Eyes of Ice (Eyes of Ice Erotica Series) (15 page)

“I’m not sure. Cecelia and I might have plans.”

Cecelia barely registered this conversation. She was still staring intently at Devon, who for his own part had stayed resolutely silent since his brief words a few moments earlier. He was as mannered as Andrew, quietly sipping his drink and watching Alexandra and Andrew’s conversation without much interest showing on his angular face.

“I enjoyed meeting the clan the other night,” she said suddenly, interrupting Andrew and Alexandra’s chitchat about lobster entrees and wine pairings.

Devon’s eyes snapped over to her. “Did you really?” he asked, voice silky. A quick glance at Alexandra, who seemed to be a barometer for social correctness, proved Cecelia’s suspicion: Alexandra’s smile had tightened slightly, her eyebrows raised a little in surprise. Or was it shock?

Cecelia only nodded.

“Why is that?” Devon asked.

“I guess I enjoy meeting people and seeing new things? I wanted to say that I appreciated being trusted that much, as well,” Cecelia said, aware that Andrew and Alexandra, too, were listening intently to her every word. “I know how much of an honor it must be.”

Underneath the table, Andrew squeezed Cecelia’s hand, gently.
She looked up at him and saw that he was smiling warmly. As for Devon, his face seemed to be performing the same surprise as Alexandra’s, mirroring his girlfriend’s features perfectly.

“And a mark of respect,” Devon stated
softly.

“Yes,” Cecelia agreed.

Alexandra and Andrew picked up their conversation once more, but as the topics turned to more personal and relatable matters, Devon began to engage more, appearing to have been slightly won over. Cecelia tried not to rejoice too much at her victory – it would be undignified, and she already felt unsophisticated among these high-mannered beings.

Alexandra, who was the arbiter and initiator of most discussion topics, seemed to know Cecelia’s self-consciousness, and only directed simple questions at her, leaving Cecelia free to,
like Devon, relax into her role. This also left Cecelia free to listen and take in information, though she spent a good deal of time merely studying Devon and Alexandra and judging their relationship.
Andrew is right
, she realized before long,
They are perfect for each other.
When each thought the other wasn’t looking, Cecelia saw their eyes following each others’ features in an almost loving way, and whenever the other said something even vaguely amusing, their partner was the first to laugh or smile at the joke.

They balance each other,
Cecelia thought, as Alexandra teased Devon about his impatience when she tried to teach him how to cook (“He couldn’t even let something alone to sauté, he was always watching it like it would explode, prodding it with the spoon, it was a nightmare!”)
; Devon’s moody and dark and reactionary, and Alexandra’s easy-going, light, and kind. Maybe that’s what he fears – her kindness and love.

The topic of conversation, Cecelia realized belatedly, had turned to something decidedly more interesting than the prior chitchat.
It wasn’t truly full of the details she had been hoping for  about the complexities and politics of modern-day vampirism, but it was better than nothing.

“What I miss,” said Alexandra was saying, “Is freckles. Oh, and really enjoying food. Running and getting
tired
and sweaty. I used to go running very day. I miss looking at someone and not having my first thought be about –”

Devon cleared his throat loudly, and Alexandra seemed to remember that Cecelia was there, for she abruptl
y squeaked to a halt mid-sentence.
Blood
, Cecelia mentally finished for her.
She’s talking about things she misses before her infection.

There was silence for a moment, and as Alexandra was too shocked at herself to redirect the conversation, that left a few yawning seconds of quiet.

“I miss being tired, too,” Andrew said. “and listening to music
without
hearing every instrument. And painting – painting well.”

“Has Andrew showed you any of his paintings, Cecelia?” Devon asked suddenly, clearly uncomfortable with the personal direction that Andrew had continued.

“No,” Cecelia replied.

“Ah, well, paintings bare the soul, don’t they?” Devon said.

“I thought that was poetry,” Andrew murmured with dry humor, and Cecelia noticed that in spite of his stab at a joke, his shoulders had tensed. Devon shrugged, leaning back in his chair and smirking with a lazy confidence.

“You should make him, Cecelia.
They’re worth a look,” he carried on with an encouraging nod.

We are definitely not talking about just paintings any more
, Cecelia thought with mounting anxiety, squeezing Andrew’s hand in what she hoped copied his previous reassurance. She could think of nothing to say, but Alexandra intervened.

“Devon,” she chided. “You’re making Andrew uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Andrew replied with a totally unconvincing air. “But we should be going, anyway.” He stood. “Lunch was delicious, Alexandra. Put it on your menu and get yourself another Michelin star. Cecelia?”

Cecelia realized he was halfway to the elevator doors while she was still sitting dumbly at the table. Fumbling awkwardly, she stood.

“Thanks for having me,” she said to Alexandra, but it came out sounding like an apology.

“Of course,” Alexandra said
graciously, adding “It was lovely getting to know you,” though her brows were drawn together in concern and she wasn’t looking at Cecelia but at Andrew.

Devon said nothing, but his smile seemed to have widened. From where she was standing, Cecelia could see
beneath the table to Alexandra’s heel digging mercilessly into one of Devon’s highly polished shoes. Nevertheless he withstood the pain, if there even was any. This was the last that Cecelia saw of Alexandra’s apartment; Andrew shutting the door firmly behind them, and the elevator doors eclipsed the image of the hallway with a subdued hum.

That went well
, she sarcastically remarked to herself, as they stood silently during the elevator’s descent. Andrew was as tense as she had ever seen him, or rather, felt him – stress seemed to radiate from him in near-visible waves, filling the enclosed space in a suffocating manner.

It did go well
, she thought, attempting optimism.
Alexandra was nice and Devon was nice, for a while. At least, he seems to like me more, now. Why does he have to be so hard on Andrew?
But she couldn’t imagine that Andrew would want to hear any of these sentiments, so she held her tongue, claustrophobic and apprehensive.

