Dark Possession (45 page)

She knew he liked her skin, and with the flickering lights playing over it, the soft coffee color was shown off to an advantage. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He knelt over her on the bed, his hand sliding up the length of her leg to her thigh. His hands were warm and rough. Arousal tightened her womb, and she could feel ripples of need deep in her most intimate feminine channel. He was barely touching her, only with his dark gaze, so filled with lust, so aroused, she thought she might have an orgasm just from the light brush of his fingers and the look on his face.

Manolito covered her body with his own, kissing her over and over, taking his time, being as gentle and as patient as he could. His touch was tender as he aroused her body. He wanted her to know love. To feel love. To know that he would always stand with her and for her and he would worship her body with his. She would know, at the end of their time together, she would know she had been thoroughly loved.

He parted her thighs with his knee and lifted her to him, waited until her eyes met his, and then he joined them in one long surge that set lightning streaking through his body. Her muscles pulsed around him, tight and slick and oh so velvet soft.

He told her he loved her with his body, leaning down over and over to kiss her as he rode her, as he brought her to a gentle climax. His heart pounded at the enormity of what he was doing—of what they were doing. His own release sent another orgasm rippling through her. He kissed her again and sat up, pulling her into his lap.

“Are you certain?”

She nodded, her eyes trusting. His heart turned over. He drew her into his arms, his mouth finding hers, kissing her again and again, over and over as if he’d never get enough. She gasped as his fingers flicked her nipples and sent an overload of sensation to the junction of her legs, so that her body shuddered with more pleasure. As if he had waited for that signal, he bent his head lower, long hair sliding sensuously over her skin, pooling in her lap as he found her breast. Teeth tugged, scraped; his tongue laved and danced. He took his time, suckling for a moment, one hand sliding between her legs to catch her reaction, the hot tightness, the gathering moisture.

He kissed his way back up to the swelling curve of her breast and licked at the pulse point there. Once. Twice. His hand slid over her cleft, rubbed, fingers pushing deep. He felt the ripple of her silken walls closing around him, clamping down with heated arousal. He sank his teeth deep. MaryAnn jerked in his arms, threw her head back, her hips bucking against him, her body riding his hand as he drank. The pleasure/pain of it rocked her and, through her—him.

This was the Carpathian way. The need of a lifemate. Nothing sated hunger, sexual or physical, as a lifemate could. Her taste was unique to her and an aphrodisiac to him. It was the very essence of their life, a blood bond that could not be broken. He reached for his wolf, sharing it with him, wanting him to understand, wanting MaryAnn’s wolf to share that same bond.

He fed MaryAnn’s arousal, wanted her to feel only pleasure, to heighten the experience of their ultimate merging. Her life was tied to his for all time, and the blood binding their union was as addicting as her body. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her bare skin sliding against his. Every nerve ending was enhanced, so that the smallest sensation washed over him in waves of pleasure. He moved in her mind, sharing how she felt—the soft satin, the hot silk, the spicy taste.

He lifted his head, watched the two twin trickles make a path down the sloping curve to the valley and below toward her belly. He passed his tongue over the pinpricks, closing them, and followed the twin trails over her breast, down the valley to her stomach. His hair slid across her thighs as he circled her waist, urging her to lie back as he licked every remnant of her life’s essence from her skin. He could feel the muscles bunching under his palm, tightening just the way her sheath tightened around his fingers.

He caught her to him and rolled, putting her on top of him. “Straddle me. Ride me.” He was already bursting with need again.

“You can’t possibly,” she said softly, but she slithered down his body to find his pulsing erection with the heat of her mouth. “I guess you can.”

His hands caught at her shoulders. He couldn’t let her distract him, and her mouth—her magic mouth—just might do that. “Straddle me, MaryAnn.” He gripped her thigh, tugged until she reluctantly gave him one delicious, very erotic swipe with her tongue and then obeyed him, crawling up his body until she straddled him.

