Hotter Than Hell (30 page)

His hand gently touched my cheek then slid slowly, sensually, down my neck and onto my shoulders. His mouth followed his caress, kissing and nipping my flesh, making me shudder and squirm in pleasure.

When his tongue circled the dark ring of one nipple, teasing but not touching the oversensitive center, I moaned, wanting more, wanting it now, but at the same time, not wanting to rush. Every inch of me trembled—ached—with expectation. And waiting that moment when he did more than circle was a part of that. I closed my eyes and pushed my breasts forward, offering them fully to the delight that was his tongue. He nipped lightly, then drew one aching nipple deep into his mouth, sucking on it hard. The unexpected rush of pleasure had me gasping.

As he suckled and nipped my breasts, his caress moved, with agonizing slowness, down my belly, touching, teasing, exploring. Drawing ever closer to the one place I wanted him most. Goosebumps scurried across my sweat-beaded skin, and my heart hammered so loudly its beat seemed to echo across the evening.

When his fingers finally brushed my clit, I could only shudder and press harder into his touch. Then his caress delved deeper, sliding through wetness, one finger plunging inside, then two, but neither staying long enough. Longing flowed like a fire through my veins, until my whole body quivered and throbbed to the tune of that gentle yet insistent caress. A caress that quickly created a tide threatening to overload my senses.

And as much as I wanted the rush his touch was building, I wanted
him
more. Wanted to caress and stroke and taste
him
.

So I pulled away and began my own explorations, allowing my fingers the freedom to roam his beautiful body, reveling in the feeling of power that seemed barely contained under skin.

I kissed him, nipped him, licked the salty taste of sweat and desire from his skin. All the while my hand slid ever further down, until I was stroking the long, glorious length of him. I watched his eyes, watched the lust grow. Felt the power of it roll through me, pooling deep, so very deep, until I was barely resisting the urge to simply mount him, to thrust his thick erection inside, and ride him until we both came hard and fast.

I pushed him back, until he was forced to brace his body with his arms to stop from falling over, then bent and ran my tongue across the tip of his cock. His groan was thick and filled with pleasure.

I swirled my tongue around the tip of him for a while, then moved to his shaft and balls, enjoying his reaction, the tremble that ran through his body. The way his cock leapt and throbbed with eagerness with every careful stroke of my tongue. He groaned again, stronger, more urgent. I smiled and took him fully into my mouth.

He thrust in response, his body shaking with the effort of restraint as I drew him deep, sucking and tasting and teasing him, until his movements became desperate and the salty taste of pre cum began seeping into my mouth.

Only then did I release him, kissing my way back up his body until my lips found his. It was a desperate thing, that kiss, filled with the urgency that fueled our bodies.

“On your hands and knees, Grace,” he murmured against my mouth.

I obeyed and a second later he took me from behind, thrusting hard and deep. God, it felt
good
. He stretched me, filled me, in a way no man ever had, and all I could do was groan in pleasure. For several seconds neither of us moved, enjoying the sensation of oneness, enjoying the tension and the pulsing heat of need that swirled through and around us.

Then he began to thrust, sliding through my slickness with ease, claiming me fully, deeply, and so very thoroughly. The feel of him penetrated every fiber, enveloping me with a heat that was so basic, so powerful, and so very wonderful. His hands were on my hips, holding me steady as he rocked deep. It was a touch that seemed to brand my skin as his thrusts gradually became more urgent. Jolts shuddered through me, and desire raged, flaring across my body like an out-of-control wildfire, building quickly to the final crescendo.

“Come with me, Grace. I want to hear it. I want to hear you.”

His words were hoarse, urgent, his breath hot as it whispered across my skin. His powerful body pumped fast and deep, driving me insane with pleasure. I pressed back harder against him, urging him deeper still, wanting, needing every inch of him. He groaned, thrusting harder, faster, and it felt so good I cried out. Still he stroked, and the sweet pressure built, and built, until it felt like I was going to explode. And then everything did.

“Oh God,
yes
!”

