Dreams for the Dead (11 page)

“You’re new at this,” Tristan said, hiking her shirt over her head. He undid her jeans and paused to let her step out of them. “We’ll go easy. All you have to do is tell me when to stop.”

“Okay. But don’t bite me.”

“I won’t. Now get on the bed.”

Trembling, she eased herself back on top of the comforter. He took off his shirt and flung it aside before kneeling on the floor in front of her. Then he grinned at her and sank his face between her thighs. Her body bucked up in surprise and she let her legs fall open. She lay there in a rapturous state, enjoying the gentle, unhurried strokes of his tongue. For a while she needed nothing more. But then she began to ache, craving the release he wouldn’t give her. Putting her hands on either side of his head, she tried to coax his mouth into another position. He wouldn’t budge. He knew what he was doing to her. Her hands tightened in his hair, fingers threading through its silkiness. His tongue moved swiftly, taking her to a slow burn. She was almost there.

Suddenly he pulled away,
leaving her unmoored and irate. She scowled as he tore open a condom and slipped it on.

“Do vampires need condoms?” she asked. “Can you get someone pregnant if you’re dead?”

“Can’t be too careful,” he said.

He flipped her onto her stomach. Swollen and sensitive from his attentions, she gasped as he e
ntered her. His jeans were only partially down and she could feel their soft abrasion on the back of her legs. His weight crushing her comfortably into the mattress, he moved slowly in and out of her. She gasped at the incredible friction the position created. He kissed her neck and tongued her earlobe, making her shiver and moan.

After a few heated strokes, he stepped back and kicked off his jeans the rest of the way. “On your knees,” he said. Obediently she got on all fours and he positioned himself behind her. He held her by the hips, jerking her toward him each time he thrust. She liked it that way, fast and hard. Her breaths came at the same pace as his mov
ements into her.

He removed one hand to grab the hair at the back of her head and tug. With her neck arched up and him ramming into her from behind, she felt trapped and uncomfortable. Her cry was stra
ngled.

Finally he let go of her hair and started rubbing her ass in wide, greedy circle, his hand splayed across her flesh. Then he gave her a light, stin
ging slap that made her cry out. His fingers pressed into her skin and he slapped her again, harder. The sensation was shocking and not unpleasant, exactly, but painful enough that she wanted him to stop.

“Wait. Don’t,” she cried, squirming away from him.

He pulled out and turned her back over. “A little too rough for you?” he asked softly, stroking a thumb across her cheekbone.

She nodded, lost in the golden starry shape encircling his pupils. She felt incredibly young and ine
xperienced. She’d never done anything like that before. “I didn’t like those things. The hair-pulling or the slapping.”

“I think we found your line,” he said. “And it’s a lot closer than mine.”

“Yeah.”

He lowered his whole body over hers and leaned down for a kiss without entering her again. His tongue pushed up the underside of hers, opening her mouth wide. His lips were tender but forceful. He held her tightly up against him, one arm behind her, one hand cradling the back of her head. Their lengths pressed together. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, shivering pleasurably at his hair slipping down around them, tickling her ribs and shou
lders.

A moment later he pulled away and looked down at her. “I won’t be that rough with you again unless you ask me. But if you’re all right to keep going, I have more for you.”

“I’m fine,” she said.

This time he had her against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head. Wanting him deeper, she curved one leg up around him. The wallpaper scratched lightly at her back. In this pos
ition they were nearly eye-to-eye, and he didn’t flinch from her gaze. He barely even blinked. She saw no mercy in him, none of the tenderness she’d experienced in his kiss. Who
was
he? Who was
she
when she surrendered herself to him?

Hands tightening on her wrists, he came fiercely, and only then did he break eye contact. His head fell down into the crook of her shoulder as he spasmed inside her. She felt his teeth graze her neck and she cried out, expecting a bite, but he only pressed his mouth hard against her skin, groa
ning for what seemed ages. She’d have marks later.

Her arms fell to her sides as he released her wrists. She felt ashamed without even knowing why. Tristan was still against her, nuzzling her neck. He made low, satisfied sounds, his hands kneading her waist. Her lips rested on his shoulder, not quite a kiss.

“Tristan. I didn’t—”

He straightened away from her. “I know.”

She averted her eyes, beginning to feel miserable. Frowning, she started to move away, to go clean herself up, but he grabbed her wrist and held her in place. “Hold on. We’re not done.” He lowered himself to his knees before her. “Beg me for it,” he whispered. His eyes were wicked in his humorless face.

Heat rushed up from her thighs and she struggled to maintain a neutral expression. “Beg?” she echoed calmly.

“Yeah. You want it, don’t you? You want me to make you come with my tongue?” She nodded. “This is part of the game, if you want to play.”

“I-I do.” Dawn pursed her lips, looking down at him. “But I’m not going to beg,” she said, lifting her chin stubbornly. “I think it’s kind of weird— Oh!” she yelped as he slipped an unexpected finger inside her. Her hands fla
ttened against the wall. “Please, oh, god, please.”

“That’s better,” he said.

All her thoughts and doubts slipped away when his mouth was back between her thighs. He drew one of her legs over his shoulder to give himself better access. She pressed her foot into the corner of the bed, toes curling. Her hands found no purchase on the wall so she held his shoulders. He cupped her buttocks with both hands, controlling the subtle gyration of her hips. He licked her into oblivion. Her legs weakened with tiny tremors. As she came, she gradually slumped to the ground, tangled up with him, skin against damp skin. She lay there a moment, catching her breath.

