Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 154735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Man, humans had it all wrong. The most dangerous thing about vampires wasn’t the fangs. It was the codependency.
“That thing at your other house is true evil,” he heard himself say.
“No shit,” someone tossed back. “And here we thought it was Avon calling.”
As the King shot a glare in the direction of the ass-slapper comedian, Eddie pulled himself together. “Ad and I really can’t get more involved in this. We already have bad news to share with the Creator, and I am not looking for complications or another demotion.”
“So leave.” The King motioned to the door again. “And thank you for the intel.”
Eddie stared them in the face, one by one—and the males stared back at him.
“Goddamn it, I have a job to do,” he bit out.
The blond one stepped up, and for a split second, Eddie wondered whether there was going to be some kind of throwdown.
Instead of a punch, the vampire offered the ice cream, which was melting by the moment. “You can use my spoon if you want. I’ll wipe it on my shirt.”
“What are you talking about?” Eddie said.
“Here.” The blond mountain forced the Breyers over, even as Eddie no-thank-you’d with his hands. “I just find when I have my ass in a crack, a nosh helps.”
“You eat all the time,” one of his cohorts pointed out.
The blond assiduously scrubbed the spoon with the tail of his black shirt. “True, but especially when I’m about to make a decision that I know is the right thing to do, but that I’m also aware will complicate the ever-living hell out of my situation. Ice cream is a total stress-reliever.”
The vampire put out the spoon.
“I am not stressed”—Eddie snapped the thing from the guy’s hand—“and I am not making any decision that will ‘complicate my fucking situation,’ thank you very much.”
On that note, he fired up a heaping load of the ice-cold, creamy bullcrap—and shoved it into his mouth.
“Frickin’,” he groused as he jabbed the spoon in for another round.
CHAPTER FORTY
Looking up into Lassiter’s face, feeling a part of him deep inside her body, the sense of completeness was something Rahvyn had never experienced before. The idea that they had been two, but now were briefly this combined one, was so powerful, she knew she would never be the same again.
Like her first experience, this too was going to transform her.
And better her, in a different way.
“I can stop,” he whispered.
What needed to stop was this stupid crying, she thought. She just had to pull herself together. Tears? In this situation? They were about as romantic as a broken leg, as sensual as a trip-and-fall.
“Never,” she shot back.
Even though he was on top of her, she began to move, her hips pushing her buttocks into the soft mattress, then bringing them back up. Down. And up. Again… and again.
It wasn’t much, but the friction was incredible—and suddenly, he was taking over and filling her so deep, and moving away, and filling her again. Before she knew it, there were no more tears, only pleasure, and whereas she thought she’d been at some kind of pinnacle, that there was no more sensation to be had, no more possible, nothing further she could contain within her body or her mind… he took her higher.
There was vigor now, and she only wanted more of him—and as if he sensed that, he grasped the back of one of her knees and moved it into an even tighter bend. Something about the angle changed—
“Lassiter?” she cried out, partially in fear—for she did not know what was going to transpire.
“Let yourself go,” he groaned. “I’ve got you. You can trust me.”
He continued to penetrate her, ever faster, ever deeper, and the cresting wave that was coming for her, inside her skin, seemed liable to swamp her rather than carry her forward. It was only Lassiter’s voice in her ear, telling her she was safe, that—
And then it happened. Something broke, but the splintering was a glorious relief from the nearly intolerable pressure that she only wanted more of. As her core contracted in sequence, and the agonizing on-the-verge culminated, she felt a flying, soaring, sweet freedom.
That, rather than taking her away from the male who was loving her so fiercely, brought her closer than their physical bodies—
Abruptly, the rhythm changed again, the pumps becoming shorter and faster, Lassiter breathing hard now, as if he were running. After that… a growling in his chest.
Which was not threatening, more like he was exerting a self-control that was causing him pain.
“You can trust me, too,” she whispered. “You can fly, too.”
As if he’d been waiting for her to give him permission, his hips locked into her and she felt a kicking in her core. He was filling her up.
Just as she wanted him to.
“Don’t stop,” she begged as the twitching inside of her created a new and different friction. “Keep going.”