Forever Vampire. Michele Hauf

trace of Vail’s finger mount the apex of her thighs. Testing, teasing, taunting her with his presence, the promise of something more.

      She moved her legs together, but a slap of his palm to her thigh stopped her.

      “Keep them open,” he said around her nipple. “You want this, Lyric.”

      She shook her head. Oh, yes, you do.

      A lift of his eyebrow provided the sexiest expression she had ever seen on a man. And the curl at the right side of his mouth was this bad boy’s signature move. Devastating. “Then stop me,” he said.

      Stopping him meant giving him the information he wanted. Not as easy as he imagined it could be. Especially if no name existed. But she wasn’t about to reveal that little white one.

      Because that would make him stop.

      Letting out a moan, Lyric didn’t care if the ice princess mutinied. Desire undermined her resolve and weakened her concern for secrecy. Besides, without a secret name to reveal, she needn’t worry about shouting it out at the brink of climax.

      And, oh … there. She sucked in her lower lip as Vail’s finger slowly entered her wet depths, and then moved back out to slick across her clitoris. Softly exploring. A rub back and forth, and a slow but firm slide in the other direction. All sensation hummed at her core, bringing her closer …

      He needed to press deeper, to focus on her ultrasensitive apex, yet he merely teased. Around in circles, and along her folds, and returning to her swollen clit to demonstrate what she could have if only …

      If only.

      “You like this, Lyric?”

      “Yes,” she gasped, then closed her eyes and shook her head. She didn’t want to talk. Satisfaction. That’s what she needed. Why wouldn’t he give it to her? “You do, too, Vail.”

      “Of course I do. Your body is amazing, your breasts so full.” He kissed each one, following with a lick. “Your nipples are so hard I could suck them for hours, devour them like the cherries of which you smell.”

      Please do, she thought. Don’t ever stop. She was still so hungry, having forgone the mortal’s blood. Climax would be a fine replacement for what she craved.

      “And you’re so wet. You like it when I put my finger inside you?”

      She nodded, breaths coming as rapid whimpers.

      “Right here,” he whispered, his lips against her neck now, right over the vein. Still his finger merely circled the spot she wanted him to master. “A little harder?”

      “Please,” she chirped.

      “Pretty please?”

      “Mmm,” she managed. “Vail, please.”

      And then his finger was gone. The tingle at her nipple ceased. The heat of his mouth left her skin.

      Lyric breathed, waiting. Her body hummed, wanting, desiring, needing.

      “Name,” he said sternly.

      Fuck. No. She couldn’t. She didn’t have—

      She wanted. She needed to get off. Squirming on the bed, she couldn’t manage to bring her hips up to meet his hovering hand. The bastard wouldn’t bring her to the brink like this and then walk away, would he?

      So the torturer did know his craft.

      If her hands were free, she’d finish herself off and not be the least ashamed. Pressing her thighs together, she mined the sweet hum of orgasm. It remained elusive, demanding Vail’s direct and firm touch.

      “Uh-uh.” He nudged her thighs apart. “Not that way, sweetie. You want to come? Name.”

      “Vincent Lambert,” she blurted out. Hell, she’d seen the last name on a movie poster recently, and the first name was common enough.

      The mattress jiggled as Vail stood and strode to the counter. Grabbing the cell phone, he punched in some numbers.

      Lyric crashed, heaving and gasping as if tears would spill free. The high of arousal withered away and her flesh prickled again, not from desire, but from the lack of touch, of expected satisfaction. Her wet nipples cooled and the aching loss of heat softened them. She pressed her legs together.

      No. Not worth it now without him directing the fireworks. And she wouldn’t let him witness her weakness. God, how had she managed to get herself into a situation like this? So vulnerable!

      She twisted her wrists within the leather strap, to no avail.

      Vail asked the operator to give him the address of Vincent Lambert.

      Good luck with that.

      “Thanks,” he said, and hung up. “You’re in luck. There’s a Vincent Lambert in the fourteenth quarter. Got the address.”

      Seriously? Whew.

      Vail walked to the bed and loomed over her, hands propped at his hips. “Now, what to do with you?”

      SHE’D GIVEN HIM what he’d requested. He should head out for the fourteenth and nab the gown from the fence. Return the damned thing to Hawkes, hand over the girl to Mommy, and then he could finally get the information he wanted from his uncle. One problem.

      The naked woman lying on the bed before him writhed and gasped with the need to get off. And he wanted to help her with that. Because those soft, round breasts surely required more licking. And her molten hot body demanded he fill her with the hard-on he’d suffered for the past twenty minutes.

      What had become of his hatred for vampires?

      You don’t have to bite her.

      And there was nothing wrong with a vampire in general, just their nasty blood. Right? He’d never slept with a vampire. Had avoided them since arriving in the mortal realm.

      But he didn’t have to bite when he had sex. It was a great accompaniment to the whole shebang, but unnecessary. And besides, who would know if he screwed a vampire this one time?

      Vail unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside.

      She squirmed and tugged against the leather belt strapping her to the headboard. “Too late, you junkie asshole. I don’t need it anymore.”

      “Yeah?” He flicked open the button on his pants and tugged down the fly. His heavy erection sprang out. Her eyes widened—and not in anger. “We’ll see about that.”

      Retrieving the knife from his back pocket, he sat on the edge of the bed. Knife in his fist, he skimmed his knuckles over her taut stomach, toying with her fear and desire at the same time. He let the hard ivory handle of the knife rub her nipple as he moved higher.

      She reacted with vicious struggles. He’d lost her when making the phone call—a necessary delay from the torture—but he could get her back.

      “Settle, Lyric, you don’t want me to cut you.”

      “You wouldn’t,” she retorted. “Wouldn’t want to get any of my nasty blood on you.”

      She was smart. But he could be smarter.

      He pressed his other hand over her mons, fingertips lightly brushing the soft wet folds she kept shaved bare, and her body reacted by arching her back. Much as she thought she didn’t want this, her body did. She straddled a tightrope, and one wrong step would send her reeling into the stratosphere or crashing to earth.

      He preferred the reel, because that would make it good for him, too.

      He slid the blade under the leather belt securing her wrists. This particular blade had been forged in Faery and was sharper than any mortal metal could be honed. Her wrists, unbound, fell to the bed and she grasped for one to ease her fingers about it.

      “Sorry, if you lost the feeling in them,” he muttered.

      Vail