer fit inside herself. A glance around the room reveled that Dorothy was not in Kansas and Wren had truly jumped off the deep end. Plus, she was naked beneath the thin sheet that covered her.

The soft click of the door drew her attention and she watched as her super-hunk came through the portal, a tray of what she assumed was food balancing on one hand. A wide smile graced his features and her heart tripped, beat thumping in an uneven rhythm.

He was more beautiful than she’d imagined. His shoulders were wide, nearly as wide as the doorway, and his added height made him intimidating. Yet she sensed a hidden kindness in him. His eyes didn’t glow as she’d thought, but were an ice-like blue. She had no doubt that his stare could shift from tender to fierce in an instant, melting or freezing his target between one blink and the next. His lips were just as tempting as she recalled.

Wren’s naughty bits responded to his presence, body growing slick, lower lips heavy and aching with desire for this man.

She really wanted to stick with this delusion for a while. Otherwise, in real life, she was just some post-attack chick who was suddenly hot for a stranger. And wasn’t that just fucked?

“You’re awake. Good.” His voice rolled over her, imbued her with a sense of calm and safety, cradling her in his warmth just as before.

He strode toward her and laid the tray on the nearby table before settling on the bed beside her. His scent surrounded her and she inhaled deeply, savoring the hints of musk and something more that seemed to permeate the air. It called to her, beckoned her to come closer and roll in his flavors.

This wasn’t her. Well, it was her, just not her-her. Her body ached, not from pain any longer, but pure attraction and need. Her pussy clenched, nipples hardening and suddenly she had a singular thought.

Him. In her. Now. Was that three thoughts?

Wren licked her lips and watched his as his gaze followed the movement of her tongue.

“I am.” She purred. And Wren was not a purr-er by nature. Ever. Not once. Well, not before him, anyway.

Weird.

He reached out and brushed away a strand of hair before tracing the shape of her face. A single, cool finger slid over her skin, along her cheek to her chin and then stroked her lower lip. She flicked her tongue out and lapped at the digit, the coolness of his skin the only thing that yanked her from her arousal’s control.

“You’re frozen.” She pulled away from his touch. It was summer, so it wasn’t like the guy had been out in the snow and suddenly stroked her with chilled hands. Nope, only one thing she knew of that had a seriously icy body temp.

“Are you…” What the hell did they call themselves again? Vamps? Blood suckers? Undead? Or were they never dead? Gah, she couldn’t ever keep up with all the politically correct terms for Others.

“A vampire? Yes.” His smiled turned to a smirk. “Unless you know of something else that could have saved you from the pixies.” He reached up and traced her collarbone.

“Pixies?” A shudder traveled through her, starting at her toes, pausing at her pussy and then on to her head, stopping at her nipples for an invisible tweak. His cool touch sent a spear of desire strait to her core as if it were his fingers playing between her thighs, stroking her inner walls. “P-pixies aren’t real… There are shifters and there are vamps. That’s it.”

This man, this stranger, leaned forward, brought his lips close until barely a hair’s breadth separated them. “No? If I am real sweet Wren, why wouldn’t there be others?”

She whimpered, his scent surrounding her, taunting her with what could be. She didn’t know what controlled her, what imaginary sex demon had taken over her body, but she wanted him. She craved his possession like her next breath and would do anything to have him buried deep in her pussy.

Again, wasn’t that fucked?

Wren kept her gaze focused on him, on his pale blue eyes, and watched as they darkened beneath her scrutiny. He breathed into her, around her, and she inhaled his essence with every rise of her chest.