She threw her hair back over her shoulder and rose above him, while his hand circled the base of his shaft so she could slowly seat herself. Her breasts swayed invitingly, lovingly, oh so temptingly, and he caught his breath, wondering at the sheer magic of her. And then she lowered herself, one exquisite inch at a time. It was torture, a painful pleasure as she took him into her sheath, so hot she was like a ring of white-hot fire, so soft she felt like living silk, so tight his breath strangled in his throat. He wasn’t certain he would survive this night.

Manolito lifted his hands, and MaryAnn leaned forward to tangle her fingers with his. The movement put pressure on her most sensitive spot, and she nearly fragmented right there, but his hands dropped to her hips and locked her down tight on him, preventing movement. His gaze held hers. Hot. Aroused. Glittering. The intensity sent another wash of heat rolling through her. Commanding.

She knew what he wanted. The idea should have filled her with fear, or dread, or even disgust, but instead, it excited her, excited her wolf. She could feel her teeth, sharp now, pressing her for a taste of him. Manolito. The other half of her soul. He slid one palm under her hair until his fingers could curl around the nape of her neck and pull her down to his chest. Seated on him, her body throbbing with pleasure, she licked at the spot just above his heart.

The rush of his blood through his veins called to her. His male scent. The musky scent of the wolf and the heady fragrance of sex in the air—all combined to make her head spin. Her tongue darted out again, flicked over his skin. His cock gave an answering jerk. Her muscles tightened around him. She waited, listening to the steady beat so close to her ear. Rapid. Excited. Anticipating.

Her teeth sank deep, and the taste of him, the incredible gift of life, flowed into her. His harsh breathing deepened. His cock thickened, stretching, invading, sending fiery waves through her body. Her muscles spasmed, and he groaned, adding to her heightened pleasure. He tasted—like power. Hot and sweet and filled with sex. Who would have thought he could taste so good?

His body began to move in hers. Long, slow strokes, almost lazy. Steel encased in velvet riding between her legs, thick and long and driving her slowly insane. He was everywhere. In her. On her. Flooding her mouth, her body, enveloping her in a cocoon of love. His hands urged her hips up so that she concentrated on the fiery sensations as he nearly retreated completely. Then he forced her back down, holding her to the lazy pace so she could take enough for a true exchange.

The ride was the most sensual she’d ever had. His hands slid over her bottom, massaged, made small circles, stroked the long, velvety line between her buttocks, and then he’d urge her up again, in that slow, lazy rhythm. She moaned and swept her tongue across his chest to close the small wound. Her muscles were pulsing around his shaft and her breath came in gasping sobs. She looked down into his eyes.

He was staring back at her. Manolito De La Cruz. His eyes were the blackest of night in color, with streaks of amber, like small lightning bolts. And she could drown in the amount of love she found there. He didn’t try to hide it, wasn’t in the least shy about letting her see.

He held her hips and did a long, slow circle as he brought her down, so that the breath was driven from her body and the tight knot of nerves screamed at the intense sensation. Her stomach rippled with the fiery burst and her womb spasmed.

“Of course I love you. How could you not know?”

Her throat ached and tears burned behind her eyes. “I never thought I’d find you. I never thought I’d feel a love like this of my own.”

“I will make certain you feel it with every breath you take,” he said. Tightening his fingers on her hips, he drove his hips upward, filling her so full she cried out his name, her nails digging into his shoulders.

She thrust back against him, driving down, her body shuddering as mind-numbing pleasure exploded through her, as she felt his brutal release, the sudden swelling, the hot release so deep inside triggering wave after wave until she fell forward into his arms, exhausted, lying on him, locked to him, unable to move.

He held her to him, his lips in her hair, staring up at the crystal ceiling. “I have lived for centuries, MaryAnn, and never once did I believe it would happen to me. I don’t think any of us really believe it will happen.”

There wasn’t enough air in her lungs to speak, so she pressed kisses to his throat, and then laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of his heart.

