When her hand touched his arm, he looked to her for one brief moment before lunging at her mouth, covering her lips with his own and pushing his tongue roughly past her lips and into her mouth. His tongue touched every last surface of her mouth as it delved and tasted, and when he finally pulled from her mouth, he spun their bodies, pushing her up against the wall.
When he reached for her body, she let him. His movements were quick, rough, and his emotions were still radiating out from him. He was barely contained, and when he yanked the button of her pants undone and forced the zipper down, she froze. She wanted his touch to wipe out their anger and frustration, but his eyes were harsh. When his hand pushed down beneath her underwear and two fingers plunged deep within her tight sex, she gasped and groaned. She was wet, she wanted him, but she was terrified of the emotion roiling under the surface of his demeanor. His fingers pushed and pulled, and he was panting and grunting against the side of her face.
“Please stop, Truman. Please.” He pulled from her body and took a step back from her before she was even done speaking the words. He looked panicked, and as his brow flinched and released over and over and he gasped, his breath lurching and pained, she reached for him again.
“Oh God. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She hushed him as she pulled him back to her body, and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder while she stroked the back of his neck. “You didn’t hurt me.” And he hadn’t. He never would, and she knew that. In all his fury and need to release it and himself, he’d stopped on a dime. She just wanted to soothe him and calm his soul, rather than allowing his fury to continue to build when they were together.
She reached to the waist of his trousers, undid the button, lowered the zipper, and sank to her knees. His forehead found the wall of the elevator as his eyes opened and watched her. When she pulled the waist of his underwear down his groin, he moaned quietly while he watched her, and as his cock thrust up, she captured it in her hand and stroked the length with her fingers. She leaned to the head, licking the precum from the tip, and when she did, his moan got louder. Her lips passed over the engorged tip, and she slid them tightly over his arousal, pulling with all the suction her mouth could muster.
Truman continued to moan as her mouth pulled and released, and she looked up to his eyes, watching his pleasure. She loved seeing his arousal, and she had enough flashes of it to know she’d experienced it a great deal in her past life. The look on his face was mesmerizing, and she focused on it as her mouth continued to suck. When she stopped sucking, his eyes quickly found hers, and as he watched her, she traced her tongue along his length, moving her tongue over every rigid vein. When she reached the head, her tongue traced the shape of the bulbous head all the way up to the peak that ended in his slit and more precum that was escaping in his arousal.
His eyes watching her turned her on, and she wanted him inside her body, but she was intent on changing his mood and his demeanor, and she wanted to taste him. He’d withheld that from her when they were in Portland, and she wanted it. When her lips passed over the head of his cock again, his moans turned to outright groans, and when he came in her mouth, he wound his fingers through the hair at the top of her head, gently forcing her head to tilt back and her eyes to look up to his. He was pulsing his cum into her mouth in powerful spasms, but he held her eyes, and she held his as he gasped and grunted, slack-jawed down to her. His body was shuddering as his cock flexed and emptied itself, and when his movements stopped and her mouth was filled with his cum and his cock, she pulled her mouth slowly from his length, and she swallowed.
He sighed as he watched her throat work, and her body electrified at his taste. He was salty and tasted of iron, very reminiscent of blood. He tasted of his scent, his core scent that no human could smell, but that she experienced anytime he was near her, and that seemed to turn on a warm lamp within her soul. She loved the taste of him, and when the last of his cum was swallowed, she stood.
He watched her, saying nothing, and he reached to the same button he’d stalled the elevator with earlier. This time, his hand touched the button gently, and when the elevator was moving, he stepped back from her body and continued to watch her with an expressionless gaze. Though he was far calmer than before, he was hiding fear. She could smell it in his chemistry; she’d seen him fearful and anxious enough to recognize the scent, and it was there, percolating through the scent of their arousal.
When they entered the apartment, he walked straight to the balcony, saying nothing. He wanted to pull her into his arms, he wanted to touch her, make love to her, he wanted to throw his damn lousy mood out the fucking window, but he was scared—terrified. Sylvan had all but threatened her life, and she was so damn obstinate that she’d managed to make a bad situation even worse. It was one thing to fear Mason. He was an obvious enemy who needed to be destroyed, but Sylvan? Sylvan’s allegiance would always lie with the council, but he was downright loathsome of the place Ember had in his life.
When Ember’s gaze followed him as he was walking out to the balcony, he didn’t stop, he didn’t soften, he didn’t invite her, he didn’t even look at her. He just stalked away. And when Ember left their residence, wrapped in her robe and no doubt headed toward the pool, he didn’t even consider following. He just stared at the skyline and contemplated every last move he could make, should make, to protect her.
Mason was a no brainer, and if he could get past his few remaining cronies and to him, he was certain he could destroy the man. He’d always been an effective fighter and as strong as any vampire could need to be. If he could get his hands on the man, he could end him. If it had to be under some guise, so be it. If he had to use himself as bait, so be it. But if he managed to succeed, then what? What of Sylvan? Would Sylvan be satisfied with Truman’s commitment being only ever about Ember? Would Sylvan ever stop being a threat to her, or would they be his puppets for the rest of eternity—playing a part in his game? Would Sylvan destroy Ember in some attempt to claim Truman’s sole loyalty? Would her safety always be dangled in front of his nose to ensure his compliance?
The questions were insurmountable, and it left him in a state of near panic as the what-ifs circulated through his mind one after another. His only concern in the world was her, but how could he protect her, and if her life was attached to his, himself as well?
When he returned inside, she was still gone, and he paced. He paced and paced and finally collapsed on the chaise lounge by the bookshelves. Nighttime was ticking away, and he wanted to take her to bed. He wanted to shut out every last worry he had about their future. She had effectively stopped his spiral into rage when they were in the elevator, and he was ready to return the favor. He was sure he’d hurt her feelings when they’d returned to their residence, and though he was trying to keep her at a distance to deal with his thoughts and not to hurt her, he was also certain he’d wounded her.
When she finally walked through the door, his gaze followed her. She didn’t see him right away, and she looked to his desk, biting gently on her lip as her eyes moved. She was nervous to see him, and could he punch himself for being a prick to her, he would. When her gaze caught on his, she stopped midstride, frozen. She forced her feet to move and walked to him slowly, and her figure moved lithely under the thin fabric of the robe. She was wearing another bikini, and as she sat beside his body, already stretched out on the chaise, the robe fell off the side of her thigh, and his groin tightened.