CHAPTER THIRTEEN
015
By the time Emma screamed, it was too late. Andre couldn’t stop. All he could do was dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips and drive harder, faster, until the tight knot of pressure at the base of his spine exploded and pleasure rocketed through his every cell.
“Emma!” He called her name as he came, his cock jerking inside of her, his arms holding her close even as she pushed at his chest, trying to force him away.
But he didn’t want to be away from her, outside of her. He wanted to keep his dick in this woman for the rest of his life. They would arrange for some kind of old-fashioned slave-drawn litter to carry them around the city. He’d go to court and conduct his Conti family business from their traveling bed so that he’d never have to stop fucking her. Never stop driving in and out of that sweet heat that had connected his soul to his body for the first time in years.
Fucking Emma wasn’t just good sex or even great sex; it was something more, something he’d never dreamed he’d have again. He wasn’t going to let her run away from that without a fight. He’d seen her face when she came, felt her pussy clutch at his cock as her pleasure gripped her tighter and tighter.
She’d enjoyed what they’d done as much as he had. Hell, she’d more than enjoyed it. There was no reason for her to act like he was some kind of rapist to be shoved away at the first opportunity.
“Get back,” she said, her voice nearing hysteria. “Please! Stop!”
“Emma, relax, I—”
“Look at yourself.” She pointed to the wall behind her. “You’re glowing.”
Andre lifted his head. Emma had left the door to the bathroom open, enabling him to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink. He watched the shock creep across his features as he realized he was, in fact, glowing. And not some metaphoric postcoital glow, but full-on shining bright blue like he’d swallowed a stick of neon.
“What the hell ...” He pulled away, struggling to catch his breath. As soon as the contact between them was broken, the glow faded. But there was no denying that he’d seen it or that—if Emma’s story was to be believed—he knew exactly what it meant. “So were you ... eating from me?”
Emma sniffed. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m pretty sure ... I’ve never seen the blue light when I wasn’t.”
He looked down to see tears sitting in her eyes, making the caramel depths shimmer with pain. He reached out to her, but she backed away across the table, nearly crashing into one of the flower arrangements in her haste to get away from him. “No, don’t touch me!”
“Emma, sweetheart, I don’t care. It’s not a big deal.” He laughed, a tight sound that held no real humor. He wanted to hold her so badly, wanted to show her that everything was going to be all right. “I don’t care.”
“Well you should care. If I’d taken too much, you could have died. And now you will die sooner than you would have.” She sobbed and covered her face, clearly devastated by what she thought she’d done. “I don’t even know how much I took. I didn’t realize I was pulling on your energy. I didn’t see the glow until after I ... after the—”
“After you came?” he asked, easing closer, reaching tentative fingers out to brush against her toes. Even her feet were beautiful. He wanted to kiss every part of her, from her big toe to her small, sloping breasts to the tip of her slightly crooked nose. “I loved feeling you come,” he said, encouraged by the fact that she was allowing him to smooth his hand up to grip her ankle.
She mumbled something into her hands that he couldn’t understand, but he decided to take it as a sign of encouragement.
He squeezed her leg, letting his thumb play back and forth across her skin. “So, are you going to tell me that was the best fucking of your life now, or make me wait until I remind you how hot it was?” he asked, his recently spent cock growing the slightest bit thicker as he spoke.
“Stop making jokes.” She lifted her face from her hands and brushed his hand away before pulling her knees into her chest, hiding her nudity except for lightly bruised shins and long, bare arms.
She was almost more striking with parts of her hidden from his view. Seeing her there—surrounded by flowers, lips swollen from his kisses, hair fluffing around her face in a wild tangle—he could safely say he’d never seen a woman so beautiful. To him, at least, she was beautiful, the most beautiful, the only one he wanted now and maybe ... for a long time from now.
His jaw clenched as a strangled laugh escaped his lips. He’d fallen for her, the last woman in the world he would have imagined could get under his skin this way.
“This isn’t funny,” she said.
“I know it isn’t.” Hell, yes, he knew. He knew how dangerous this thing between them could be, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Just like he couldn’t stop himself from climbing onto the table beside her and wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders. “I just can’t stand to see you so upset, especially for no reason,” Andre said, breathing a little easier when she leaned against him. “I really don’t feel any different. I feel great, even better than I did before.”
