Cerulean Sins (12 page)

I put my hand flat on the door, holding it.

Asher looked at me. “Let me go, Anita, you know you don't want this.”

“What am I supposed to say to that, Asher? That you're right? That if Musette hadn't come today that I wouldn't be making this offer now? You're right, I wouldn't be.” I pressed myself against the side of the door. “But the thought of you leaving, of never seeing you again . . .” I shook my head, and damn it if I was going to cry again. “Don't go, please, don't go.”

“I have to go, Anita.” He touched my shoulder, tried to move me out of the way so he could open the door.

I shook my head. “No.”

He frowned at me. “
Ma cherie
, you do not love me, not truly. If you do not love me, and you do not want me, then you must let me go.”

“I do love you, and I do want you.”

“You love me as a friend, you want me, but you want many men, yet you do not give yourself to them. I have all eternity, but my patience is not good enough to out wait you,
ma cherie
. You have defeated me. I would have tried to seduce you, but . . .” Again he almost touched the scarred side of his face, but his hand fell away, as if he could not bare to touch himself. “I have seen the men you have turned down. Such perfection, and you walk away without so much as a regret.” He frowned as if he didn't understand it, but he knew it to be true. “What could I offer that they could not?”

He put his hands against my shoulder and gently tried to move me out of the way. I pressed my back into the doorframe, my hand on the doorknob. “No,” was all I could think to say.

“Yes,
ma cherie
, yes. It is time.”

I shook my head. “No.” I pressed my back into the door so hard that I knew I'd be bruised in the morning. I couldn't let him go. I knew somehow that if he opened that door, we would never get another chance.

I prayed for words. I prayed to be able to speak my heart and not to be afraid. “I let Richard walk out on me. I think he'd have gone anyway, but I just sat on the floor and watched him go. I didn't stand in his way. I figured it was his choice, and you can't hold someone if they don't want to be held. If someone really wants to be free of you, you have to let them go. Well, fuck that, fuck that all to hell. Don't go, Asher, please, don't go. I love the way your hair shines in the light. I love the way you smile when you're not trying to hide or impress anyone. I love your laughter. I love the way your voice can hold sorrow like the taste of rain. I love the way you watch Jean-Claude when he moves through a room, when you don't think anyone's watching, because it's exactly the way I watch him. I love your eyes. I love your pain. I love you.”

I closed the distance between us, wrapped my arms around him, pressed my cheek to his chest, dried tears on the silk of his shirt, and was still whispering, “I love you, I do love you,” when he raised my face and kissed me, really kissed me, for the very first time.

W
E BROKE FROM
that gentle kiss, and I led Asher to the bed by the hand. He pulled back, coming like a reluctant child.

Jean-Claude stood by the bed, his face as blank as he could make it. “There is one thing I must say before we begin. I am controlling
ma petite
's
ardeur
, but there will come a point in all this where I will lose control. I cannot guarantee what will happen when that control is lost.”

Asher and I stood beside him, holding hands. He was clinging to my hand with a fierceness that was almost painful. His voice did not show the tension I felt in his body. “If I thought it was only the
ardeur
which made Anita want to take me to her bed, then I would say no, because when the
ardeur
had cooled, she would cast me aside as she did before.” He raised my hand to his lips and laid the softest touch across my knuckles. “I believe Anita wishes me in her bed. The
ardeur
may rise, or fall, it is all the same to me now.”

Jean-Claude looked at me. “
Ma petite
.”

“I would rather do as much of this as possible before the
ardeur
, but I understand that it's going to be . . . hard on you.” I shrugged. “I don't know. I know I'm committed to this, so I guess it's okay.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “You are never convincing when you lie,
ma petite
.”

“Now that's just not true,” I said, “I lie very well, thank you.”

“Not to me.”

I shrugged. “I'm doing the best I can here, Jean-Claude.” I looked up at the ceiling as if I could see the sky through all the rock above us. “I know
one thing, I want whatever we're doing done before dawn. I do not want you guys to fade in the middle.”

“
Ma petite
still finds it unnerving that we die at dawn,” Jean-Claude said.

“What time is it?” Asher asked.

I looked at my watch. “We're down to about two and a half hours.”

“Barely enough time,” Asher said. And something about what he said, or the way he said it, made Jean-Claude do that masculine chuckle that only men do, and only about women, or sex. I wasn't sure I'd ever heard that sound from Jean-Claude.

I was suddenly very aware that I was the only girl, and they were both men. I know that sounds silly. I mean, I knew that already, but . . . I suddenly felt it. It was like walking into a bar and feeling all those eyes follow you as you walk, like lions watching gazelles.

If either of the men had turned that same look to me, I think I would have bolted, but they didn't. Jean-Claude crawled onto the bed, still fully clothed, and held out his hand to me. I stared at that long-fingered, pale hand, graceful even in that small movement. Asher's hand squeezed, more gently, on my other hand.