When they finally stood on the street, Andrew took several deep breaths of air, and Cecelia cautiously slipped her hand into his
. The white-knuckled fist uncurled slowly with her touch.

As if to answer her thoughts, Andrew said: “I’m sorry. I need to be more tolerant. He’s hard on me because he wants the best for me.”

“Are you sure?” Cecelia asked timidly, taking a step forward. For some reason she now wanted to be nowhere near Alexandra’s beautiful apartment. Andrew appeared to get the hint, and they began walking.

“Yes. And he simply doesn’t know that you’re the best for me, yet.”
Andrew’s expression was wooden under his emotional control.

In spite of the strain of the situation, Cecelia had to conceal her joy at that.
The best for him! And he doesn’t even seem to doubt it…
She bit her tongue. She might not be the best at social situations, but she knew that now wasn’t the time for a celebration of commitment.

“I’m sorry it turned out like that, though. Apart from things like that” (she thought of Alexandra’s slip
with regret) “I did have a good time.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Andrew informed her, in a clipped voice. “We really should be honest with each other.”

“I am being honest!” Cecelia protested shrilly. “I like Alexandra and it was good to see you relaxing a little!”

“You notice when I’m not relaxed?” Andrew asked, seeming startled.

“Who wouldn’t? I can even feel it.”

“No one ever notices,” he said. “No one ever notices how I’m feeling.”

“That’s silly. Everyone must notice. Even if it’s from context clues and stuff. Like, now, for instance.”

“How do you think I feel now?” he paused and looked into her eyes. She searched his face.

“That’s actually easy. You’re tense, because that was a stupid thing for Devon to do – I don’t know why it upset you, but it did. So you’re upset – angry, even. And hurt, hurt because Devon means so much you and you mean a lot to him, and it’s angering to you that he could be so hurtful. And it’s bad because you’re trying to contain it, and thinking, how can I hide this from everybody, because nobody can deal with me being angry.” The explanation sounded jumbled, extrapolated from how she would feel in such a situation and judged off of what she knew of Andrew’s character, but Cecelia was convinced she’d gotten most of it right.

“
Mostly correct,” Andrew admitted with a frown.

“Mostly?”

“Yes. I’m also thinking: how can I continue to be with this young woman – this young human woman – without hurting her accidentally, damaging her with my darkness, and keeping her safe from those dark things in this city. Those dark things that include me,” he was frowning, his voice hoarse with restrained emotion as he finished: “While all I want to do is possess every inch of her, to make her mine in the most physical ways.”

Cecelia’s mind was jarred back to her morning conversation with Mags –
you’d tell me if Andrew wasn’t treating you well, right?
And then jerked back to the present, in which she stumbled over her words and feelings to provide an answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

“I’m all right, though,” she protested. “You haven’t frightened me yet – not really. And you haven’t hurt me, not in a bad way.”

He sighed, clenching her hand tighter. “Yes. But you don’t know how hard it is to – not. To not be bad. To keep you safe – from me.”

Cecelia stopped. “You think you’re a monster,” she blurted. “You’re not! Andrew, you’re not. We all have bad things inside us and we all have temptations, and I get that yours are closer to the surface, and I’m okay with that. I’ll say it again, if you need to hear it again:
I trust you.
”

His hand loosened slightly on hers; perhaps he realized how tightly he had been gripping it. “You’re my temptation,” he murmured. “You’re so good, and all I want is to possess that….”

“Would that make you feel less bad?” she asked.

“It would make me feel not as bad, not as purely monstrous if I could keep you good. If I could keep you safe. If I could take this as far as I want to … and you say you want to … without damaging you.
Infecting you … oh, not just with what I am inside but what I truly am.”

“All right,” Cecelia said.

“All right?” he repeated. He took a deep breath.

At his apartment, it was another whirlwind from the door to the bedroom – Cecelia wasn’t even totally convinced that they had shut the front door, she was so distracted by the progression of Andrew’s actions. What had last time been more forceful was now aggressive – there was still tenderness in his movements, still the greatest care for her body. His touch was so gentle and tantalizing at times. But there was an overtone of strength that had not existed before
, not even in the controlled violence of yesterday’s lovemaking.

In the bedroom, he did not immediately lay her on the bed as he had before, but pressed her before him, back to his chest, to the wall, pinning her hands above her head with one of his. His other hand ran up her leg to her vagina, his fingers sliding into her wetness with little resistance. She moaned into him and he pushed her hands harder against the wall, and as his fingers worked in and out of her, he murmured: “You can do more than that. No one will hear you…” and
she complied as his tongue glided down her neck. She hadn’t realized that she needed his permission, but when his fingers plunged deeper into her, she began letting out short, ragged cries of pleasure. Her cheek ground into the wall and she felt her legs widening automatically. She wanted
more
of him and was no longer ashamed to let him see that she needed him.

Abruptly, the fingers were gone, but she saw, out of the corner of her eye and over her shoulder, Andrew’s body moving closer to hers. She felt the warmth of
his skin pressed against hers; one of his hands still keeping hers pinned to the wall, his previously occupied other hand now gripped her shoulder strongly, rocking her in her limited space against his body.

“Hold still for me,” he ordered – and Cecelia tried, though she felt she was writhing with yearning, burning alive from the inside. She heard the clink of his belt being undone, the sound of his zipper being pulled down, and then she felt his member, hard and long, against her buttocks. He held it there for a moment, still rocking her back and forth against him, and Cecelia couldn’t help but cry out a little more
. She wanted him so badly, how could he keep teasing her like this? How could he be so cruel? Then both of his hands tightened their holds on her, and his manhood cut into her, quickly and brutally shattering the softness of her.