Scarlet Heat(25)

I pulled my hand out of his and took a step back.

“Uh, thanks. I need to—I should go get my clothes.”

“You do that. Just leave them outside the door and I’ll take care of them.” He gave me a slow smile that made my insides feel like they were melting. “Be sure you go around the other way, away from the kitchen.”

“Of course.” I nodded at him with as much dignity as I could muster and then walked quickly away.

It wasn’t until I was locked safely in the master bathroom that I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally alone, and I knew what I had to do. My hand crept under the hem of the t-shirt. Cupping my swollen pussy, I rubbed gently but firmly against my aching clit.

I came almost at once, biting my lip to keep back the moan that wanted to escape me. It felt good—incredible—but it wasn’t enough. Sliding down so that I was sitting with my back to the bathroom door, I did it again. And then again and again until I was coming almost continuously. It was like my clit was on a hair-trigger—every time I touched myself I had another orgasm.

But it didn’t help. No matter how many times I made myself come—and believe me, I lost count after seventeen—it didn’t help. I just kept wanting more and more but more of what? Why wasn’t my desire fading away? Why was it growing every time I touched myself? And why couldn’t I stop thinking about Victor, about letting him touch me, take me in ways I swore I would never want again? I kept thinking I could smell him, that his warm leather and fur scent was just on the other side of the door, making me even more sensitive, more needy. But that was crazy, wasn’t it?

I wasn’t so sure any more.

God, what was happening to me and how could I make it stop?





Chapter Seven—Victor





What the hell do women do in the bathroom for hours and hours on end? I paced silently in front of the bathroom door, wondering if I should knock or say something. After the glam-kiss we’d shared and feeling her pressed against me in that thin t-shirt with nothing else on, my cock was rock hard. I really needed to get in for a minute and take care of business.

But it didn’t look like I was going to get to do that any time soon. Taylor had disappeared into the one finished and functioning bathroom in the house and now she had been in there for over an hour. I mean, she was a vampire for God’s sake. They don’t even have to use the facilities the way the rest of us mere mortals do. So what the hell was she doing in there?

A soft moan on the other side of the door gave me what might have been an answer. But no, surely she wasn’t doing that? I leaned closer and inhaled, trying to get a whiff of scent from under the door.

Taylor must have shifted at the same time because I heard the door creak slightly and then the warm, feminine fragrance of sex gusted out at me. The scent hit me in the face like a knock-out punch—I literally staggered backward a step before I caught my balance.

They say most males are visually motivated—that is, we’d rather watch porn than read a smutty romance novel like women do to get turned on. But with weres, it’s a whole other sense that rules us—the sense of smell. Catching a whiff of Taylor’s hot little pussy and hearing that soft moan from the other side of the door was like walking into a nudie bar where all the lap dances were free for any other guy.

That was it—I couldn’t stand it a second longer. I had wanted to wait for privacy but I literally couldn’t anymore. My cock was aching with need and the brand on my lower back was burning. I had to ease some of the tension I was feeling or the curse I bore would come down on me like a ton of bricks. Dealing with that on top of everything else was the last thing I needed.

I ripped down my sweats, fisted myself, and came on the third stroke. I usually last a lot longer than that but I felt like I’d been hard off and on for a solid twenty-four hours by now. Taylor was really getting under my skin.

I sighed in relief when it was over but then I heard her again, a soft little moaning sound from the other side of the door, almost as though she was so turned on she was in pain. I frowned—I had heard that sound before. The sound of a female who can’t help herself, who needs her mate.

She’s a vamp, not a wolf, I reminded myself, even as I rose to attention a second time. It’s not that way with her, it can’t be.

But the soft sounds and the unmistakable aroma coming from under the door made me doubt my own certainty. I had a moment of sympathy. Poor kid—she probably didn’t know what the hell was going on. I thought about knocking on the door, maybe trying to explain. But how in the hell was I supposed to do that without sounding like an opportunistic bastard?