The Vampire Voss

“But…you’re wearing that,” he said, gesturing to the necklace.

She tipped her head down. “It’s the only thing I have from you…except the ruby earbobs. And those weren’t really for me, were they?”

He gave a shameful laugh. “No. I was being an ass.”

“That is exactly what Chas said. Although I think he used a more vulgar term.” She looked back up, still toying with the chain. “And I thought that if a miracle happened, and you ever came to me again, I could do this…” She gave a sharp yank, breaking the chain and scattering hyssop leaves. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the necklace flying through the window. “So that you would know.”

Voss thought he’d been broken before, lying on that sunny ledge…but now, looking into her sultry, exotic eyes, he knew that had only been the beginning. His insides shifted, unfurled, and the last bit of reticence cracked.

“Angelica,” he said, sliding toward her.

She welcomed him, her arms moving around him as he gathered her warm body to his. Sweet, soft, silky. Her scent enveloped him… and that of another, as well.

He pulled away to look into her eyes. “You’ve been near another. A man.”

She tensed a bit. “Lord Harrington and I took a turn about the Stubblefields’ garden tonight.”

“Am I to presume he is the fortunate gentleman to claim your hand?” Voss reached up to touch her head, unable to resist sliding his hand down her thick hair. Gorgeous, heavy, warm. He wanted to see her standing, dressed in only these tresses.

“He’s calling on Corvindale tomorrow at noon.”

“And he kissed you as well, I think, no?”

“He did.”

“Was he able to make you forget this?” And he moved in.

Their lips met, hers so soft and sweet that he had to restrain himself from devouring hers. But the little moan, the little clutch of her fingers into his hair, the arch of her body from beneath the coverlet ruined that.

He could think of nothing like restraint—only her, of the smooth slide of lips and the gentle click of teeth, the sleek dance of tongue and the gentle nibbling on top and bottom. His breath gone, his body ready, ready, after waiting for her for so long…her shoulders, delicate and soft and her breasts pushing into him. He felt her legs shifting beneath, pulled aside the strap of her night rail, kissed along her neck, felt her shudder beneath his mouth.

She tensed a bit then, and he pulled back to look down at her, knowing she was waiting for him to thrust into her….

“Was he?” Voss asked.

Angelica had to pull herself free from the sensual fog that came with him, and at first she didn’t understand. She looked up at the man looming above her, outlined by moonlight that tipped the waves of his hair silver, but shadowed his face…and then she remembered his question.

“No,” she replied softly, reaching up to touch his jaw. “No, he wasn’t. I don’t believe anyone could.”

“Angelica…I love you. I want…you.” He’d shifted and now she could see his eyes in the silvery light. They were dark and hungry and her breath caught.

“I’m going to be engaged tomorrow,” she said, trying to keep her voice low and steady. “I—”

“Angelica,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of everything tomorrow. With Corvindale. If…if you’ll have me. If you’ll trust me.”

She didn’t know how he would, knew that Chas would never allow it short of them eloping…but she didn’t care. Not at this moment, this moment she didn’t think she’d ever have, with the deepest part of her craving him. “I’ll have you.” Any way I can. “I’ve trusted you all along, haven’t I?”

On the little gust of a groan, he gathered her up again, crushing his mouth to hers as a hand slipped to curve around her breast. Her nipples had tightened as they’d kissed, but now, as his fingers found the hard, sensitive tip, she flushed warm everywhere. That surge between her legs, hot and sudden, made her arch up and slide herself against him. This…this.

She wanted to touch his skin, had regretted not doing it enough in Paris. Never kissing him on that smooth, golden expanse, not ruffling her fingers through that fascinating patch of hair. He pulled back and tore off his coat and then his shirt, and she rose up to flatten her hands against his torso, riding them up over the smooth slabs of muscle dusted with rough hair, the flat nipples and curve of square shoulders.

He was so solid and firm next to her softness, and before she knew it, he’d tugged the blankets away and was pulling her night rail up and over her head. It might even have torn, but she didn’t care.

Angelica was naked, silvery moonlight striping over her belly as he knelt up, looking down at her. It occurred to her, absurdly, that she’d never sprawled on her bed in this condition before—nude and uncovered and bathed in natural light, a little breeze filtering over her sensitive, waiting skin. It felt delicious.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” he murmured, “in all my one hundred forty-eight years.”

She wouldn’t think about that now…not that he was so old, that he had this affliction, that at any moment, he could tear into her and draw all of her blood out. He’d proven over and over that he wouldn’t do that to her, and tonight…there was something different. A restraint. That wild glow was gone from his eyes, the heaving, gasping breaths were nowhere in evidence.

“But,” she said, later wondering from where such bold words came, “you’re still clothed and I am quite curious to see what a hundred-forty-eight-year-old man looks like without them.”

He gave a choked sort of gasp. “I do hope,” he said, unbuttoning the flap of his trousers with practiced, unhurried motions, “that doesn’t mean you know what a twenty-eight-year-old man looks like and want to compare us.”

She gave a nervous giggle that stopped in a short gasp when he slid his trousers and drawers down over lean hips. Angelica wasn’t naive or innocent about the workings of coitus—she and Maia had traded many conversations with the chambermaids about that very subject. But being confronted with the actual implement was enough to steal her breath.

She reached to touch it and he stilled. She glanced at him and saw his eyes close, his breathing stop, and she pulled her hand away.

His eyes flew open. “Angelica.”

“I’m sorry…I didn’t know.”

“No, no, that’s not it.…” His smile wavered and he drew in a breath. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to touch me.”

“Oh…” She closed her fingers around his erection, shocked by the rush of pleasure she felt at the taut, velvety skin. “My lord.”

“Voss, blast it, Angelica. My name is Voss. Say it,” he said in a pained sigh.

“Voss,” she replied. “I love you, Voss.”

He moved quickly at that point, and the next thing she knew, they were skin to skin, length to length. His hands moved everywhere, and his mouth, soft and demanding, his tongue stroking and probing in places she hadn’t even known were sensitive: the hollow of her neck, the soft rise of her belly, the inside of her thigh.

Angelica gasped at that, when he bent between her legs, gently spreading them. She couldn’t have moved if she’d tried, but when his sleek, wicked tongue began to stroke her, his lips nibbling and tasting, she had to pull a pillow over her face to stifle her sighs and groans.

That luscious heat filled her to swelling, and as he taunted and teased, with long, slick strokes, fast, short ones, she grasped blindly at his head, sliding her fingers through his hair until it all exploded and she fell into a shuddering, gasping mass of nothing.

“Voss,” she whispered as he yanked the pillow away, and she saw the fierce expression on his face.

He bent to her, his mouth musky and hot, and his hands sliding down between them. Their bodies, flesh to sleek flesh, curves sliding against firm muscle, slipped and shifted and when he guided himself to her core, he raised his face from the ferocious kiss.

“Angelica,” was all he managed, but she read the question in his eyes.

“Yes,” she breathed, “I trust you.”

His eyes closed momentarily, and then opened again. Looking down at her, something blazing there that had nothing to do with the devil and everything to do with purity, he shifted and pushed…and filled her.