Out of the Dark (The Brethren Series) (24 page)

That smell—tantalizing and sweet—was all it took to push her over that tenuous, dangerous edge. She had one last coherent thought—
oh, shit
—and then her mind was gone, lost in a fog, submerged in sudden shadows.

***

“Don’t do that again.” With a frown, Aaron canted his head and spat blood onto the sidewalk.

W
hen he turned back to face her, her hand whipped around, fist bared. She punched him again, sending him floundering sideways into the door. He’d already unlocked it, and it swung open wide. He danced clumsily across the threshold and into the room, toppling to his knees.

Naima walked in behind him, her stride leisurely, and using her telekinesis, she swung the door shut behind her.

“I mean it, Naima,” he said, grabbing hold of the nearby bureau so he could get to his feet. “You hit me again, and I’m going to hit you back. Fair warning.”

He felt a tickle deep inside his left nostril, and then a warm rivulet of blood slid down from his nose toward his lip. Her eyes were riveted on it, and as he watched, the dark onyx of her pupils began to widen, seeming to slowly but steadily engulf the whites of her corneas in glistening, inky darkness. All at once he remembered something important he’d foolishly forgotten—Naima and the Morins hadn’t come by their telekinesis through accident. It was the result of their feeding habits—ones Lamar and other Brethren in Kentucky considered abominable.

They fed from each other.

Oh, shit,
he thought.

Her canine teeth had started to descend from the recessed grooves in her upper palate. His blood excited her, the sight and scent of it; he could sense this in the sudden quickening of her heartbeat and breathing. It had summoned the blood lust within her.

“Naima,” he said, holding out his hand. “Wait a minute.”

He didn’t want to fight her
, even though he now felt he’d recovered enough strength to summon a psionic bolt that could easily incapacitate her.

“
Listen to me,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately calm. “You don’t want to do this.”

In response, h
er eyes flashed and he felt the now-familiar sensation of pressure increasing in the air as she used her telekinesis. It felt like someone kicked his knees out from under him; with a grunt, he fell to the floor again.

“Or
maybe you do,” he croaked, biting back a choked cry as she wrenched his head back.

He tried to move, but couldn’t.
She reached out, drawing her fingertip against his chin. Catching some of his blood on her finger, she then slipped it into her mouth, tasting it. Then she leaned toward him, bringing her face within inches of his own. Her nostrils flared slightly as she drew the scent of him—the fragrance of his blood—in, savoring it.

He should have been alarmed. Very,
very
alarmed. If he’d had any sense, he’d be panicking out of his damn fool mind in that moment. Instead, ridiculous and inexplicable though it was, he found his heart racing not with fear—but with anticipation. The idea that she wanted to feed from him—that she might bury those elongated teeth deep into the meat of his throat—turned him on.

He closed his eyes, his body reflexively tensing
as he awaited her strike, but instead, he felt the warm, wet tip of her tongue drag against the shelf of his chin, up toward his mouth, lapping the blood that had smeared on his skin. He opened his eyes again, then winced as she clamped her hand against his jaw. Her tongue brushed against his bottom lip and he uttered a soft, breathless sound. He tried to kiss her, but she hissed at him like a cat, as if outraged by his audacity, and that unseen force keeping a fierce hold of his hair abruptly tightened, leaving him to suck in a sharp, pained breath through his teeth.

After a moment, she forced him to turn his head, keeping her fingers hooked into his cheek. This time, her tongue toyed with him, dancing lightly across the seam of his lips, making his cock strain, rock hard, through the front of his pants.

God, you’re beautiful,
he said, opening his mind to her again; the only person besides his father and brother with whom he’d ever allowed himself the luxury of such vulnerability. In response, her brows furrowed, and she reared back, her lips drawn in a snarl. All at once, he felt himself being jerked up from his knees. She seized him telekinetically, hoisted him aloft, and then flung him across the room with a hoarse, furious cry. He felt the sharp whip of wind, and then crashed down hard on top of the bed. Naima grabbed him again telekinetically, pinning him on his back against the mattress, and then shoved him up toward the headboard, the blankets wrinkling and bunching beneath him.

Having no control of his body whatsoever was a peculiar and unsettling sensation. At her telekinetic command,
he sat up, as clumsy as a rag doll. He felt the hem of his shirt rise up, tugging loose from his pants by unseen hands, and as his arms shot skyward, the shirt whipped up the length of his torso and over his head. It flew into the air, then fluttered down, and she shoved him onto his back again. He couldn’t move, as immobilized as if baby elephant had just decided to plant its ass atop him.

Startled, he flinched when a lamp flew off the nightstand beside the bed, the cord snapping out of the wall, its small circumference of yellow light abruptly distinguished. Across the room, another lamp leaped from the chest of drawers, and with the exception of the dim sliver of light coming from beneath the bathroom door, the motel room was plunged into darkness.

“Naima?” He tried to lift his head, to see her in the darkness. “Naima, are you—?”

H
is voice cut short as she telekinetically muffled him, forcing his mouth shut. He felt the air around his hands collapse in her telekinetic hold, and then his arms were stretched wide across the headboard, a cruciform pose. When he felt the stinging slap of electrical cords wrapping suddenly, constrictor-like and swift, against his wrists, binding him to the bedposts, he understood why she’d wanted the lamps.

After that,
again there was only silence. He lay in bed, his heart still pounding. He tugged uselessly against the cords at his wrists; they had been cinched tightly enough to damn near cut off the circulation to his hands, and had absolutely no give to them whatsoever. He was strong enough; with concerted effort, he could have broken them. But in truth, he didn’t want to break free. Adrenaline was surging through his body like an electrical current, and he wanted to see where this game of hers would take them.