She bit her lip and turned to look at him, surveying him through concerned eyes. “You don’t feel dizzy? Or weak?”
“Not at all. Hell, I’m ready to go again.” He leaned in to kiss her neck, but she pushed him away.
Still, her tight mouth quirked at one edge and her fingertips lingered at his jaw for a moment before pulling away. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot. I’m an addict,” Andre said, regretting the words the second they were out of his mouth. His smile faded, and it was harder to meet her eyes. But it was better they get this out of the way now, before his infatuation with this girl got any worse. “I mean ... I really am an addict. A sex addict. I’ve tried to go to meetings and—”
“I know.” Her voice was soft, compassionate, shocking him into silence. “I saw those memories, too. It’s ... okay.”
“It is?”
“Well, no, it’s not. I can tell it’s not easy for you, but who am I to judge?” She swept his hair away from his forehead with a tenderness that made his throat tight. “I don’t just use people—I steal their life away.”
“You didn’t steal anything from me,” he said, grabbing her hand and kissing her fingertips, holding tight even when she tried to pull away. “I’m fine. I feel better than I have in years. You have to believe that.”
“It was different,” she said, searching his face. “Your skin was glowing, but not anything underneath. Usually I see a second face beneath the skin, and I can watch it ... waste away when I pull someone’s energy inside myself. But I didn’t see that with you, and I didn’t get any new memories.” She paused for a moment, nibbling her lip. “The energy felt different. But I obviously fed. I feel charged the same way I usually do. Although with you, it felt more like ...”
“Like what?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Andre, please—”
“Really, it sounds like we’re good. I’m fine,” he said. “I mean, none of your other lovers dropped dead after sex, did they?”
Emma’s eyes darted to the side, and a flush rose on her cheeks. “Um ...”
“That’s not terribly assuring, Emma,” Andre said, his stomach clenching.
What if she’d realized that there was a chance she’d feed on him before they’d started this? He wouldn’t blame her—she’d tried to warn him numerous times and told him to stop when she saw the light—but if she’d known this was possible ...
If she’d known, there was no way she could feel anything close to what he felt for her. He’d never do anything to put Emma in danger. He’d give everything to protect her. He was a selfish, shallow man who, before today, wouldn’t have allowed a woman he’d fucked to spend the night, let alone risked his life to keep her safe. But here he was ... hanging on Emma’s next words, holding his breath as her troubled eyes dropped to stare at the tops of her knees.
“Just tell me. Tell me the truth,” he said, scared by the need he could hear in his own voice. And it wasn’t even fear for his life that made his chest ache and his pulse speed; it was fear that she’d confirm he was a fool.
God, he should have known better. He should have—
“No, I’ve never hurt anyone during sex.” She hugged herself tighter and shivered beneath the hand he still rested on her back. “There hasn’t been anyone else.”
It took several seconds for the meaning of her words to sink in. Then it all fell into place with a swiftness that made his head spin—the hesitance in her touch when she’d reached for him, the slight resistance as he’d pushed inside her, the shock and panic when she’d seen his face glowing and asked him to stop. She hadn’t guessed that sex might activate her mark or her power or whatever she called it because she’d never had sex before.
He’d been her first.
The realization made him strangely aroused ... and terrified by the responsibility of his first virgin ... and aroused ... and flattered ... and aroused. ...
“I’m ... honored,” he said, meaning the words, even if they came out sounding like some cheesy line. He just couldn’t think of what to say, how to let her know that what they’d done had been special to him, too, without sounding even cornier than he did already.
She blew a breath out through her lips. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal. I just figured it was time I do it and you’re decent-looking and we were here alone and ...” She let her words trail off with a shrug before scooting away from him toward the edge of the table.
“I’m sure there was more to it than that,” he said, more uncomfortable than he’d been in a long time, but not regretting for a second the fact that he and Emma had been together. “There was definitely more to it for me, and—”
“Really, you don’t have to stress about de-virgin-izing me or whatever.”
