Bound by Blood fb-2 Read online

  Holy mother. He buried his hands in her thick hair and groaned, desperate to let go and hoping she would never stop. A lunch-box toting, deep-throating librarian from Queens. Of course she was his perfect mate.

  She took him by his hips and showed him how far he could thrust. In and out, slow and deep, he fucked her mouth while she applied steady suction and firm tongue.

  “Hmmmmmm,” she said, stroking his balls.

  “Maddy!” Control slipping, he began to pump faster. It didn’t faze her. The suction went wicked. His eyes rolled toward the back of his head.

  She bared her teeth and let them scrape along his shaft. That pushed him over the edge. He grabbed her hair by the handful, his body going rigid—then he exploded. Her mouth and throat muscles pulsed around him, working to swallow what he gave her, forcing him to spend everything he had. His knees gave out and she went down with him, sucking out every last drop. He didn’t think he would live through the sweet agony.

  When he came back to himself he heard his own panting and the muffled sounds of the club. Madelena lay between his knees, her curls pouring over one of his thighs. She cradled his wasted cock, licking it to sleep. For a while he just watched, stunned, amazed, and in love.

  She could not do that to anyone else ever again. Only him. Whoever she had honed her technique on, he hated.

  If only she’d tell him she was trained on a high-tech fellatio simulator—one developed as part of an unusually useful government program—and she’d been saving all her skill for him.

  She rolled on her back and looked up at him, her lips so pink and full he wanted to fuck her mouth all over again. Eyes glinting with mischief, she said, “You’ve got one hell of a tasty cock, Faustin. What’s your come made of?”

  So much for the simulator theory.

  “Come here,” he said, but in fact he went to her and kissed her long and slow. By design or instinct, she’d washed away the blood lust, the urgency. They had hours of pleasure ahead of them. He tasted his own musk on her lips, the salty notes of his come on her tongue. Under his hands she was pliant and warm, as if she was the one who just had the orgasm.

  He palmed her breasts, so full and soft. Her nipples stood up under her T-shirt. Making pleased noises, she went limp in his arms and she offered him her neck unconsciously. It was an instinctive gesture of submission, a mating signal that excited him all over again. If there was any doubt left that she was the one, now it was gone. She was born knowing how to be his bride, even if she couldn’t feed him at the moment. The thought of possessing her, claiming her as his own, blood or no blood, stirred his cock to new life.

  He lifted her onto the bed and took off her shoes. Sensible, crepe-soled walking shoes. They bounced off the wall. She shimmied out of her pants. Only then did she notice his cock. Finally. He didn’t sport wood like this for everyone. Her eyes went round.

  “Jesú Cristo, Faustin. Impressive recovery. You’re really not human, are you?”

  He loved the way she looked on his bed, lush and tawny in her white cotton panties and T-shirt, but he suspected he’d like her naked even more.

  “No,” she said when he tugged on her shirt. “I want to leave it on.”

  “You’re cracked.”

  Did she think he’d be satisfied with a theoretical knowledge of her tits?

  “I’m cold.”

  “Bullshit.” He reached for it again and she tried to flip onto her stomach. In the struggle he ripped the shirt down the center. They both froze. Slowly he looked up at her face. Her expression was hard, ready for a fight. He looked down again. A huge scar ran down her chest from sternum to navel. More than one scar, he realized, overlapping scars, the skin white and pink and purple in places, stretched shiny tight. There were more, too, smaller ones on her hips, and down on her legs. An awful desecration of a beautiful body.

  “I’ve had heart surgery,” she said, her voice tight.

  Understatement of the year. There was a lot here, a lot she was not telling him, a lot to worry about. But explanations could wait. For her sake he could not freak out.

  “I see.” He drew his fingers up the scar tissue to the clasp on her plain white bra. One click set her gorgeous breasts free. Heavy bottomed breasts, creamy soft with dusky nipples, just as he expected. He did not have to playact, he forgot the scars within seconds.

