The Beacon (The Original's Trilogy Book 1) Page 11

  “What need? You're a beautiful woman. You could have any guy you wanted.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “I call bullshit.”

  Warning sirens went off in his head. He sensed a trap, but he'd be damned if he could see what the hell it was. “Have you even tried to meet someone?”

  “Why, yes. Yes, I have.” She folded her arms over her chest. “And I have met men. Men who I flirted with. Some, I even kissed. And they all shut me down.”

  Christ, she wasn't talking about men, she was talking about him. “We both know I'm no good for you. I'm too damn old. And I don't do virgins.”

  “I'm not a virgin.”

  His mouth went dry. “Now I call bullshit.”

  “Why?”

  “You move like one.” They shouldn't be talking about this. “You don't flirt right.”

  “I don't . . .?” she sputtered, her face turning red.

  “Now, don't get upset.” He gave a little wave of his hand. “You're cute. Adorable. Not sexy.”

  “I can do sexy.” She stood and walked across the room, sitting primly on the ottoman next to his outstretched legs. She leaned back on one arm, crossing her legs and tossing her hair back. One strap slipped off her shoulder and she quickly put it back where it belonged, wincing from using her injured arm to do so.

  He wet his lips. “Like I said, cute.”

  She slumped. “What am I doing wrong?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm not a woman, I don't know.”

  “Well, you obviously know enough to tell me I'm doing it wrong.”

  And there it sat, the great yawning abyss. He'd walked straight into the trap. Now he either needed to retreat, or explain. And he never retreated. “They”—he made a twirling motion with his hand—”move different.”

  “How?”

  He scowled. “They . . . .” He tilted his hand side to side. “Well, when they walk, they—” Christ, he had no idea how to explain this. “You said you've had sex.”

  She shrugged. “Once. He was pretty drunk. It certainly wasn't anything like what I read about in—”

  “Forget the goddamn book.”

  Wide-eyed, she stared.

  “I shouldn't have yelled. Sorry.”

  “You don't understand. I mean look at you.” She waved a hand toward him. “I can't imagine you've had this problem in your life. Women probably fall all over you. I can't even get a man to look at me.”

  “Oh, I guarantee they’re looking.” Looking. Fantasizing. Masturbating to the memory.

  “Then they obviously don't like what they see.”

  Christ, she was gutting him. “Like hell.”

  “So what's the problem?”

  “You move like a virgin.”

  She pulled a face. “Seriously? We're back to that?”

  “It's a big damn deal.” He threw his arm to the side. “It means long-term commitment.”

  “You don't have to growl at me.” She looked away, but not before he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I'm not looking for long-term anything. I just want to feel wanted. Just once.”

  Wanted?

  She wanted to feel . . . .

  Oh, he wanted her.

  He dragged his hand over his scalp, then scrubbed at his face. Shit. He sat up. “Close your eyes.”

  She cut him an uncertain glance, but complied.

  “Now, be still.” He scooted the ottoman closer and, as he inhaled her scent—lavender and woman—his dick took notice. Hell, he was fucked six ways to Sunday. He couldn't take this too far, couldn't take anything for himself. He'd just give her a taste of how it was meant to be. Let her get her confidence back. And then go take a long, cold shower.

  He put his hand to the back of her neck, delving his fingers into her hair. Holy Mother of God, she was soft. So fucking warm. All he wanted to do—

  “Are you going to kiss me?”

  “No.”

  Focus, you rat bastard.

  “I'm going to teach you how to move sexy.”

  And probably self-combust in the process.

  “Relax. Let your head fall back.”

  She jerked, opening her eyes.

  “Keep 'em closed.” He couldn't think straight when staring into those deep brown eyes of hers. “Breathe.”

  A forgotten breath shook out of her lungs.

  “Good.” He leaned forward, and though he said he wouldn't, he brushed her lips with his, sipping at her sweetness until the full weight of her head rested in his palm. “When a woman entices a man, she's giving him a glimpse of what she'll be like in bed.” He ran his hand down her cheek, the curve of her neck. “Each is different, some are coy, some blatant, others almost secretive, but they all move like they do in bed.”