Things are
either about to get really, really bad…
he thought.
Or really, really good.

As his own pupils expanded, he could make out Naima standing in the far corner of the room, a slim silhouette watching him in the darkness.

Do you want to fuck me?
Her voice, icy and low, shivered through his mind.

In a single, silent leap, she sailed the more than twenty feet from motel doorway to queen-sized bed, landing atop the mattress as lightly and lithely as any panther.
She’d stripped off her clothes as she’d stood in the shadows, and dropped to her knees, straddling him now, long, lean, beautiful and completely naked.

“What are you doing?” he breathed.

Naima leaned toward him, her face so close to his, when she spoke next, he could smell his own blood on her breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she purred. Her
groin had settled against his, the soft nest of curls between her thighs resting lightly against the outward swell of his now-agonizing arousal. She cocked her head, her lips turned in a nearly coy-like smile as she slowly moved her hips against him, generating friction that made him bite back a groan.

“Yes.” He nodded his head quickly, desperately. “Yes, God, yes.”

This time, she used her hand, not her telekinesis, to grab him by the hair. Jerking his head back, she pressed her mouth fiercely against his. He returned the kiss hungrily, lifting his shoulders from the mattress and straining against the ligatures around his wrists as he tried to meet her.

Planting her hands against his chest, she shoved him back against the bed. Still straddling him, rocking her hips back and forth now, she cupped her breasts in her hands.
Do you want to taste them?
she asked, the tone of her telepathic voice lending itself to a challenge.

Yes.
He nodded again.

The soft smile that had been tugging the corner of her mouth widened.
Say it. Tell me what you want, Aaron.

I want you,
he answered helplessly. She leaned toward him, tugging at her nipples lightly with her fingertips, pinching and rolling the dark brown nubs into thick, hardened bullet points. He groaned again as she dragged one nipple against his lips, so fast he could do no more than offer a grazing sweep with his tongue.

I want to taste you,
he pleaded, watching, entranced, as she slid her index finger into her mouth, dampening her skin, and then rubbed against her nipple. When she moved against him again, grinding into his aching erection, he thought he’d come on the spot.
God, Naima, please…!

She leaned over again and he caught her nipple lightly in his teeth. As he drew it between his lips, he swept his tongue around it in heavy circles, savoring the salty sweetness of her skin. Reaching between them, she opened his front of his pants
, then jerked them telekinetically down from his hips. Sitting upright, pulling her lush breast out of his reach yet again, she shifted her weight. He felt the swollen, throbbing head of his cock slip between her hot, wet outer folds and settle against her threshold.
Tell me what you want,
she said.

“
You,” he begged, breathless and hoarse. He tried to raise his hips, to slide inside of her, but she moved away each time, teasing him, driving him nearly mad with need.

Tell me,
she said again, lowering herself ever so slightly, letting him steal ever-so slightly into the slick warmth of her sheath. When she drew away again, he groaned miserably.
Say it, Aaron.

You!
he pleaded again.
I want
you
!

Naima
abruptly lowered herself against his cock, falling into a swift, strident rhythm, sinking her nails into the skin of his chest as she rode him hard. Her breasts bounced with every furious thrust, her shoulders thrown back, her spine gracefully arched, her eyes riveted on him. She watched him as if fascinated by both his pleasure and helplessness.

What else do you want?
she asked. With a single thought, she caught his face telekinetically and forced his head to the side, leaving his throat vulnerably exposed. When she leaned down, raking the tips of her canine teeth against his neck, he understood what she meant.

Do you want this?
she purred, the razor-keen tips of her fangs first pressing lightly into his flesh, then digging more deeply, threatening to punch through flesh.

Yes,
he said, twisting his hands helplessly against the cords. The tip of her tongue flicked against his skin, teasing him, and all the while, she rode him hard, keeping up a strident pace.

Do you want me to feed from you?

Yes.
He nodded, gasping for breath.
Whatever you want…anything, Naima—it’s yours. I’m yours.

“Take
it,” he whispered.

S
he lunged forward, her fangs punching deeply into his throat. He jerked against her, gasping sharply, but within seconds, the numbing qualities in her saliva dulled his senses to the pain. Her lips pressed fiercely against his skin, and he heard her utter a soft, satisfied moan as his blood flooded into her mouth.

She stretched her arms out wide, lacing her fingers through his at either side of the headboard.
Come for me,
she murmured in his mind. His heart continued to hammer out a frantic rhythm, sending blood racing through his body, coursing into her mouth. She matched the tempo with her hips, driving him more deeply into her, stroke for stroke. With every beat, every furious thrust, her lips pushed more urgently against him, her feeding growing increasingly greedy.

“Don’t stop,” he gasped, meaning the sex, the feeding, the complete domination
--all of it. He could feel release building inside him, visceral, massive and deep, threatening to overwhelm him, and all he could think of was how goddamn terrifying and beautiful and fierce she was—and how aroused he was in that moment, completely at her mercy.

Come for me, Aaron,
she urged.

He felt her body shudder with
sudden pleasure, inside and out, and the sensation of it—her hands clenching tightly against his, her climax tightening rhythmically, powerfully, against his cock—was enough to push him over the edge. He came hard, lifting his hips off the mattress, driving himself deep inside her with one last, powerful thrust.

He felt lightheaded from blood loss, but somehow the sensation of this—of Naima feeding from him, bringing him to the brink of unconsciousness and hypovolemic shock—only intensified the magnitude of his release
. It was like nothing he’d ever felt; like no other experience or sensation he’d suffered or enjoyed in his entire life. He cried out her name, pulling so hard against the ligatures around his wrists, he tore open his skin.