  There was something to be said for being enslaved. He could spend the rest of his life just like this. There was not an inch of her that did not taste like heaven. He explored the soft, round curve of her hips, the depth of her navel, and returned to her breasts again and again until they were flushed and swollen. She held them high for him, gasping in pain but begging for more as he abraded her nipples with flicks of his rough tongue. He made his way back down her belly to her panties. They were soaked and reeking with her tang. He licked her through the fabric, savoring the hint of yielding flesh and the low moans that came from her.

  He pulled the fabric away from her body and made a slit through the crotch with his sharp nail. The next time he swiped her with his tongue, he passed his tongue through the hole to lick raw, hot flesh. She screamed in surprise, and screamed again when he found her clit and began to suck.

  “Stop it.” She grabbed him by the ears. “I can’t take it. Fuck me.”

  Not a problem.

  “Con-condom,” she panted.

  “Don’t need one.” No disease transference, and he couldn’t impregnate a human. But that was more than he could explain at the moment.

  No argument from her. A miracle. She just spread her legs and gave him a look that said, “Hold back and die.”

  Again, not a problem. Gregor lifted her hips and rammed home, claiming her in fine old vampyr style.

  Inside, her cunt throbbed around him, hotter than her mouth, and so tight he thought he’d entered paradise. He caught her around the waist—a surprisingly small waist compared to her generous ass—drew back and claimed her again, just as hard. She sank her nails into his shoulders and raised her lip at him in a snarl. Though she shook like a leaf, she said, “Again.”

  Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he slammed into her and held, pressing up. She yowled but did not try to squirm away.

  “This cock is yours, Madelena, understand? But your ass is mine.”

  In response she gushed, slick and hot, and took all of him. Dizzy, overwhelmed, he dropped his head to her shoulder, she held him tight, and they began to slide together.

  “Gregor,” she groaned, “it’s so good. Why’s it so good?”

  His thoughts exactly, even with the line of her jugular throbbing by his cheek.

  They rolled, and she came out on top. Gorgeous, self-satisfied, she extracted her pleasure from him in rolling, circular thrusts, leaning low so that her nipples scraped his chest. He slipped his hand between their bellies and found her clit.

  “God, yes!” she cried. “Don’t stop!”

  He watched the orgasm take her, saw her eyes glaze over, saw her flush from the breasts up. She tensed, hands braced on his chest, her lips parted in anticipation. The contractions began. A strong, pulsing beat grabbed his cock, and her hips jerked over and over. Even when she fell forward on his chest, so limp and warm, she still fluttered inside.

  She might have been done with him, but he was nowhere near done with her, and that was no one’s fault but hers.

  He said, “On your knees, darling.”

  All she did was moan, so he hoisted her into position.

  She muttered something into the mattress. It sounded suspiciously like “such a bastard”.

  It took only a tug to tear off what was left of her panties. Her ass looked lovely hoisted in the air: round, fat and creamy smooth. His caress left a faint pink mark on her sensitive skin. She made a lazy, contented noise and fell over on one side.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” He lifted her up again, and this time gave her a warning slap on the ass. It made a cracking noise, which was followed immediately by her gasp of indignation. A br
ight pink handprint glowed on one cheek.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  He slapped her other cheek, and this time, she did not complain—she moaned. She dropped her head low and raised her ass high, asking for more.

  And here he thought he could not possibly be more turned on. They’d have to explore spanking later, some day when she was particularly mouthy and deserving. He kissed one flaming handprint, and tested his teeth on her tender flesh.

  “We’ve got a long way to go, Madelena. A long way until I’m done with you.”

  He teased her with the head of his cock, running it between her cheeks and up her wet cleft.

  “It’s yours,” he reminded her, just before he slid home. She accepted him with a low grunt of pleasure.

  The part of him which was always in tune with Tangiers heard the change in the beat thumping through the walls. The DJ was transitioning the music to fill the floor, and he would keep the floor ecstatic and sweating until dawn. The volume rose too, and the thrumming bass resonated in the bed frame.

