Afterlight

feel of his hardness pressed into the small of my back made me hot and wet, and I wiggled against him, stretched my arms up, and clasped them around his neck. His hands slipped upward, skimmed slowly over the buttery smooth softness of my dress, and cupped my breasts, and even through the thin leather it caused sensations to ripple through me, turned me on even more. His mouth teased the skin at my throat, and my heart pounded with anticipation. I completely trusted him. I wholly wanted him.

In my bedroom, Eli stopped and kept me tight against him; we simply melded together. I’d forgotten to power down the iPod station in the shop, and music from below rose up and drifted through the ventilation, and darkness had now claimed the shadows. Only shades and planes of half-light played against our features, obscuring full detail, leaving everything else up to other senses: touch, taste, scent. I lost myself in Eli; to me, he wasn’t an immortal; he wasn’t a vampire. He was . . . necessary.

“Eli,” I said, unaware I’d even spoken his name out loud. I relaxed against him while his hands explored me; with tortured slowness he pulled the laces loose at the bust of my dress, my breasts spilling out and Eli’s palms covering them. My flesh turned warm, then hot, and his hands trailed down my sides to my hips, where he tugged my dress up higher, caressing my thighs and pulling my ass against his swollen crotch. He groaned in my ear; I nearly came at the sound of it. When his hand moved to my inner thigh, and over a little more, I shifted my hips; his fingers slipped first into the small triangle of silk, then eased slowly into my wetness. My head fell back against his chest and my body began to seize, but he moved his hand and stopped the orgasm. I almost touched myself, I was so frantic with desire and need. He stilled my hands, held them tightly.

“Don’t,” he said against my ear. “Not yet.”

I willed myself to stop throbbing, and it almost didn’t work. But Eli lifted me up in one swift move and laid me across the bed. He grabbed three pillows and stacked them behind me, pushed my dress up over my hips, and pulled my panties off slowly. Every nerve ending in my body hummed with pleasure; his strong hands slid up my thighs and pushed them apart, and as his head lowered and he tasted me with his tongue, I exploded, sparks went off behind my eyes, and I pushed my hands through his hair and held on. His fingers gripped my hips and tasted deeper, and my body seized with ecstasy. Before my orgasm was completed, he moved away, and I needed no cue. I was dying to have him inside me, and I followed him off the bed.

This time, my need was too powerful to rein in — he’d done it; he’d caused it. I couldn’t help it. We traded places. I pushed him backward onto the bed; I peeled out of my dress and boots and knelt between his legs as I deftly unfastened each button on his fly. I felt savage, feral, and nothing and no one could satisfy me except Eli. With a fierceness that surprised even him, I pulled off his jeans, only to find him bare beneath. I looked at him then, and his eyes were nothing but glassy black orbs in the darkness. I kept my gaze on his as I slid my hand over his hardness, rock hard and smooth at once; I drew him into my mouth; he jerked, groaned, and it made me wet all over again. I couldn’t take much more. I moved back, eased first one thigh over his, then the other; I straddled him and took him in completely. The sensation of Eli filling me took my breath, and I gasped first, and then he grasped me and turned me onto my back, and followed me down. He stared at me, threaded his fingers through mine, and lifted my arms over my head.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice thick, raspy.

“Yes,” I answered in a hoarse whisper. “I do.”

In the most sensual move I’d ever experienced in my life, Eli wrapped his arms completely around my back and held me as he began to move. Every inch of our bodies melded together, and he moved faster, we moved together, and the orgasm I’d been denied twice exploded fully and my body jerked with uncontrolled spasms as I clutched desperately to Eli. His body moved with mine, and I felt his shudders as if they were my own. He slowed; he stopped; he didn’t move off of me, his arms wound tightly around my body. He lay very, very still.

Too still.

Oh, hell.

I grew as still as Eli; I barely breathed. After nearly two minutes — that’s a long, long time — I drew a slight breath. “Eli?” I asked, barely a whisper.

He didn’t answer.

Oh, shit.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head. I breathed a sigh of relief as a pair of nonopaque eyes stared down at me. A slight grin tilted the corner of his very sexy mouth. “You are amazing.” He kissed me. “Mine.”