  Her lips spread in a smile, as if she thought the idea ludicrous. He ran his tongue over her full bottom lip, erasing her humor. “I'm not saying they walk around thrusting their hips and moaning.”

  She laughed, a low husky sound that shot straight to his gut.

  “But when they move, they remind a man of the long, sensual grasp and pull right before orgasm. Have you experienced that?”

  She nodded. “By myself.”

  Already half aroused, the image her admission brought to mind had his cock standing at full attention. He closed his eyes, trying to get himself under control. “It's different during intercourse. There's not that steady, perfect beat taking you straight to the finish line. It's all about the getting there.”

  “Show me.”

  Just a taste. Give her a taste and build her confidence. Just a taste so you can get her out of your head.

  “Spread your thighs.” Christ, his voice sounded like wet gravel.

  She uncrossed her legs, parting them, leaving him just enough room to slip her naughty book between her knees had he so desired. Jesus, she was adorable. Sweet. Tempting.

  He placed his foot between hers, nudging her legs apart. Bit by bit she widened her stance, his foot chasing hers until she had spread her legs wide, her nightgown stretched tight over the tops of her thighs. “Mm, good. Now put your good arm behind you and lean back.”

  The position thrust her small, pert breasts out. God, he was a base bastard. He drew his hands down, over her breasts, stomach, hips, and thighs, her thin nightgown doing little to shield her from his touch. “You're beautiful. Sweet.”

  “I'm tired of being sweet.”

  “Nah. You don't want to lose that.” He dragged his palm up her silky thigh. “Makes a man think of all the ways he can corrupt you.” Like me. Right now. Trying to think of every way I can get inside you without completely debasing you. He cupped her heat, barely stifling the low moan wanting to break past his lips. Her panties were damp.

  Her lips parted and she pressed into his palm with a sultry roll of her hips.

  “Mm. See? There it is.”

  “What?”

  Just a little more.

  He slipped his hand under the white scrap of lace, groaning at the damp heat waiting. She must be aroused from that damned book, but for now, he'd let himself imagine her desire belonged to him.

  You shouldn't.

  He followed the soft seam of her sex, back and forth, sinking deeper with each pass.

  “James.” She arched, her eyelids squeezing tight as she tried to help him find her entrance. His middle finger pressed past her lips and sank deep.

  Her breath came fast and shallow. The pulse at the base of her neck thrummed so hard it fluttered just beneath her skin. He withdrew a bit and added a second finger, pressing the heel of his hand to her clit. “Find your pleasure, Lilith.”

  She froze, her entire being stilling.

  “Breathe, baby.” He curled his fingers inside her, pressed his lips to her throat. “Come on. Pretend that's me.” A shiver ran through her. “My cock buried deep inside you. What do you do?” He tightened his grip on her hip, guiding her into a slow, easy pace.

  She rocked her hips. With each languorous thrust, her breasts ro
se, their tight peaks teasing him through the thin, white gown. Her head lolled back, all those rich brown locks cascading down her back.

  He kissed her bared throat, needing to be closer, skimmed his teeth down the curve of her neck. This was torture. He wanted her naked. He wanted her spread out before him so he could feast on her. He wanted his dick in her. His fingers. His tongue. Teeth. He wanted it all.

  I've seen what will come to pass between you and her. It's an abomination.

  No. He wouldn't let things go that far. He'd stop. But he wanted more.

  You'll never get what you truly want.

  “James, please. It's not enough.”

  Beyond reason, he lifted her, dragged her panties down her legs and hauled her into his lap so she straddled him. He eased her back down onto his hand, this time slipping his thumb into her pussy, his damp fingers pressing against the puckered rosette behind.

  Her eyes opened. Not brown eyes. Not now. They burned with jade fire, pinning him in his own skin. She was going to reject him and it would damn well kill him. He'd pushed too hard and she was going to tell him to fuck off.

