“I love you,” I cried as he spun me around, his mouth muffling the words. I wrapped my legs around him when he hoisted me up, clutching his shoulders as his hips flexed with short, forceful thrusts, the muscles in his neck and shoulders as tight as steel. He growled deep in his chest, a primitive, earthy noise that pushed me over the edge. My muscles rippled around him as he gave in to his own climax, an echoed sense of wonderment filling my mind as he stood, legs braced apart, the water lapping at his hips, both our bodies trembling with delightful little aftershocks.
I gave his lower lip one last fond little nibble, then released it and looked down at him, my mind still swimming with our combined emotions.
He was flushed, his eyes glittering with heat hotter than any fire, and on the edges of his adorable lips was the beginning of a smile. No, not a smile, a smirk. Wholly male, utterly arrogant, and completely knowing.
“All right,” I admitted as I let my legs drop, aware that he could feel how the muscles in them trembled. “You win. I’m going to walk funny. But I’d like to point out that you did a fair bit of exploding, too.”
“Agreed. Where did you learn to do that?”
“Do what?” I asked, wondering if he thought Americans went to school to learn lovemaking techniques.
“When you gripped me like a vise.”
I took one step, stumbled, and glared when he snickered. The only thing that saved him from another faceful of mud was the fact that he scooped me up and carried me to the lounge.
“That, Boo, is the result of years of Kegeling. My mother told me to start young so that when I was an old lady I wouldn’t have to wear bladder pants like my granny.”
“That may be the result of years of intimate exercise, but you haven’t been quite so vigorous in the past.”
I grinned over the towel I was using to dry myself off. “Just so I know-are we thumbs-up or thumbs-down on the Kegel vigor?”
“Thumbs-up. Definitely thumbs-up,” he said, looking down at himself ruefully. Even quiescent, he was still impressive. “Although if you keep it up, you won’t be the only one walking funny.”
An unexpected sense of peace and happiness filled our remaining hours at the spa.
“How did your parents meet?” I asked after I had recovered enough wits to kick-start my brain into functioning again. I lay draped across Kristoff as he lounged on a plush red curved sofa, clad in one of the spa’s thick bathrobes. Kristoff was clad only in me, a fact I much appreciated as I traced the lines of muscles in his chest and upper arm. He was still too skinny for my taste, but I was happy to notice he was filling out nicely with regular meals.
He opened one eye. His hands were lazily tracing shapes on the outside of one of my thighs, the touch casual, but so sweetly intimate it made my eyes burn for a moment. “My parents?”
“Yes. You know, the people who gave birth to you and raised you?”
An odd sense of withdrawal touched my mind. I stopped stroking the muscle of his biceps and looked up at him. Both his eyes were open now, looking at me with suspicion.
“Why do you want to know about my parents?”
“Why shouldn’t I want to know about them? We’re bound together for the rest of time, Kristoff. I’d like to know more about you, that’s all. Is there something about your parents you don’t want to talk about?”
He sensed me sensing his emotional withdrawal, and stopped, but there was a wary edge to him, as if he were walking on the blade of a razor. “I’ve told you about my mother. My father was a tanner. He died when I was very young.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been hard for your mom. Were there any kids other than you and Andreas?”
He shook his head, and once again I felt a spike of awareness inside him. He was watching me closely as he spoke. “No. He was born later than me.”
“I gathered you were older than him,” I said lightly, continuing to stroke his arm with long, soothing touches, but wondering all the while what it was about his parents that had him so keyed up. “How much older are you?”
“Twenty-two years.”
“Really? Wow. That’s quite a difference.” I was silent for a moment, very aware of his now still fingers on my leg. “You said you were born human. How did you come to be a vampire?”
“I was cursed to it.”
“Cursed? Someone can do that?”
“It takes a demon lord, but yes, you can make a Dark One.” His voice was suddenly flinty hard. “Why are you questioning me about this?”