Eyes of Ice (Eyes of Ice Erotica Series) (18 page)

Unless Devon was as lonely as Andrew. Cecelia filed this thought away for later consideration, completely preoccupied with the alteration of Devon as a noble man.

“Andrew’s afraid,” Cecelia said “And I understand him and I understand why, now.”

Exasperat
ion was plain on Devon’s face a split second before he slammed the whisk down on the counter. Cecelia jumped, seeing the metal crumple like tin foil under the force of his palm. “He’s
afraid
? Little girl, you should be afraid of
him
. He could tear you limb from limb, and so could I. And you dare to condescend to pretend that you have some insight into him? I doubt you could now stand to look at him without cringing!”

“I can look at you,” Cecelia said coldly.

              Devon laughed callously. “You think I’m the greater monster? Stop the presses, sweetheart. The difference is, I’ve resigned myself to the existence of evil in me – one glance from you, and you jeopardize Andrew’s own ability to do so. You endanger him by striving for an unreachable ideal of goodness and purity to match your own.” Devon drew closer to Cecelia, his eyes darkening – what had he called it? Shading – as he did so, speaking low: “He can
never
wash the blood from his hands or his lips, yet you implicitly demand it of him.”

             
No!
Cecelia inwardly protested, even while her mind began to reluctantly turn to the reason in his words. Had she really been so cruel? Had she been the one pushing Andrew too far? How was that possible – Andrew had always been active, the agent, while she had remained passive.
He
had done things to her, not the other way around.
She
had screamed
his
name.
He
had taken
her.
Cecelia’s head ached.

             
“You’re oversimplifying,” she muttered to the floor, not able to look in those darkening eyes and fearing that they might shade further.

             
“Am I?” Devon asked with a casual lightness.

             
“Yes,” Cecelia said, and even she heard the doubt in her tone.

             
Devon laughed again, clearly pleased with himself and feeling no compunction to hide it. “It’s over between you, you asked me to seal the tomb, which I have done. Why do you resist?”

             
“I care about him,” she whispered to the floor.

             
Devon said nothing for a moment. “This is a reversal of natures, isn’t it?” he said. “I am the one who truly cares, while you merely feign it.”

              Cecelia swallowed back more nausea, and stood.

“Going so soon?”

              She fled without a word, half-expecting to hear his evil laughter in the background of her flight, the pursuing malevolent cackle like that of a cartoon villain.

Instead, she simply heard him continue his baking as if nothing
out of the ordinary had occurred, the sound of cookware clinking and a burner clicking to life. If anything, the normalcy was more chilling.

Nine

It was a long
, chilly walk through slushy snow to Andrew’s apartment from Alexandra’s, and it was made longer by Cecelia’s tangled thoughts. She was in no way thankful for the time to think, and disconnected sentences from her news story in the making floated through her head, along with queer sound bytes of Devon’s narrative. Queasy and somewhat frantic, Cecelia knocked on the door of Andrew’s apartment and was startled to hear the sound of footsteps inside.

The footfalls halted
at the door, as if the occupant was listening for some secret message or knock from the other side. Mustering her courage, Cecelia knocked again. The door swung open on the third rap. Andrew stood before her, eerie without his smile, clad in all black once more.

             
“What are you doing here?” he asked, and his voice sounded as angry as she had ever heard it. His eyes shone pearly white.

             
“I missed you,” she said, what she had said a thousand times in her text messages. “I … I was desperate, so I talked to Devon, and he … look, he told me he wanted to scare me away, so he told me all these things about your past.”

             
Andrew looked as if someone had punched him. He actually staggered back a bit from the door, swaying to his heels. “He … you what?”

             
Cecelia swallowed, guilt forming a pit in her stomach.
I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?
“I’m sorry. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

             
He seemed about to slam the door him her face; she heard the edge of the door creak as his hand tightened around the polished hardwood. “I can’t be with you, Cecelia. I want to be,  you ….” He stared for a long time at her body. “I want to be. But we both know why I can’t.”

             
“Why?” she demanded, aware of how petulant she sounded. “Because you’re afraid you’ll hurt me?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“I can take care of myself.”

             
“Can you?” he asked. “Do you know any way to fend off a vampire? You couldn’t even manage to keep away a human, and I have the strength, speed, and anger of ten humans on an off day.”

             
“So show me, then,” Cecelia suggested.

             
Andrew stared at her. “Show you?”

             
“Yes. Show me how to defend myself. Tell me what your weaknesses are. Then you’ll have nothing to worry about, will you?”

             
“If you knew all the weaknesses of a vampire, it still wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

             
“Well, it would be something.”

             
To her surprise, he appeared to seriously consider the proposal, gazing longingly at her face and scanning her body with a hunger in his eyes. Waiting on tenterhooks, she saw his irises slowly turn to their familiar sapphire. The second the familiar shade appeared, she let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding.

             
“Come inside,” he ordered, and stalked to the living area.