  She took her bottom lip between her teeth and sank down. She gasped as he breached her with his finger, her own slick desire easing his entrance to her virgin hole. Her body clamped down around his digits, fluttering in anxiety over the new intrusion.

  And still she held his gaze.

  “Easy, Lil. Give yourself a minute.” He sure as hell needed a minute. He was about to come in his goddamn pants. He was supposed to be giving her the lesson, not the one being schooled. “You got this, baby.” Hell, yeah, she did. He'd never been this turned on by a woman. “Show me sexy.”

  Chapter 16

  Oh, she could do that, because for the first time in her life, she felt sexy.

  James watched her every move with a hunger she'd never experienced being the recipient of, but had always longed to. The deep rumble of his voice urged her on. His shattered breaths were loud bursts in the silence around them. The scent of his arousal chased hers.

  She closed her eyes, squirming down harder on his hand, her whole frame shivering from the slick glide of his fingers. Lilith arched her back, bringing her breasts up and shaking out her hair as she rotated her hips, grinding down on both his hand and the bulge of his erection.

  Now she understood. As she chased the pleasure he offered, her body had taken over, knowing how to move. How to entice and seduce. She undulated over him in an erotic lap dance, bringing her hands down over her neck, lowering the scooped neck of nightgown to reveal her breasts.

  He jerked her closer. Latched onto one puckered tip. Shock waves rocked through her, making her lose her rhythm. She wrapped her arms around his head and pressed her lips to his smooth scalp.

  Cool air teased her damp nipple as he abandoned it in search of the other. He nipped her, stroked his tongue over the bud and drew it into his mouth. He held her tight to his body, urging her to a faster pace.

  She tried to draw back, not wanting the moment to end, but he wouldn't let her, holding her fast and curling his fingers inside her. So she moved, seeking pleasure for them both, rocking so she dragged against the engorged length of his arousal confined in his jeans.

  He cursed, tensed under her, and lifted his hips up in one long, needful thrust.

  Wet heat bloomed under her thigh and she knew he'd come.

  She'd made her mate come.

  Her inner muscles tightened, and she shouted as she pushed past that invisible boundary, her body pulsing out her euphoria. He withdrew his fingers and pressed his thumb to her clit, drawing out her pleasure.

  After, she held tight to him for several minutes as she waited for her heart to slow, for their breath to return to normal.

  “Don't move.” He set her on the couch and went upstairs. A few moments later he came back in fresh jeans with a washcloth. He kissed her while he tended to her. Slow needy sips and teasing bites.

  And then he laid her back on the couch, curling himself around her and whispering the silliest praise.

  She tucked her face beneath his chin, hiding her ridiculous smile and tried to ignore the absent heartbeat beneath her ear. Tried to ignore how foolish and dangerous this was.

  Who knew a vampire could touch her heart? No. She'd misstated the situation. He hadn't touched her heart.

  Her smile faded. He'd stolen it outright.

  ***

  Lilith woke alone.

  He'd left her on the couch with nothing but one of the dust covers to keep her warm.

  Bastard.

  After he'd taken such sweet care of her, he did this?

  She flipped aside the sheet and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  He'd been wonderful.

  She frowned. Actually, he really had. Leaving her here, alone, was completely out of character.

  Something rammed against a wall upstairs so hard the pictures shook in the living room.

  She jumped to her feet and, trying to make as little noise as possible, went upstairs.

  The closer she got to his room, the faster her heart pumped. The noises coming from the room suggested James struggled with someone in there. She pressed her back to the wall next to his door.

  “You're unnatural.” The raspy voice, brittle and light as fallen leaves, wasn't familiar.

  “Fuck you.” James sounded odd. Weak.

  A brief struggle followed his curse. The wall shook again.

  “I'll stop this abomination. I won't let you destroy everything.”

  Lilith nudged the door wider, and as they came into view, the air seemed to congeal in her lungs.

  That was no ghost.