I realized in that moment that if I chickened out, that would be the end of it. There would be no pressure from either of them. But Asher would be gone, not tonight, but soon. I didn't want him to be gone.

I took Jean-Claude's hand, and he pulled me gently onto the silk bedspread. Silk is slippery when you're wearing hose. Their hands on mine kept me from slipping off the edge of the bed. They half pulled me onto the bed.

“Why is it,” I said, “that
you
never slide off the bed when you're wearing silk?”

“Centuries of practice,” Jean-Claude said.

“I recall when you weren't so practiced. Remember the Duchess Vicante?” said Asher.

Jean-Claude blushed, a faint hint of pink. I hadn't even known he could blush. “What happened?” I asked.

“I fell,” he said, trying for dignity and failing, because he smiled.

“What he will not say is that he cut his chin on a silver mirror that he broke when he fell off the Duchess and her silk sheets. Blood everywhere, and the cuckold husband on the stairs.”

I looked at Jean-Claude. He nodded, shrugged.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The duchess cut herself on one of the shards of glass and told her husband it was her own blood. She was a very enterprising woman, was the Duchess Vicante.”

“So you both knew each other when you weren't perfectly suave.”

Jean-Claude said, “No, Asher watched me learn my lessons, but he had five years with Belle before I came to court. If he had rough edges they were worn away by the time I arrived.”

“I had them,
mon ami
,” Asher said, and he smiled. I was overwhelmed with a flood of images of that smile. That smile when his hair was in long locks and the hat on his head graceful with feathers, that smile by candlelight, that smile while we played chess and Julianna sewed by the fire, that smile in a spill of clean sheets and Julianna's laughter.

It had been a long time since we'd seen that smile. We drew him to the bed, and the smile vanished. Jean-Claude swept the bedspread aside to reveal sheets a little bluer than Asher's eyes, blue as the daytime sky, cerulean blue. But Asher stayed on his knees, as if afraid to lay upon the bed. I could see his pulse thudding in his throat, and it had nothing to do with vampire or shape-shifter powers, only fear, I think.

Asher was afraid. I could taste his fear on the back of my tongue. I could swallow it, enjoy the bouquet of it, like a fine wine to whet the appetite.

The fear called to that piece of me that was Richard's beast. It roiled inside me like a cat stretching, exploring the space it was trapped in. A thin growl trickled from my lips.

“Control,
ma petite
, do not lose it so soon.”

It was hard to think, let alone talk. I came to my knees and raised Asher's shirt, my fingers playing along his skin. I wanted to rip his shirt off and put my mouth to that tender skin. But it wasn't sex I was thinking of. Vampires may not feed off each other, but a werewolf will eat a vampire.

I closed my eyes, forced my hands away from his body. “I'm trying, but you know what happens if I push the
ardeur
off too long.”

“The other hungers rise,
oui, ma petite
. I have not forgotten.”

“You can't help control Richard's beast.” My voice sounded hoarse.

“
Non
.”

I looked into Asher's wide blue eyes, so afraid, so very afraid, and not of my beast. It helped steady me, but I knew it wouldn't last long, whatever we were going to do had to be done quickly.

“I want to see you nude for the first time without the
ardeur
riding me, Asher. But there isn't much time.” I tried to draw him down onto the bed, but he wouldn't come.

Jean-Claude propped himself up on the pillows and held out his arms, almost the way you'd reach for a baby. He spoke softly in French, but I couldn't catch it all, most of it was a plea to hurry.

Asher crawled onto the bed completely, though every movement was slow, reluctant. He let himself be settled down against Jean-Claude's body, but they were both fully clothed, and the way they were sitting, they could have been in any club. It wasn't so much sexual as comforting.

I looked at the two of them and knew someone was going to have to take off some clothes. Fine. I stripped off my jacket and tossed it to the floor.

Jean-Claude raised eyebrows.

“If we keep going this carefully it'll be dawn and nothing will have changed.” I had to slide off the bed to get the skirt off, and left it in a pile with my blouse. The panties and bra were a matched pair, a shiny navy satin. When I'd found them, they had reminded me of the color of Jean-Claude's eyes.

I expected to feel embarrassed standing there in my underwear, but I didn't. Maybe I'd spent too much time around the shape-shifters and their casual nudist policy. Or perhaps, it just didn't seem wrong to be undressed in front of Asher. I don't know, but I didn't question it. I climbed carefully back onto the cerulean silk, so that I didn't slide off again.

“You have truly decided to do this,” Asher said, in a voice that was soft, uncertain.

I nodded, as I crawled in my thigh-high hose and high heels across the bed to them. I kept the heels because I knew Jean-Claude liked it, and he'd worn enough boots to bed for me. Turn about can be fair play.