He came with me, his roar echoing across the silence, his body slamming mine so hard my hands were sliding in the sand. I clawed at it, trying to gain some purchase as I shuddered and groaned and drowned in a myriad of delicious sensations and the thick feeling of repletion.

And when it was over one thought echoed through my mind.

It would be all too easy to become addicted to Ethan’s style of loving.

“ONCE WE GET DRESSED AND PACK UP, IT’LL BE TIME
to go see the other kid,” he said, sitting back on his heels and looking at his watch.

Not a man for after-fucking small talk, obviously. Not that
that
entirely surprised me. Weres were notorious for not caring about that sort of stuff. “You pack up. I need to clean up.”

I rose and walked down to the beach, rinsing the scent of man and sex from my skin in the gentle waves. Maybe now that the cobwebs had been cleared, I could get back on an even keel and act a little more sensibly around the damn man. But given the ripple of pleasure that ran across my body as I watched him dress, perhaps
that
was a faint hope. Seems my hormones weren’t finished with him yet.

I walked out of the waves and grabbed my t-shirt, using that to dry myself off before getting dressed. The salty scent of sea clung to my skin, and I could feel the grit of sand in places that were just damn uncomfortable. So much for being careful.

“Ready?” Ethan asked, once I was dressed.

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my tone as matter-of-fact as his. Something flickered in his eyes, but he’d turned before I could pin it down.

We walked in single file up the beach and back to the car. The kid was home from football practice by the time we arrived at his house, and like the other teenagers, he was nervous, moving restlessly on the old kitchen chair and not meeting either of our gazes when his mom introduced us.

In fact, he was so nervous I could taste it on the air. “This one you can push,” I murmured. “He’ll tell.”

Ethan nodded briefly, then squatted down in front of the kid. “Jimmy, you know what’s happened to Brad and Jon, don’t you?”

He shook his head, sending long, blond strands flying. “I don’t know anything.”

“But you
do
know what Brad and Jon were doing just before they disappeared?”

“No.” He said it too quickly, then looked up at his mom. “Can I go now?”

I squeezed Ethan’s shoulder to stop him answering, then said, “Jimmy, telling us the truth might mean the difference between saving Jon’s life and killing him.”

His eyes widened. “The papers lied? Jon’s not dead?”

“Maybe not yet. Which is why we need all the help we can get.”

“I don’t know—”

“Do you want to save your friend or not?” It was horrible to lump that sort of guilt onto the kid, but we weren’t only trying to save Jon’s life here.

He swallowed heavily. “Okay.”

“What were you doing last week that you shouldn’t have?” Ethan asked immediately.

“We were over at the Manton house.” The kid looked at his mom. “It was a dare.”

“Jimmy, how many times do we have to tell you that damn place is danger—”

“Mrs. Jenkins, that’s not helping right now,” Ethan cut in, voice curt, then added, “What did you do there, Jimmy?”

“Went to the cellars. Dead things live in the cellars.”

I shared a glance with Ethan. “What sort of dead things?”

He shrugged. “Never seen them. But there’s bones and stuff. And a coffin. It’s neat.”

Only a teenage boy would classify finding a coffin as a “neat” thing. “Was there anyone in the coffin?”

“Nah. But it was moved around a lot.”

Other teenage boys, or something more sinister? “Did you ever see anything or anyone else out there?”

He snorted. “Like a vampire? Get real. Vampires don’t live in Wild Dog Creek. The place is too boring.”

“Says the authority of youth,” Ethan muttered as he rose. “Where’s the Manton house, Mrs. Jenkins?”

“Just follow this road to the top of the hill. You can’t miss the place.”

“Thanks.” He half turned, then hesitated. “Can I suggest you take any house keys off Jimmy and keep an eye on him for the next few days? We don’t think someone’s breaking in to grab the boys, we think the boys are willingly walking out with her.”

“What?” Jimmy said, obviously horrified at the prospect of losing his freedom. “No way am I giving up my keys. How will I get back into the house if I go out?”

“That’s the whole point,” his mom said, with a grim sort of relish. “You aren’t going out for a while.”

