If he wasn’t willing to do that then we were back to square one.
Obviously, even the tranquility of the lake didn’t stop me from thinking about Lucien.
I’d heaved myself up and walked back up the path. When I got to the house, I made the marinade, slid the chicken breasts in and put it in the fridge.
Then I decided to spend the rest of the day drowning my sorrows in food and numbing my mind with television.
My unfocused sight cleared and Lucien’s chest and, incidentally, Katrina’s scratch marks were completely healed, became defined again as my thoughts turned to last night.
Why I had that reaction to him feeding on someone else, to smelling her perfume, I didn’t know. But there was no denying it. I did.
In all the hateful feelings I’d had for the last two weeks, having Lucien touch me while he smelled and tasted of another woman was by far and away the worst.
Because it hurt. A lot. Too much.
I knew it shouldn’t, I had no claim on him.
But it did.
And I got it then. I understood. I knew why there was always this hint of sadness in the very backs of my mother’s eyes. And I knew the minute he told me I didn’t understand the way of his people that I couldn’t live this life.
Not as Leah Buchanan.
I’d have to be A Buchanan from The Premier Family of Vampire Concubines. Not impatient, not short-tempered, not stubborn, not immature, not anything that was me.
I’d have to be the good, perfect, dutiful concubine like my annoying cousin Myrna.
For what could be years, I was going to have to channel goody-two-shoes “I’m gonna tell on you” Myrna.
And that totally and completely stunk.
But, I told myself, I could live with that in the beautiful house, close to the beautiful lake with my beautiful clothes and, it must be said, with Lucien giving me mind-boggling, body-rocking, unbelievable orgasms if last night was anything to go by, and feeding all the time which, I had to admit, was sublime.
And he would do whatever he wanted to do which he would anyway.
Then he’d release me and I could go on.
But not with that sadness. He wasn’t going to get me to like him (or worse) and then break me that way.
I didn’t even know if I liked him and the pain of having him touch me, make my body feel like it was vibrating with life, his big, solid warmth surrounding me, making me feel precious, fragile and, above all, safe while I could smell her and taste her was bad enough.
If I actually did like him, I’d be really screwed.
Luckily, I didn’t like him so hopefully I’d be safe.
It was on this thought that his hand, which was curled at my hip drifted up my back and tangled in my hair.
“Are you awake, pet?” he asked in a sexy, rough, drowsy voice.
I tried not to shiver and failed. I also tried not to let him calling me “pet” feel like it was lacerating my heart and failed at that too. Then I tried not to wonder if he called the nameless, faceless her of last night “pet” and I failed at that as well.
I nodded my head, my cheek sliding against his skin. His hand fisted in my hair and he gave it a gentle tug. I looked up at him and his eyes caught mine.
“I’m hungry,” he murmured.
He wasn’t talking about eggs and bacon for breakfast hungry therefore I felt a rush of heat between my legs and my nipples contracted.
His eyes went lazy and he whispered, “Come here.”
I was about as “here” as anyone could get but I knew what he meant. I slid up, my body rolling deeper into his as his other arm came around to assist, hauling me up further and pulling me over him so I was mostly on top.
His hand guiding my head, my lips hit his and he kissed me.
I closed my eyes and all of a sudden I wanted desperately to cry.
He was a really good kisser but this wasn’t our flat out, fight for supremacy, hungry, sexy duel. This was a soft, sweet, morning kiss that felt nice and wonderful.
It was then I began to see the flaws in my new plan.
His lips broke from mine, traveled to my cheek, down to my jaw then to my neck. My legs moved restlessly as a really good kind of warmth tingled through my system.
His hand at my waist slid up my back to my shoulder, over it then, using only his middle finger to touch me in a whisper soft caress, slowly, unbelievably slowly, it traveled down my arm. I felt the goose bumps rising on my skin and they were the really good kind too.
“Do you want me to make you come while I feed?” he muttered against my neck and the answer to that was a big old yes. But I couldn’t believe he was asking me.
Was this some kind of test?
“Can we see how it goes?” I asked and my voice sounded breathy.
His hand in my hair tugged my head back so he could look at me. The fingers of his other hand curled around my wrist as he studied my face, his eyes thoughtful and maybe even a little wary.
“If that’s what you’d like,” he replied and I started to nod my head when he went on, a smile tugging his handsome mouth, “but I know how it’ll go.”
He didn’t wait for me to reply. His hand brought my wrist to his mouth while he kept his eyes locked on mine. I felt his tongue lash against the pulse at my wrist in a way that was so sensual, my breath caught.
His long fingers slid down, curling into my palm, dwarfing my hand in his much larger one. His mouth moved and all I felt was the flow as he began to feed.
It’s impossible to explain how beautiful this feeling was. If I hadn’t felt it, I wouldn’t believe it. Perhaps it had something to do with giving another being sustenance, nourishment, life. Perhaps it was lips locked and sucking. Perhaps it was bodies touching and other connections besides, both physical and emotional, both intimate.
Whatever it was, it felt great.
His black eyes held mine captive as he drew my blood into his mouth and I squirmed, the fire building, the need turning hungry.
I saw his tongue sweep my skin and then he let my hand go. I couldn’t help it, I felt and heard the mew of complaint escape my throat.
He grinned, rolled me away and his hand went to the drawstring on my pajama bottoms.
“I’ve decided I want you to come while I’m feeding.” He said this like it was some sort of tender challenge.
I was okay with that. Way okay.
“Okay,” I whispered.
His grin spread into an arrogant smile.
He swept the covers aside and my bottoms and panties were gone in the blink of an eye. He pulled me over him, yanking my knees so I was astride him, open and bared.
I felt extreme discomfort at this exposure.
For about two seconds.
Then he was kissing me and his hand was between my legs.
This kiss was a ravenous duel, both of us taking which meant, weirdly, both of us giving.
Then I thought nothing at all and everything I felt was beautiful.
His mouth went to my neck. I felt his tongue as I registered my own mouth was tingling.
Then he was feeding and his fingers were inside me, his thumb manipulating me and it built fast. My heart started tripping, blood singing through my veins. My head tilted back to give him better access, my hips rocked into his hand demanding more of what he was giving me and all of it was good.
It built fast, it built huge, before it happened I knew it was going to be overwhelming.
But it wasn’t. It was consuming.
My climax was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was beyond beautiful. Better than even the night before, straight to life-altering.
I gasped then stopped breathing, my neck arching back, my hips grinding into his hand as it hit me in a wave of pure, perfect, toe-curling, breasts-swelling, moan-inducing bliss.