  It must have been feeding off James for quite a while because it had become a skin-walker—nearly corporeal, but it still looked far from human. Reed thin, its brownish-gray skin was pulled tight over thick bones. It had four arms. With two, it held James against the wall, his feet dangling. The other two ended in hooks buried in his chest. The skin-walker stiffened, began to turn.

  Lilith pushed her back against the wall, holding her breath. That's why he didn't want her involved. The skin-walker would never become fully corporeal feeding off a vampire. But if the skin-walker did the same to her . . . it could possess her, or take her life force for its own, killing her.

  Briefly, she considered attacking it with Magic. She was stronger after her bout with Aimee, but she still didn't trust herself. She might just as easily hurt James as the skin-walker—and that was only if whatever spell she came up with didn't backfire.

  “What's a matter? Losing your appetite already?” His words slurred, as if he could barely stay awake.

  He must be trying to pull the skin-walker's attention back to him. Gods, she'd put him into an impossible situation.

  “Where are you going?”

  Shit.

  The other two bedroom doors were both closed. Lilith padded down the hall to the bathroom. She slipped inside just as the skin-walker entered the hall. She didn't dare close the door, instead she stepped into the tub, hiding behind where the shower curtain bunched at one side.

  With each footfall, something heavy dragged on the floor in its wake.

  James.

  She put her hand over her mouth. The sounds of struggle had stopped. Either he'd passed out or was trying to prevent those hooks from tearing his chest wide open.

  The skin-walker came closer, opening the doors to both bedrooms, listening. Searching.

  How long until dawn? Surely astronomical twilight must be over.

  Closer.

  Thump, drag.

  Her heart skipped in her chest.

  Thump, drag.

  A vicious tremor shook her so hard, she feared the skin-walker might hear the whisper of her nightgown over her flesh.

  Closer.

  The skin-walker stood outside the bathroom door. Must be listening to her, listening to it.

  She didn't dare peek around the shower curtain. The bit of navy blue cloth was a pal
try defense.

  Adrenaline ran rampant through her veins, making her skin crawl. Making her itch with the need to run. To scream. To do something.

  Minutes passed. She hoped they were minutes, but, gods, she couldn't tell. It felt like hours. Her body grew tired, aching from standing rigid. The adrenaline, having not been expended, made her light-headed. Her belly roiled.

  Was the skin-walker waiting? Letting her grow confident it had departed so she'd walk right into its hooks? Or had dawn arrived? If dawn had arrived, that meant James lay unconscious on the floor, leaking the last of his energy while she cowered.

  An old prayer her mother taught her came to mind.

  Watchers of old, Watchers of night,

  Please keep me safe in darkness and light.

  She peeked around the edge of the curtain.

  Nothing.

  Watchers of old . . .

  Her mind latched onto the prayer and kept her imagination at bay. Chanting the words in her head kept fear from paralyzing her.

  She stepped out of the tub, listening.

  Nothing.

  Edging towards the door, she paused as each sliver of hallway came into view.

  James lay on the floor, unconscious.

  Watchers of old . . .

  She poked her head out the door and, seeing the empty hall, stepped over him. She needed his blade.

  Bit by bit, she crept down the hall, pausing at each room, listening before moving on. With each step she grew more confident. Dawn must have arrived, forcing the skin-walker back to wherever it existed between twilights.

  Quickly, she went into James' room and retrieved the knife from under the pillow.

  She whirled around.

  There, the skin-walker rose to full height, towering over her. Glowering down at her. Its face drawn tight into an all-too-familiar mask of disapproval.

  Nan.

  She screamed.

  Nan lashed out with all four arms.

  And vanished with a howl.

  Lilith's breath shuddered out of her, only to hitch again as James lurched into the doorway. He leaned heavily against the jamb. “What happened? You okay?”

  “Get in bed, you foolish man.” She ducked under his arm, helping him across the room. They barely made it before he passed out, half on, half off the bed. She struggled to get his feet up, and pulled a pillow under his head.