The kid groaned. I restrained my smile and followed Ethan out to the car. Once we were on our way again, I asked, “Why would a vampire—even an energy vampire—need a coffin?”

“They don’t. But some vamps do enjoy living up to human expectations.” He shrugged.

“But if this vamp is trying to remain under the wire, why leave a coffin laying around?”

“Until we know the history of the house and whatever is in it, that’s not a question I can answer.”

I looked upwards as the car started climbing. All there was to see on the horizon was an oddly leaning chimney reaching for the sky past a line of pines.

“Maybe we should call Frank and get in some specialists.” Werewolves and shifters were fast and strong, but vampires outdid us in both areas, and had the advantage of being able to disappear into shadows. We might be able to track her with scent, but we might never get near enough to kill her. And I wasn’t entirely sure I was up to the whole killing bit anyway. That wasn’t my field of expertise.

But it was Ethan’s.

And he seemed more than a little put out by my suggestion. “We don’t need help to deal with one lone vampire.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You have the equipment here?”

He gave me a grin that had my toes curling. “I always come equipped, Ravioli.”

“Heard that about you.” I looked up at the pines we were rapidly approaching. Dusk was settling in, and the sky above the chimney was streaked with pink. “Not sure it’s a wise move to be entering a vamp’s lair on the cusp of night.”

“If we want to save that kid, then we have to move now.”

I knew all that. I just didn’t like the sensations that were already beginning to crawl across my skin the nearer we got to that house.

The road ended. We drove through an old wooden gate and up the winding drive. The house revealed itself slowly, a long, two-story building that was all angles and windows, wrapped in shadows and age.

Goosebumps tripped across my skin, and I couldn’t help shivering. This place just felt
wrong
, and I hadn’t even gone inside it yet.

“I can see why teenagers would enjoy this place,” Ethan commented, as he parked the car out front. “It’s kinda spooky-looking, isn’t it?”

“Understatement of the year,” I muttered, and climbed out of the car. The breeze that swayed the pine tops merely whispered across the old building, as if reluctant to stir the house to life. The air was thick and filled with a gloom that felt heavy on my tongue. Traces of darkness and evil teased my psychic senses, taunting indications of what was to come once I entered the house.

Ethan had raided the trunk, and handed me a flashlight and several stakes. They weren’t particularly large, those stakes, but thick and sharp. I shoved them into my pocket, pointy end down so they didn’t stab me in the back as I moved, and watched while he strapped on a gun.

“A bullet won’t stop a vampire,” I said eventually.

“It will if you shoot their fucking brains out.” He slammed the trunk closed. “You ready?”

No, I thought, then blew out a breath and nodded. As one, we walked up the old steps and approached the front door. Paint peeled from its battered surface like old skin, and another tremor ran through me.

Ethan raised a hand and with his fingertips pushed open the door. It didn’t creak, nor did the dying sunlight seem to penetrate very far past the threshold. The inside of the house was all shadows and gloom, just like the outside.

He took a step, then stopped, his nostrils flaring. “I can smell the dead.” He looked at me. “And not vampire-type dead.”

I drew in a breath, tasting the flavors that ran with the air. Shadows of evil and darkness ran across my psychic senses, an evil that felt old and yet young at the same time. But underneath that, the aroma of decay. Of rotting flesh and putridity.

“It can’t be the boys. It tastes older than that.”

He nodded, then motioned me to follow. We stepped into the shadows. It felt like we were stepping into another world. It was still, this house, so still and yet somehow so watchful. Though there were broken windows in the rooms that we passed as we made our way down the hall, neither sunshine nor wind seemed to go beyond their threshold. The musty smell of decay and age lay thick on the air, and yet these scents were almost pleasant when compared to the deeper, darker aromas that ran underneath.

Whatever used this house for a sanctuary, it had been here a long time. So long the house seemed a part of it, rather than merely a refuge.

We walked past some worse-for-wear stairs, the beams of the flashlight highlighting long, dust-covered webs that trailed like a curtain from the ceiling high above. The scent of dead flesh led us to the rear of the house. Ethan pressed open another door, took the flashlight, and had a quick look around.