The Calling - Honor Calls Part 2

He took her question as an invitation and grasped her hand in his. He noticed the slight chill of her skin and wondered at the reason for it, but he thrust aside the niggle of concern.

"Nervous?" he asked, narrowing his eyes to read her reaction. If anything, she'd been a.s.sured, strong and complex so far. He was antic.i.p.ating experiencing more of the same from her.

"Just...cold," she answered and twined her fingers with his. "As for where this is going...Are you sure you're ready to handle all of this and more?"

Jesus shot a look around the club and then back at her. She seemed so much a part of this place and yet removed from it. That might explain the hint of loneliness he had sensed in her.

"If the 'and more' involves the two of us alone together somewhere, I'm ready."

Shaking her head, she smiled, but there was no mistaking the sadness in her voice as she said, "You may be sorry you said that."

He cupped her face with his free hand and explored the soft skin of her cheek. He shifted his thumb downward over her full lips.

Her warm sweet breath exploded against his finger, as if she was shocked by the intimacy of his touch.

"If I promise not to be sorry, can you do the same?"

She sucked in a shaky breath and he saw how her pupils widened with desire. Against the pad of his thumb, her lips quivered before she worried her bottom lip with her perfectly white teeth.

Perfectly white fangless teeth. The thought brought some relief that he wasn't about to engage one of the supposed undead in what he hoped to be some very satisfying s.e.x.

"Well?" he prompted, her delay both worrisome and frustrating.

She released her bottom lip and finally said, "I won't be sorry."

Chapter 5.

"Good." He rose and stood by the table, obviously waiting for Michaela to choose where they would go for their tryst.

"Where" definitely not being the flophouse where she was staying while she completed her mission. She suspected that Jesus, too, would not volunteer where he lived for their encounter.

Which left only one immediate choice-one of the backrooms at the Blood Bank.

She stood and inclined her head toward the rear of the club. "We can pay for a private room in the back."

Jesus narrowed his eyes, seemingly doubtful, but he didn't hesitate to follow her as she led him to the bouncer by the door. He stood with tattooed and muscular arms across a broad chest barely covered by the metal-studded leather vest he wore. He kept an unwelcoming glare on his face until Jesus reached into his pocket and extracted some cash.

"What will it be for the best room you have?" Jesus asked.

The bouncer looked at her and replied with a snicker, "I guess such a fine lady only deserves the best. A hundred dollars until dawn."

"Dawn?" he asked, even as he peeled off the bills and handed them to the man.

"A virgin, are you?" the bouncer said with a sneer, but Michaela shot her hand up to silence him.

"The key is all we need from you."

When he held out the large bra.s.s key, she snagged it from his grasp and rushed into the hallway containing the private rooms.

The hall was narrow and relatively short. The walls were painted black and seemed to devour the light from the dated wall sconces located near each door. The floor beneath their feet was carpeted with a thick s.h.a.g rug in deep crimson. It was matted down in the center, testifying to the traffic that pa.s.sed this way.

Jesus followed Michaela as she checked the number on the key against the ones on the wooden doors of the rooms. Finally, at the door farthest away from the club and all its noise, a bra.s.s number eight marked the room as theirs.

"What did he mean that we had the room until dawn?" Jesus asked, towering over her. His physical presence rattled her calm, causing her to falter while she tried to unlock the door. He immediately covered her hands with his and helped steady her as she turned the key and opened the door.

She had heard about the Blood Bank's private rooms, but she had never been in one. The room was surprisingly more than what she had expected.

A queen-size four-poster bed took up one side of the s.p.a.ce, the bed's surface lushly appointed with a satin comforter, an a.s.sortment of pillows and remarkably clean sheets.

But it was the accessories on the opposite side of the room that subsequently snared and held both her attention and Jesus'.

He walked to the wall where an a.s.sortment of whips, chains, cuffs, knives and other toys were conveniently displayed. Running his index finger along a pair of fur-lined wrist cuffs, he shot her a half-lidded glance as he once again asked, "Why dawn?" "Why do you think?" She removed the wrist cuffs from the wall and examined them more carefully, even going so far as to undo the strap on one of them.

"It's when the vamps go home after a night of play," he said.

A rough edge tinged his voice. Was it from fear or from imagining their own night of play, fur-lined wrist cuffs included?

"It takes a lot of trust, don't you think?" she asked, slipping on one cuff and holding out her arm the way one might do when examining a bracelet.

It would take a lot of trust, Jesus thought. More trust than existed in their newborn relationship. He reached out and slipped off the cuff, tossed it aside, encircled her fine-boned wrist with his hand and urged her close.

"Tell me what you want, Michaela." He enjoyed the contradictions she presented, but he needed something concrete on which to begin this night, on which to-perhaps-build something more. Because he suspected that with a woman as complex as Michaela, one night just wouldn't do it.