  As if waking with the club, Madelena came up to her hands and knees. He covered her, cupping her body under his, so he was inside, over her, around her. He pressed his mouth to her ear, and felt the rounding of her cheek as she smiled. Once again she tilted her head to one side and offered him her throat. Unable to resist this time, he nipped her. She hadn’t forbidden biting, after all, just drinking.

  She cried out in surprise and fear, but at the same time her pussy clenched and spasmed, exciting him more.

  “Gregor! Shit!”

  He released her, she relaxed, and he nipped her again, this time punctuating it with a thrust. For a long moment they hung suspended, her flesh in his teeth, her breath harsh in the air, his need washing over him like a red wave.

  When he let her go, all hell broke loose. She went wild under him, bucking and twisting. She was so wet that he could hear it when they slapped together, so wet that her juice coated his balls and ran down his thighs. He fought to keep her under him, and he used his teeth and arms do it. Never had he been so rough with a woman, but then again he had never had a woman like this in bed. With other lovers he was always careful, with her, all he wanted to do was fuck her inside out, devour her alive, and lay around in the afterglow gnawing on her bones.

  And that seemed okay with her.

  “Yes!” she screamed, pumping as hard as he was, her skin slippery with sweat sliding against his. “Oh God, yes!”

  Choking and cursing, she came again, shuddering until she fell flat on her face in exhaustion. He fell with her, sparing her none of his weight. He slithered in her sweat, a mindless rutting animal, lost in the soft heat of her body.

  As he passed the point of no return he reached for her hands. His last clear memory was that she was holding on to him.

  Thank you, oh Lord, for granting me one last glorious fuck.

  When lightening did not strike her down, Maddy grinned into the mattress. God wanted her happy, that she knew, and he must have preserved her through that last encounter, otherwise she was sure her heart would have seized in the middle of it. At times she’d been dangerously dizzy, but she ignored the warnings and held nothing back. That sex had been worth dying for.

  Gregor amazed her more every moment. He was not just intriguing, he was sexy; he wasn’t just sexy, he delivered; he didn’t just deliver a good fuck, he fucked her like he had a hard line to her brain.

  What was even more amazing was how comfortable he seemed to be now, draped over her, completely relaxed. After sex, after intense sex, particularly, some men couldn’t wait to get out of bed and get on their way. Of course she was in his bed—there was that—but clearly he wanted her to stay. He was on top of her, and showed no signs of moving. Her left hand was still intertwined with his.

  And best of all, he hadn’t noticed her swollen ankles.

  As she was thinking these things, Gregor returned to the land of the living. He turned her over for a kiss. Though Maddy would have sworn she didn’t even have the strength to pucker, she found herself molding her body to his, smoothing her palms up his strong back, egging him on, and falling far, far down into a kiss without bottom.

  When they came up for air, she gasped, “Damn! I love doing that. Who taught you to kiss, Faustin?”

  “You did.” He ran a finger over her lips, his blue eyes soft and searching. “I can’t remember kissing anyone else.”

  Shit. Now her heart really was going to fail. Three million alarm bells went off in her head. Sweet talk was dangerous. Feelings were dangerous. Time to back up—back up very slowly and change direction.

  “So, you box?” Oh, that’s smooth, Maddy.

  Gregor blinked at her in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’re built like a fighter.” She ran her hand over his muscular shoulder. He had a lot of power in his upper body, and she didn’t think it came from hanging around a nightclub. “I see it in your stance too. And then there’s your nose.”

  He caught her hand before she touched his nose. “I’ll have you know only one break happened in the ring. What do you know about boxing?”

  “What don’t I know? I come from a family of boxers. My dad and his brother boxed in their day, and my cousin is Angel Escobar.

  Gregor lit up like a Christmas tree. “The Avenger? I saw him take down Miguel Santos. Best fight I’ve ever seen. You’re his cousin?”

  “Yep.” Vague, peripheral fame—always such a rush. “All us cousins used to spar on my grandma’s bed.”