I tapped Asher's ankles, and he opened his legs a little. I crawled between his legs, having to force my body up between his calves, his knees. Jean-Claude's legs on either side of his seemed to hold him tight against me. I was left to worm my way between his thighs, using my hips, my legs, and finally impatient, my hands, to spread him wide before me. It left me, finally, kneeling between his legs, my knees pressed up against him, which was actually a lot less erotic than it sounds, because he was still wearing his pants, and the angle was odd.

I reached for the buttons on his shirt. Asher grabbed my hands. “Slowly,
ma cherie
.”

I raised eyebrows at him. “We don't have time for slow.”

He rolled his head back so he could see Jean-Claude. “Is she always this impatient?”

“She begins like an American man, but she does foreplay like she's French.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Let us help you undress,
mon ami
, and you will not need to ask questions, for you will know.”

Asher's hands dropped away from mine, and I unbuttoned his shirt. I did do it quickly, because time was not on our side. I did not want to be in the bed with them when they died at dawn. I was still unnerved when Jean-Claude did it with me, I did not want to see it done in stereo.

Jean-Claude raised Asher up, and between the two of us we peeled the long-sleeved shirt off of his upper body. “I would love to linger on every
piece of your body, Asher, but I want to see you nude before dawn. Next time, if we start earlier, we can take our time.”

He smiled. “Next time, you have not seen all there is to see, do not promise until you have seen, as they say, the whole show.”

I leaned into him, our faces only inches apart. “I don't believe there is anything you could show me that would make me not want you.”

“I almost believe that,
ma cherie
, almost.”

I leaned back enough on my knees to cradle his face between my hands. The difference in texture wasn't jarring, it was just part of touching Asher. I kissed him, long, slow, exploring him, softly with my lips. I drew back enough to see his face.

“Believe it.” I drew my fingers down the edge of his jaw on either side, tickling nails across the smooth line of his neck, one hand mirroring the other, until I came to his chest. It wasn't hands I wanted to use there.

I kissed along the scarred edge of his collarbone, but the scars made the skin too thick, I had to move to the other side to nibble along his collarbone, to give him that safe edge of teeth.

He shuddered for me.

I moved back to the right side and kissed down until I found his nipple, stranded in all that hardness. I wasn't sure if his nipple had the sensitivity it had had before. There was only one way to find out. I licked his nipple, a quick flick of tongue and felt the skin move, contract. I used my hands to help mound that side of his chest so that I could find a mouthful of him. The scars were harsh to my mouth, but his nipple drew tight under my tongue, my mouth, and lightly, teeth. Only when I'd thoroughly explored the right, did I turn to the left. His left nipple was easier to take into my mouth, easier to tease. I used more teeth, and he groaned as I marked him, lightly, nothing that wouldn't fade within moments.

I licked down the left side of his chest, his stomach, then moved back to the right and explored the scarred flesh as I had the other, because I knew now, that scarred or not, it worked. He could feel my mouth on his skin, my fingers trailing lower. If he could feel then I wanted to give him everything I could.

My mouth came to his waist, the belt, the top of his pants. I licked from one side of his waist to the other, then came back to the right side and licked along the front of his flat stomach, so the tip of my tongue eased inside the very top of his pants, even with the belt.

Asher's voice came breathy, harsh, “You have taught her well.”

“I can take little credit for it,
mon ami
, she enjoys her work.”

I rolled eyes up at them. “Please, stop talking about me like I can't understand you.”

“Our most sincere apologies,” Jean-Claude said.

“
Oui
,” Asher said, “it was not an insult.”

“No, but you assume that if I'm any good it has to be because a man taught me. That's so sexist.”

“We can only apologize again,
ma petite
.”

I undid the buckle on Asher's belt, and he didn't stop me this time. I got the top fastener undone, but I've never been good at unzipping a man when he's sitting down. I think I'm always a little afraid I'll get him caught in the zipper.

“Some help here,” I said.

Jean-Claude lifted, Asher helped, and the zipper came down, revealing that he was wearing royal blue bikini's in silk, what else? There is no way to get real pants off of anyone gracefully. I peeled the pants down Asher's long legs, slipped off the shoes that he was still wearing, there were no socks to bother with. He lay back, cradled against Jean-Claude, wearing nothing but the tiny blue silk undies. I wanted to snatch them away from him. I wanted to see him completely nude, it seemed more important than anything else. To finally see if the scars went all the way across.

I crawled forward and licked the edge of his stomach, so that my tongue dipped just below the waistband of the silk, an echo of what I'd done to his pants. I could feel him pressed against the thin cloth, the hardness of him brushing against my chin as I moved around his waist.

I went back to the right side and the scars that dribbled down to mid-thigh. I licked, kissed, and bit along them until he cried out. Then I did the same to his other thigh, going lower until I licked the back of his knee, and he whimpered.