“Emma, I—”
“You should be more worried about whether you’re going to die. I fed from you, even if I didn’t mean to. I have never seen that blue light when it didn’t mean I’d stolen life energy from someone. Not one single time.” She grabbed her bra from where it had landed on top of some lurid-looking orange flower and shrugged it on.
It was a little too big and didn’t do her small curves justice, but he could imagine how drop-dead sexy she’d look in some expertly fitted lingerie. It made him want to stop everything and drive her up to the boutique on Eighty-third Street, where he bought his regular lovers the occasional gift, and outfit her with a giant shopping bag filled with lacy, silky, sexy things.
Then they’d head back to his apartment and lock themselves inside for the week, and she could wear her new lingerie during the few hours when they weren’t naked, hot, and sweaty, rolling around in his bed making love. Or in the shower making love, or in the bathtub, or on top of the kitchen counter, or—
“Did you hear me?” she asked, frustrated ... and nearly dressed. Sometime during his imaginings, she’d pulled on her shirt and jeans and was halfway across the room gathering a stray boot.
“No, I was thinking about all the places I’d like to make love to you,” he said, ridiculously pleased by the flustered expression his words put on her face, and not at all embarrassed by the fact that he was still buck naked except for the Saint Christopher medal around his neck and the watch on his wrist.
But he’d never had trouble with nudity. According to his mother, she’d had a hell of a time keeping clothes on him when he was little. As soon as he’d learned how to pull off his shirt, pants, and diaper, he’d stripped down and gone running naked through the restaurant, making the entire family laugh. For some reason, he wanted to share that story with Emma, wanted her to know what his childhood had been like, wanted to know more about the little girl she’d been. Did she have any good memories mixed in with the horror she’d endured?
“So do you think we should?”
“Think we should what?” he asked, struggling to focus.
“You’re impossible,” she sighed, pulling on her boot and stomping across the room to fetch the other. “You know, your dick is going to get you in trouble someday. Maybe today ...”
“Nah, me and the dick will be fine.” He watched her bend over to zip up her other boot, admiring the curves of her ass inside her snug-fitting jeans. She just kept getting prettier, sexier. It was impossible to believe he’d thought she needed makeup and highlights. She didn’t need anything. If she were any more attractive, he’d have to beat other men off of her with a stick. “We’ll figure out some way to keep the supernatural stuff under control next time.”
Emma stood fast, her hair whipping around her head in a cloud. “What next time? We can’t ... We can’t do that again.”
“Of course we can.” Andre eased off the table, not missing the interest in Emma’s eyes when they darted to his cock. He wasn’t hard again yet, but he was getting there. If only they had even another hour to waste ... He couldn’t wait to show her that they’d only brushed the surface of the pleasure he could give her. “As soon as we get this Death Ministry situation sorted out and make sure you’re safe, I insist on fucking you properly. In a bed, with some lube and maybe a few—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I won’t hurt you again.” Her hand clutched at her stomach as if the very thought of hurting him made her ill.
No matter how much he hated to see her upset, her distress was vaguely thrilling. It meant she cared, maybe even the same way he cared. A relationship between them wouldn’t be easy—with his addiction and her ... strange appetite—but at least they’d stand a chance. Maybe, if he got serious about therapy, and they talked to Sam about some way to help Emma with her mark, then maybe—
“I mean it, Andre,” she said, holding up a warning finger, as if she could read his big plans on his face.
Andre smiled and reached for her, letting his hands smooth down her bare arms. “Listen, we don’t have to make that decision now. Just tell me you’ll think about fucking me again ... assuming I don’t shrivel up and die in the next few hours.”
She sighed. “You wouldn’t shrivel. You’d have a heart attack.”
“Okay, so assuming I don’t have one of those.”
“It doesn’t always happen in a few hours. Sometimes it takes months, or even years.”
“But I feel fine,” he said, squeezing her hands, willing her to sense the life in him. “I feel great. I don’t think you hurt me.”
“And maybe I didn’t—it’s never happened before, but maybe—but are you willing to bet your life on it?”
“Maybe.”
She shook her head, exasperated. “Well, I’m not, and Francis is going to have a heart attack if we don’t get to the office,” she said. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been calling your bud nonstop.”
Andre’s smile faded. She was right. “I’m sure he has. I turned it off while you were in the bathroom.”
