The words cut deep into the near-broken heart in her chest. They were lovely words, yet so cruel because they could never be true. Why wouldn’t he stop tormenting her?
She turned around and went back into her room.
Alexander followed. “Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom.”
“To escape this conversation?”
“Fuck you.”
“You are acting like a balas, Sara,” he said as she shut the door.
She crumpled into a ball on the other side of the wood, hoping he would just go away and leave her alone tonight. Just tonight. Tomorrow she would be herself again: strong, quick, able to take on moody patients, irresponsible parents, and, yes, irresistible vampires with self-serving agendas.
But he didn’t. He stood outside the door. “Sara?”
She said nothing.
“What is it really?” he pressed, his tone gentle now as if he really wanted to know, wanted to help her know. “Are you afraid your life’s work will have no value? Is it that you will have no identity, no purpose if he’s cured?”
Her heart started to race and she scrambled over to the tub and turned on the shower.
“Is it that you can’t face him?” he said louder. “Face what you did if he truly gets well?”
“Shut up!” she roared, a sick strain of panic racing through her blood now. Fully clothed, she climbed into the shower and sat under the spray, desperate to drown out not just his not-so-bullshit analysis of her, but the questions they were bringing up in her mind. It was supposed to have been her. She was supposed to have fixed Gray, cured him, and brought him home to their mother. If she wasn’t the one to do it, what did that make her but a huge time-wasting failure? If she wasn’t the one who fixed him, how would she ever gain forgiveness for breaking him in the first place?
She heard the lock click open, the door creak back, and Alexander walk into the bathroom. The shower curtain ripped back, and he looked down at her, his body suddenly engulfed in steam.
“Jesus.” He stripped bare, then climbed in, knelt down in front of her. “Let me help him. Let me help you.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “You don’t want to help me—you want me to come back. It’s all that matters to you.”
Alexander cupped her face as water sluiced down her back. “Yes, that is what I want, what I must have. God help me, the need to have you near—the need to see you safe is excruciating and undeniable. But does it matter? The motivation?”
Tears, like droplets of blood, fell from her eyes and her words came out choked and pained. “I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
Her head dropped forward. “If I let you do this, I’m a failure. Don’t you see? You’ve brought him back. That wasn’t the deal . . . I broke him, I fix him.”
“Look at me,” he demanded. “Look at me, woman.”
Again, her eyes lifted to his impassioned gaze.
“You are no failure. You are this.” He touched her chest, her heart. “You beat with life and with love. You are brilliant, extraordinary, amazing, my captor and my friend. And make no mistake, you have kept Gray alive, as you kept me alive that morning on your door-step.” His voice dropped. “You need to stop punishing yourself.”
Sara’s lips trembled and she blinked, tears falling to her cheeks.
He shook his head. “I love you, Sara.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “What did you say?”
He ran his hands over her face, gently placed her wet hair behind her ears and leaned in, kissed first her top lip, then her bottom. “What I have never said to anyone, have never felt for anyone but my brothers. I love you, and as impossible is it may be, you belong to me as I belong to you.”
His mouth covered hers completely and for one brief moment Sara thought about resisting him, resisting her feelings, her need to touch and be touched by this paven who claimed to love her. But the moment died a quick death and Sara leaned in to the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck, her tongue slipping between his parted lips, telling him yes, yes—she was his and they belonged together, connected, fused.
Alexander groaned, and his hand went around her waist, his fingers gripping her wet clothes as overhead the shower rained down on them both. He made love to her mouth, his tongue stroking hers, his teeth nipping at her lips hungrily. He loved her. Even under the hot water and the sweet assault of his mouth, she shivered with the memory. Not a day would go by that she didn’t hear him say those words, not a night when she didn’t remember his eyes, tender and true, as he confessed what she already knew; there was an unbreakable, remarkable bond between them that was only broken by a hunger for blood.
Alexander pulled his mouth from hers and stood up, his eyes heavy-lidded and lust-filled as he lifted her out of the tub and placed her on the white bath-mat. With deft hands, he peeled the clothes from her body until she stood before him wet and naked, her expression filled with longing. She needed him inside her body, his weight on her, his eyes locked to hers as he moved in and out.
“You’re cold?” he asked, concerned.
She smiled softly, sadly up at him. “No. But I am lonely, empty.”
He gathered her up in his arms, gave her a kiss on the tip of her nose, then carried her out of the bathroom. The bedspread was pulled back and Alexander placed her down on the soft white sheets. For a moment, he stood there, looking down at her, his eyes fierce with longing, his cock standing up proud. Behind him, the glass door remained open and the November wind sent achingly soft snow into the room.
But Sara felt nothing but heat and need, and she reached for him. “Please, Alexander.”
“Yes, love.” He leaned down, his hands splayed on her ankles, up he raked to her knees, her inner thighs until he had her legs spread so wide her cunt wept for him. “You in me and me in you. For hours, forever.” He entered her with one hard thrust and stayed there, the head of his cock kissing her womb.
Closing her eyes to the delicious feeling of being impaled, marked, Sara moaned, “Oh God, yes. Stay there, right there.”
“Always,” he whispered against her mouth, pressing deeper inside of her. “Look at me, Sara.” His eyes blazed down into hers. “Your cunt is so hot, so wet, like a sweet fist, tempting me to move.”
His words made her skin tremble, and she squeezed the muscles around his erection until he groaned. “The perfect fit,” he uttered, tucking a hand under her ass and pressing her even closer, his cock thrusting impossibly deeper. Breathless, completely filled by him, Sara wrapped her legs around his waist and again squeezed the muscles that surrounded him.
Alexander grinned down at her, growled sensually, “Keep doing that and I’ll come.”
She smiled back. “Promise?”
He leaned down and nibbled at her lower lip. “Yes, and again I will be struck by my hunger for you.” He started to move then, slowly at first as he kissed her softly, tenderly.
As he pumped inside of her, Sara let her hands explore him—his legs, his buttocks, so taut with muscle. Then up to his lean waist and rock-solid back, the skin straining to contain the sinew and bone—then over his shoulders, so terrifyingly massive, and his neck, his face. With gentle fingers, she traced the brands on his cheeks, then lifted her head and lapped at one with her tongue.
Oh God, the taste of him. Honey and passion fruit . . .
Alexander hissed and she felt his body go rigid, felt his cock grow even harder, stretching her. Grinning, she turned her head and traced the brand on his other cheek with her tongue.
How did he taste so sweet? She could get drunk off his skin, his . . . blood . . . She let her teeth graze over the rough brand—
“Fuck!” Alexander howled, pulling out of her, the sound of suction lost echoing in the room. “Your lips are dangerous, both pairs ...” He grabbed her knees and pressed her legs all the way to her shoulders, spreading her so wide he had perfect access to every wet inch of her. He was inside of her in an instant, sinking back into the hot glove of her body and thrusting away. “Yes, dangerous, delicious ...” Panting, keeping his eyes locked on hers, he slammed into her over and over. MINE.