             
She followed him in a daze of disbelief.
Did I really just convince him? Or is it that he can’t resist for … for other reasons?
As she walked, she saw his eyes follow her movement, the way her hips rocked back and forth and her breasts pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt.

             
“Tell me the stereotypes,” he commanded, reclining on a couch and staring at the ceiling.

She
went to his side, and as gracefully as she could manage, she swung a leg over one of his and straddled him. Immediately, his hands dropped to her hips in protest, but it was too much for him – she sat neatly below his stomach with his hard body between her knees. He clenched his jaw instead.

“Tell me,” he repeated.

“Um,” she brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Silver, crosses, holy water, wooden stakes, and … fire? Is fire one? But I guess that much heat would kill anything, wouldn’t it?”

He ran his hands up her sides, pausing to hold her on either side of her ribs. Cecelia imagined that he could lift
her up and down with no effort if he wanted to, and let herself rest a little more heavily over his pelvis at the thought.

“Silver is the only mostly correct one out of those … five,” he said.
Did I make him lose count?
Cecelia thought, a thrill running through her. “Silver wrapped around us, or imbedded in our flesh incapacitates us… for a short time ….”

“So …”
she sat back on her heels, clenching her stomach as she felt herself growing wet, “If you gave me something silver … I could defend myself.” She slowly rotated her hips downwards, biting her lower lip.

“I suppose … that would be a possible, minor defense …” he said haltingly, voice heavy
and thick with desire.

“That’s
a solution, then,” she finished. She raised herself slightly, and then dropped herself down again, grinding against him, bracing herself with her hands on his muscular shoulders.

Finally, she had exceeded Andrew’s ability to restrain himself. So quickly that the movements barely registered
to her vision, he pushed her panties aside with one hand and opened his pants with the other, exposing his manhood. He glanced to Cecelia’s wide eyes, saw no objection there. With that confirmation, he placed his hands solidly on her ribs once more and shoved her body downward, impaling her upon him.

Cecelia gasped loudly.
Stars flew past her closed eyelids. She had wanted him, yes, but not so much that she had been as wet and ready for his entrance as before. It felt as if his manhood was tearing through her.

“Harder,” she whispered, surprising herself. “Please,”

              It was as if he had been waiting for her permission. And she had been right about how easily he could lift her; for the next five minutes, he raised and lowered her on his member as if she weighed nothing. His perfect control of her was almost as erotic as the force of him in and out of her, and with shock she felt the uncontrollable wave of pressure beginning in her stomach again.
I can’t, I can’t, not yet – I want so much more!

             
She tried to dull herself, tried to somehow hold back the pulse of her pleasure, but it seemed impossible – Andrew was the master of her, and he still pierced her over and over.

             
“Yes,” he breathed, gazing up at her, “Come, Cecelia,”

             
Her name on his lips was the ruination of her, and she collapsed over him, the strength of her orgasm weakening all but her voice: “
Oh
, Andrew …
I can’t … Ahhhh….”

She felt him stiffen inside her, against her, and he swore into her
breasts as he followed her suit, pressing her to his body and filling her with his seed in pulsation after pulsation.

             
They lay together, panting and gasping for air, Cecelia feeling incapable of movement. To Cecelia, the lights of the apartment seemed too bright, the outside world too overwhelming. Exhausted by emotion and the exercise of their bodies, she drifted into a light slumber atop her lover.

              When Cecelia awoke, and raised her head, she found Andrew looking up at her with an easy smile. He looked down their bodies meaningfully. She felt him, then, long and iron-hard at her leg, and she reached her own hand around to touch herself. Her womanhood was still wet and sticky, dripping with their mingled juices, and it ached with use and longing, still. She lowered her hand and ran a finger along the length of his member.

“Don’t tease me,” he murmured, and with his own hand he guided himself to the entrance of her.

“Andrew,” she whimpered.

“Say it,” he instructed softly. There was a hard edge in his voice, and in instant response her sex twinged in anticipation.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, wanting nothing more. “Please.”

This time he entered her slowly, and kept his eyes on her face the entire time. He watched her excruciation with animal eyes while he slid penetrated her, perhaps knowing that after the previous roughness, tender slowness was just as
arousing and near-unbearably painful to her rawness.

“Oh,
ohh
,” Cecelia groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. Andrew’s manhood had only been halfway inside her, yet he teasingly drew it out a centimeter, then pushed in a centimeter more, then drew out again, tempting her and stretching her.

“Open your eyes,” Andrew’s harsh voice demanded, and Cecelia’s eyes snapped open in obedience. “Look at me.”

His face was perfection, his sapphire eyes glittering up at her. He wasn’t even sweating as he made her cry out, and his lips were slightly parted to reveal shining, sharp incisors. A thrill ran through Cecelia, and she wriggled above him, attempting to take more of his torturous length.

“Now look down at me. Look down at my cock fucking you.” His jaw jutted out as he issued the command.

Cecelia did as she was told. Arching her back, she looked down, and in the gap between their bodies she saw his shaft half inside her, easing slowly in and out.