“You did?” She pulled her hands away from his. “But what if—”
“You’re not the only one who needed a few minutes. I’m not nearly as tough as I look.”
Emma snorted. “I don’t know who told you curls and flashy jewelry were tough, but—”
“I don’t have curls. It just ... gets wavy when I perspire.”
“And you use the word perspire. That’s really tough, too.”
“Okay, you win. I’m a big cream puff who turned off his phone so he could pull his girly-man shit together,” Andre said, the thought of the anxiety he and Emma would cause his family if they didn’t show up soon making him scan the ground for his clothes. “But you’re right. We should hurry.”
He gathered his pants, socks, shirt, and suit coat in a matter of seconds, but ended up one article of clothing short.
“Looking for these?” He turned to see a grinning Emma with his briefs dangling off one finger. “I can’t believe you wear tighty whiteys.”
“What’s wrong with briefs?”
“They look like adult diapers.”
“They offer support,” he said, snatching them from her with a smile. “And these aren’t just briefs—they’re very expensive briefs.”
“Even if they were made of solid gold, they would still be ...” Her words trailed off, her grin faded, and her eyes dropped to his arm, suddenly very interested in counting how many hairs were growing from his elbow to his wrist.
Surely, his underwear couldn’t be that bad.
“You okay?” Andre hurried to pull on his pants. “Emma? Are you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she said, but her smile was forced—a flash of teeth in her tight face. “I think I forgot something in the bathroom. Be right back.”
“All right, but I’m going to call Francis and tell him we’re on our way,” Andre called after her as he pulled on his shirt. “So don’t take long.”
“Two minutes,” she said, slamming the door shut behind her.
Andre dressed in record time, his gut telling him something had soured between him and Emma, though he had no idea what he’d done. He couldn’t believe this was really about his choice of underwear—though the vain part of him did wish he’d grabbed a pair of boxer briefs instead.
Maybe she was just feeling awkward. Pillow talk was never easy, especially when there hadn’t even been a pillow involved and it was your first time.
God, he still remembered his first time—fifteen years old in the basement of his parents’ restaurant. He and one of the much older waitresses had gone at it on some cardboard boxes they’d laid down in the corner. It had been over in thirty seconds. Afterward, he’d barely been able to look her in the face while he’d hitched up his pants.
It wasn’t that he’d been embarrassed about his lack of staying power—he’d heard enough from his older, male cousins to know the first few times were a bust for most guys—it was more the shock of the whole thing. It had been so different from what he’d imagined—better and worse all at the same time. Overwhelming, really. He’d run home and holed up in his room all weekend playing video games he hadn’t touched since he was twelve. The familiar characters and endless bleeping noises had made him feel safe.
Emma had nothing to make her feel safe. Her only family was out of town, her apartment was wrecked, and someone was trying to kidnap her because she’d been marked by a demon when she was a baby. He shouldn’t have been teasing her or demanding another fuck session; he should have been offering her comfort and reassurance.
Andre cursed his own lack of sensitivity and headed toward the bathroom. “Emma? Are you ready?” he asked. When his words were met by silence, he wracked his brain for something that might make her feel better. “I thought you might want to try to call Ginger again. To see if we can make sure she’s safe.” More silence. Damn it. Being reminded her roommate could be in mortal danger probably wasn’t the best call.
“And we could call Sam, too,” he added, leaning his forehead against the cool wooden door, willing her to hear the concern in his voice. “I’m sure she’ll want to know that you were attacked. She’s safe with Jace, but she should know that there’s another nut job out there looking for someone with a demon mark.”
Still nothing. Even the mention of her sister hadn’t provoked a positive response.
He was going to have to go in there and look her in the eye. He’d apologize for pressuring her and make sure she knew that he was going to back off and give her some space. But not too much space ... He didn’t want her to doubt his interest.
Damn it, why did relationships have to be so complicated? And why did he suddenly have to decide he wanted a relationship with a girl who didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him?
If Emma had trusted him, even a little bit, he wouldn’t be opening the door into an empty room or an open window with its pale pink linen curtain waving tauntingly in the slight breeze. She was gone. Again. And this time he had no clue where she’d gone or why she’d run. He knew only that the thought of losing her made him ill.