  “You know, this explains a lot about your temperament.”

  Maddy tried to jerk her hand out of his, but Gregor held it firm. He settled onto his back to examine her fingers one by one. “So the violence doesn’t bother you?”

  “I love being ringside, close enough to taste the sweat,” she said, then bit her tongue. The correct answer had been Oh, it’s disgusting. I much prefer the ballet.

  Gregor heaved a big sigh. “A boxing fan. And I thought I was in love after the blowjob.”

  Maddy blushed. “Fuck you, Faustin.”

  He was joking, wasn’t he?

  Gregor just laughed. “Are you thirsty?”

  It was an unnecessary question, Maddy thought, seeing as they’d both just dropped ten pounds of water weight in sweat, drool and come.

  “What would you like?”

  “Just water.”

  He slipped into his pants—a crying shame, a loss to all womankind. “I’ve got to go to the bar no matter what—I don’t even have a glass in here. Sure you don’t want something else?”

  Maddy shook her head. “Just a lot of water.”

  “Be right back, then. There’s a bathroom over there.” He nodded at a discreet gray door between the two rooms and walked away, pulling on his shirt.

  Gregor looked a little dazed to her. Of course, she was dazed herself, so was not the best judge, maybe, but he wasn’t stamping around in that impatient way of his. She crawled to the end of the bed and watched him sort of weave his way to the outer door. When he opened it, a wave of noise and light hit her for an instant, and then he was gone.

  Curious as to how the club looked now that it was in full swing, she put on her coat (it just barely covered her important parts) and went to peek out the door.

  Even though she expected it, the change was still surprising. Now the club was packed, body to body, and the air was hot and moist and full of the smell of alcohol and fog and perfume. The music was deafening, relentless, and, she had to admit, decidedly sensual. The bass vibrated straight up her thighs, and she clutched the doorjamb, remembering how Gregor had thrust into her with the same rhythm.

  From her hiding place she could make out the far edges of the dance floor. It lay in a deep pit, packed with writhing bodies like one of the seven circles of hell. The crowded bar was just to her left. The people waiting there either used gestures to speak, or shouted directly into one another’s ears. Gregor was behind the bar, bending over to speak to the bartender.
She wished the bartender was an old guy named Micky, but instead the bartender was a gorgeous Asian girl barely old enough to drink herself. She was also obviously crushing on Gregor. But Maddy couldn’t blame her, especially that moment. His smile was easy, his hair tousled and he had only managed to button one of his shirt buttons and it was the wrong one at that. No man could possibly be sexier.

  To his credit he did not seem to notice his bartender’s admiring eyes or svelte hips, he just looked loopy.

  Ha.

  Maddy let the door close. He walked in a minute later with a tray balanced on one hand. The first thing he did was shake his head at her pea coat.

  “Well, what do you want me to wear?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Failing that, leather.”

  “Leather.” She snorted. She’d look like an ottoman.

  He studied her appraisingly. “A leather waist cincher and a collar. Nothing more. Except heels, of course.”

  “You are depraved, Faustin, but we already knew that, didn’t we? Is that my water?”

  They settled down on the leather sofa. A collar? Did he mean a decorator collar, or a functioning collar? Or did he just say that to get her riled up? His face gave nothing away.

  The tray held a tall glass of ice water, a mug of hot water, a salt shaker and a strange assortment of bar garnishes: one highball glass holding skewered olives, another glass full of maraschino cherries, a third containing orange slices and the last full of bar nuts.

  “Do you eat any of these things?” He gestured at the selection.

  Maddy cocked her head at the question. Was this a test? “Well, yes.”

  “Good.” He gave her a relieved grin. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  Oh my God, he was trying to feed her. Faustin was adorable! How had this happened? Did anyone else know how cute he was?

  “Thank you.” She worked to keep a straight face. To prove her sincerity, she ate an orange slice. “Do you ever eat any of these things?”

  His eyes widened, as if she’d asked if he ate roaches. “No. Nothing solid.”