He’s hard and ready, too, more than ready. He leans over me.
Then pulls back abruptly.
“Anna,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I don’t have a—”
If I weren’t so aroused, I’d laugh. Instead I rasp, “Condom? Vampire, remember?” And raise my hips to meet him.
When he enters me, the same moan escapes both our lips. A moan of relief, of joy. He grinds into me, filling me, driving me. I respond with equal intensity, wrapping my legs around his hips to bring him closer, deeper. I don’t know this man, know nothing about him. Yet at this moment, I know everything I need to know. And more important, he knows me. What I am. What I’m capable of.
He didn’t flinch and he didn’t turn away.
I hear Stephen’s breath catch, feel the force of his thrusts intensify as he nears climax. He groans. “I don’t think I can—”
I place a finger over his lips. “Don’t hold back.”
I’m not there yet, but it doesn’t matter. I coax him on with the rhythm of my own body. Maybe being more interested in his pleasure than my own frees me to notice things I’ve never noticed before during sex. The way his muscles bunch and release, the touch of his hands holding me, the way his body presses urgently against mine. Sensations I’ve experienced only through the prism of my own needs.
His very smell is an aphrodisiac. Testosterone and aftershave. Shampoo and deodorant.
Suddenly he tenses and cries out.
I bury my head in his shoulder and hold him until the last tremor of release passes.
It’s a shock to me. That a man’s pleasure can be more satisfying to me than an orgasm.
Who would have thought?
I LIE STILL and unmoving under Stephen. His hands are tangled in my hair, his body rigid, his breath unsteady. It’s as if he’s reluctant to relax, to look at me.
“Stephen? Is something wrong?”
He raises himself on his elbows, traces my lips with his fingers. His expression is somber, concerned. “You didn’t . . . It wasn’t . . .” He takes a breath. “Can vampires . . . ?”
I realize what he’s asking. And it makes me smile. “Can we orgasm? Yes.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“You did everything right. You were wonderful.”
“Because if you need to—I don’t know—bite me when we’re having sex, it’s all right. I trust you.”
I think that’s the nicest thing a human male has ever said to me. A male who wasn’t a blood host and thought sex should automatically be part of the package. “It’s not necessary, but I appreciate the offer.”
He moves off me and gathers me close. He still seems troubled. I roll toward him and rest my head on his shoulder. “Tonight was a new experience for me. Thinking more of your pleasure than my own. I liked it.”
He sighs. “I don’t believe that. You’re not a selfish person.”
“It’s nice you feel that way. I hope you always do.”
He hikes himself up on one elbow, scooping me up with him. “I want you to tell me what pleasures you. The next time we make love, I want it to be the best sex you’ve ever had.”
He doesn’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand. If I tell him what I’m thinking, that
So I just smile and reach my hand around his neck and pull his head closer. “Kiss me.”
I don’t have to say it twice.