“I’ve looked into my heart and soul, and honestly, I think a man of our species is meant to claim his lifemate regardless of whether or not she is in love with him. I have destroyed so many vampires, and I think, given the choice of becoming wholly evil, murdering and preying on the innocent, or staking my claim and allowing my lifemate time to grow to love me—I believe it is the only recourse open to us.”

She patted his chest. “Perhaps you might consider courting your lifemate first, getting her to fall in love with you and then claiming her.” Her stomach suddenly cramped. With a small gasp she rolled off of him to lie on her back.

Manolito put his hand on her belly, feeling her muscles cramping. She cringed and pushed his arm away.

“You feel too heavy. And it’s hot in here. Maybe you should open the door and let the night air in.”

He rolled onto his side, careful to keep his body from hers. “The conversion is starting. You felt a part of what Luiz went through. I want you to stay merged with me at all times, MaryAnn.”

“There’s no need for both of us to go through this. It was my decision.” A blowtorch seemed to flash through her middle, so that she gasped and clutched her stomach. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.

“I’m not asking you. I won’t survive just watching. I have to be an active participant and so does my wolf.” He leaned close, took her hand in his. “Do you understand? Did you hear me?”

Her eyes were enormous, already glazed with pain, but she nodded. “My wolf,” she gasped. “She’s trying to shield me. You have to make her stop. We both need to…” She trailed off as a convulsion picked up her body and slammed it back to the mattress. She curled into the fetal position, reaching for his hand. “Make him talk to her. She can’t fight this. It will destroy her, but she doesn’t want me to suffer.”

Manolito didn’t want to leave her, not even for a moment, but she was panting, nodding, trying to hold on while the pain wracked her body. She went to her knees, leaning over the side of the bed, vomiting over and over.

It was happening fast, almost too fast. He reached for her, but the convulsions started again. In her mind, he could feel her wolf rising, trying to protect her. The wolf had no thought of saving herself. She was a guardian and MaryAnn was suffering.

His wolf was a part of him. There had to be trust between them, and neither wanted his mate to bear the pain. Manolito kept his mind firmly merged with MaryAnn’s, trying to shoulder the agony himself, but he let go of his physical body, allowing the wolf to take over.

MaryAnn thrashed, desperate to ease the pain, and her hand collided with thick fur. She turned her head and the wolf lay beside her. His eyes stared into hers. Deep amber with thin black lightning bolts through them. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful fur.

Let go. Let her come out.
She heard the words echo through her mind as she convulsed again, as the pain burned up through every organ and into her very brain.

She might die.

I will not allow it. If you do not, she will not survive. Can you feel her fighting? She will never accept what is happening to you without guidance.

I don’t know how to help her.

I do. Let her come out.

He was every bit as arrogant and protective as Manolito. She didn’t know if she could bear the pain in the small confines of that space, but she didn’t want to take the chance that her wolf would die. She forced herself to let go, even though the sensation was worse; she couldn’t cling to anything, had no anchor to hold on to. She heard her desperate scream, and then Manolito was there, in her mind, calming her, whispering to her. His wolf was there as well, murmuring reassurances.

The pain eased, became distant, although she could feel the convulsions wracking her body. She could hear the wolf panting and whining, crying out on occasion. She felt the soothing lap of a velvet tongue as her mate eased her through the conversion. More than that, she felt the two males shifting the pain to their own shoulders, working in conjunction with each other to take everything they could.

Hours, maybe days, went by. It seemed endless. Exhausted, certain she was going to succumb eventually to death, Manolito at last called to her to emerge.

She didn’t have the strength. Her wolf didn’t have much left either. They both lay panting, so worn out neither could move or respond. The alpha male nudged at the female, stroking his muzzle over her body, clearly trying to help her.

MaryAnn felt them in her mind again, Manolito calling to her. She had to go to ground. It was the only way to stop the pain for all of them—the only way to heal their bodies. She made a supreme effort and forced her way up, sending warmth and love to her wolf as it retreated.

Manolito gathered her into his arms, holding her close as he opened the earth and floated them both into it. Cradling her, he drew the rich, dark soil over them, commanding her to sleep the rejuvenating sleep of the Carpathian.