More than anything she wanted to languish the day away in his arms, and maybe even pretend they were in love. It would have been nice to forget all the unpleasant things crowding into her life, but she didn’t allow herself the luxury. Without a word she extracted herself from their embrace and stu
mbled into the bathroom. She closed the door between them and got in the shower, turning it as hot as she could stand. She stood beneath it, letting the steam shut her off from the world, and hoped the rushing water would hide the sound of her crying.

Afterward she hurriedly pulled on her clothes and went out to stand before the mirror. Her su
nburn had faded into a burnished tan. She lifted her shirt. It was oddly satisfying to see the blotches where the hot water had made her lightly tanned skin red.

Letting her shirt fall back down, she turned her head to see both sides of her neck. Tristan had left some light purplish marks, but there was no evidence of Branek ever having bitten her.

“The bite heals fast,” Tristan said from a few feet behind her. “It’s like we were never there.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She looked at his reflection and saw he was fully dressed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going out.”

“You’re going to leave me here alone?” The plaintive tone of her voice alarmed her. Turning, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin a notch. Fear would not debilitate her. Emotion would not cloud her common sense. Not anymore.

“I won’t be long. Unless you’d rather …” His eyes fell to her neck.

“No,” she said sharply.

He grinned unpleasantly. “I didn’t think so.”

“We went over this already.”

“We did.”

He paused, studying her for a moment. Swiftly he leaned in to kiss her, brief and just hard enough to stir her into wanting more. She’d parted her lips for him just as he pulled away and left a cool, faint disturbance of air in his wake. Dawn didn’t call after him or try to stop him, no ma
tter how much she didn’t want to be alone. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound fading into silence.

“You stupid bastard,” she muttered.

Dawn’s hair was mostly dry by the time she realized Tristan hadn’t bothered to restrain her. For the first time in days she was on her own. She pulled on her green and white shoes, opened the door, and stood staring out at the depressingly sunny parking lot. An elderly couple walked to their car, glancing unseeingly at her. Her body pulled forward in her desire to escape, but she held on to the doorframe. After a moment’s hesitation, she darted back into the room, grabbed the ice bucket, and began to walk calmly beneath the breezeways in search of the ice machine.

In those moments, a warm wind ruffling her hair, the sun on her face, she could almost believe this was how things were supposed to be. Tristan did not exist in her world. Or he did, just in some other capacity. A non-toxic one.

She hadn’t lied to say she would have fallen for him. It was obvious to her, if only from the way she acted around him now. Like this was just a romantic getaway for two and she was getting ice for the champagne. It was clear he wasn’t her hero. She just didn’t know why she wanted him to be anyway.

God, she’d really messed with her own priorities. If she’d wanted control, now she had it. She imagined calling the police from the lobby. They would come in a quiet blaze of red and blue lights. They would arrest Tristan upon his return. In the police station, she would sit beneath harsh green-tinged lights and tell them all the things he’d done, all the threats he’d made, albeit undelivered. They’d contact Metro and a han
dful of officers would collect Leila. Everything would be great. Maybe there would be therapy, but at least they’d control their own lives once more.

So why couldn’t she? Why wouldn’t she? She envisioned these things as ice clattered into the bucket, as she walked back past closed doors, as she jiggled the handle of the room and realized she didn’t have a key to get in. The front desk clerk would give her one.

She knew why she didn’t make any effort to run or call. Why she slumped down against the door, holding the bucket in her lap. It was because there wasn’t any point. It was because she would never be free.

The answer surprised her even as she realized how true it was. And how depressing. Maybe one day he’d let her go and she’d live her life and never see him again. She knew it wasn’t realistic to believe she’d ache for him till the day she died, but right now it certainly felt that way. That was a
nnoying. She considered herself independent and a feminist. She didn’t like the idea of relying on another person for one’s happiness.

Not that Tristan would ever make her happy. Why was it so hard to remember he was a psych
opath who’d kidnapped her?

Dawn was still sitting there by the time Tristan returned, a tall, slim figure dressed all in black. His long-legged lope across the par
king lot was leisurely but purposeful. With his head hung low, hair shielding his face, he seemed only aloofly aware of his surroundings.

Maybe it was the amber wash of the lowering sun, or just the memory of him in her arms, but she thought he looked incredibly lonely. When he reached her, she was going to suggest they run away together. She would have a specific place in mind and enough money in her bank account to get there. And she would know for certain what kind of life a desperate human and troubled vampire could lead t
ogether.

He came to a stop in front of her. “What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you. I locked myself out.” Everything else she’d planned to say vanished from her mind. She knew running away was impractical anyway.

His eyes fell to the ice bucket nestled in the crook of her elbow. The lid was missing and all the ice had melted. “And you didn’t try to escape?” he said dubiously.

She gave a pained smile. “Didn’t you want me to stay?”

Leaning one arm against the wall, he gazed down at her thoughtfully. “I didn’t think it would be so easy to get you to trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I don’t need you to trust me. I only need you to fear me.”

“I don’t.”

A narrow, cunning smile crept onto his lips. “Not yet.”

“If I don’t fear you yet, don’t you think you’re doing a pretty bad job as a psychopathic kidnapper?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe you’re a liar. In and out of church.”

All of a sudden she was sure she hated him. He was a bad man. Rotten and heartless. Somehow the past few days had begun to seem almost normal. She’d existed contently in the sensual torpor of a mad dream. She was the one to have dreamt it, maybe to make herself feel better when faced with horror.

But the worst thing of all was that he’d made her
care
. She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive him for that.

Or herself.