I punched him, and he laughed and buried his head in my shoulder. Then, while we were still completely wrapped around each other, Eli Dupré lowered his head and kissed me, gently, softly, taking a very long time to explore every inch of my mouth that may have been overlooked during our passion. Then he lifted a finger to my angel wing and touched it softly, following the etching as it fanned out to my temple. “You’re such a variance, Riley Poe,” he said. “A sign of dark purity inked onto your face” — he stroked it again — “and disturbingly caring inside.” He placed his hand over my heart. Incredible vaguely described lovemaking with Eli Dupré. I knew then I was spoiled for eternity.

“For the record,” he said, catching my bottom lip between his teeth. “My pecker doesn’t lead me around.”

I laughed, and he quickly hushed me with his lips, his tongue, and then he eased to the side of me, pulled me close, and wrapped an arm over my stomach. He rested his chin on top of my head. “Go to sleep,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Content, for a while, anyway, I closed my eyes and drifted off.

For the first time I felt cherished, and worthy of a morning after.

How a dream could plague me after sex with Eli, I have no idea, but I found myself in a horse- drawn carriage, my eyes turned to the window, where I peered outside into a dense forest of massive trees, gray foliage, and rock. Everything looked gray, bleak. The horses’ hooves pounded the terrain at a gallop, and the carriage veered precariously close to the edge of a cliff before changing direction and plunging into the shadows, deeper into the wood. The horses slowed to a trot, and I eased back against the cushions and closed my eyes. I don’t know how long I kept them shut, but when I opened them again, he sat across from me. Dressed in black breeches, tall black boots, and a blood burgundy velvet coat, with white ruffles at the neck and cuffs, he watched me, studied me with intensity as though trying to figure me out. The auburn-haired woman sat beside him, her face hidden, pressed against his chest, her hand possessively resting on his thigh; sleeping, I supposed. It was difficult to determine, as she was very, very still. His gaze wandered seductively over me, shameless and bold, and then with his eyes still fastened to mine — as I was powerless to look away — he leaned his head down and whispered to the woman, yet I heard it clearly in my own head. “Unlace my breeches.” Only her hand moved, and she skillfully loosened the laces as though she’d done it many times before. I didn’t want to watch; I couldn’t pull my gaze away. “Touch me,” he whispered again, and once more I heard the words in my head as though he’d spoken them to me. The woman slid her hand slowly into his breeches and stroked him; I could feel his hardness in my own palm, and I sat, entranced. He was enjoying me watching, and I wanted to look away so badly, but I hadn’t the will. “Ride me.” The woman kept her back turned as she lifted her skirts and straddled him. He watched me over her shoulder as she rode him, and I jerked at the heavy sensation of him between my legs. I didn’t want to come; I couldn’t help but seize with orgasm. His beautiful face tensed with pleasure at my weakness, and then he pulled the woman’s blouse down, baring her back. As I stared in horror once again at the familiar tattoo winding up her spine and over her arm, she glanced over her shoulder and stared. Her face was pale — too pale — and her lips were bloodred, her eyes opaque. She was me. It was then that I noticed the movement outside of the carriage; winged creatures with unhinged jaws and jagged teeth flew by, their faces distorted into those of horrific creatures. They looked in at me. They were hungry, and they wanted my special blood — I knew it. Yet when I turned back to him, he smiled, two long fangs dropped from his top jaw, and with a gentle touch he pushed the woman’s head to the side, sank his teeth into her, and drank. I felt the pain in my own neck, felt the life draining fast out of me. The winged creatures began beating on the side of the carriage, screeching, clawing to get at me. I screamed. . . .

“Riley!”

I bolted up, my heart out of control, gasping for air. My body ached, as though I’d run a triathlon, and I fell back to the pillows just as quickly. I tried to catch my breath, but I was hyperventilating. Then I saw Eli, bent over me, concern etched into his perfect features.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and placed a hand over my heart. “Take it easy, Riley. Breathe.” He kept his hand on me, and for some reason, it helped.