She laid a hand on his chest and stepped so close she had to tip her head back to peer up at his greater height. Softly she rubbed her hand against the fabric of his shirt and said, "I want normal."

The longing in her voice was unmistakable. His own yearning responded in sympathy.

It had been way too long since he had done normal.

Gingerly, aware that she was a little skittish and might bolt, he eased his arm around her waist. Slowly he urged her to move that last little bit, until her body brushed his. But he moved her no farther, not wanting to intimidate or overpower. Somehow, he understood that Michaela needed equal footing.

She needed a partner, he thought as he bent from his greater height to put his face level with hers.

"I think I can do normal," he teased, a playful grin on his face as he sought to begin her night of respite.

Their evening of pleasure.

A smile crept to one corner of her mouth. She cradled his cheek and traced the lines of his mouth with her thumb, shifted it to the dimple beside his lips.

"You have a nice smile. You've done it often during your life," Michaela said. At his puzzled look, she slipped the pad of her index finger across the faint lines on his face.

His grin turned wickedly s.e.xy. "There's something to be said for maturity in a man."

Dipping one hand while bringing the other upward, she placed both on the cotton of his shirt, exploring the gloriously sculpted muscle beneath. As she closed the final distance between their bodies, the hard jut of his impressive erection pushed against the flatness of her belly.

She pressed against him, shifting her hips back and forth. "Maturity doesn't seem to have affected your 'something,' because it's definitely saying-"

"I want you, Michaela. You're...unique." He buried his hand in her shoulder-length hair and cupped the back of her head.

Unique?

He couldn't even begin to guess just how different she was, but she had asked for normal tonight. Any explanations could wait until she'd experienced the wonder that he had promised.

"You sweet talker. I bet you charm all the women with lines like that."

The playfulness faded from his face, replaced by an intensity that nearly stole her breath. "Not much for talk, Michaela. I'm an action kind of guy."

At the back of her head came the gentle pressure of his hand, urging her to her tiptoes until his lips were a breath away from hers.

"Are you an action kind of woman?" he asked and his tequila-spiced breath spilled against her lips, creating an intense pull of need within her.

"Yes," she replied.

Chapter 6.

A shudder ripped through his body at her answer. He knew then that no matter how much she wanted a normal night, there was one thing he couldn't do...

"I'm not sure I can go slow," he said.

She chuckled and tipped her head upward once again to lock on his gaze.

"That's okay. You can go slow later."

Later, he thought, and groaned as he imagined taking her again and again until the dawn came and maybe even beyond that. But for now...

He slipped his arm beneath her b.u.t.tocks and raised her until they were face-to-face.

"I think later sounds great." He smiled, which prompted her broad, unrestrained grin. A smile so real and inviting that he had to feel it against his lips. He traced the edges of her welcoming smile with a series of impatient little kisses until the contact wasn't enough for him.

Or for her.

She bracketed his head with her hands, kept him close, as she tasted him and then slipped her tongue into his mouth. Raised her legs and wrapped them around his waist, welcoming him elsewhere.

Jesus kept on kissing her even as he walked with her toward the bed on the other side of the room. When he b.u.mped the mattress with his legs, he dipped down to let her sit on its edge. Michaela grabbed his lapels, the fabric expensive beneath her hands although she itched to have the more luxurious texture of his skin against her palms.

She urged the jacket from his shoulders, exposing the well-worn and cared-for leather of his holster, the menacingly black grip of his gun and the slick cotton of his shirt. Grasping the fabric, she jerked, sending b.u.t.tons flying but accomplishing just what she wanted.

As the shirt hung open, she laid her hands on his skin. Hot like a winter fire. Surprisingly smooth since he had little chest hair. The rich caramel color of his skin matched the warm brown of his eyes, which were glittering brightly as he glanced down at her, a deliciously receptive grin on his face.

"I guess I'm not the only one who can't go slow."

"Guess not," she said, wrapping her thighs around his legs once again, imprisoning him tightly. Leaning back against the soft surface of the bed. Challenging him to action.He didn't disappoint.

He teasingly brushed his hands across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s before helping her ease the leather jacket from her body. As the jacket came off, he tossed it to the side, seemingly ignoring the unexpected weight and metallic thud that hinted at some kind of weaponry in the garment. Instead, he immediately grabbed the edge of the black tank top she wore, pulled it up and over her head and exposed her upper body to his gaze.

Between her legs came the jump of his erection. He emitted a low rumbling moan a moment before he put his fingers at the front clasp of her black bra. The slight tremor of his fingers confused her.

"Jesus?" she asked and laid her hands over his.

His name on her lips nearly undid him it had been so long since a woman had said it with such a mix of need and doubt.

He wanted all doubt gone.

Needed all doubt gone.

"Be sure, Michaela."

She slipped her fingers beneath his hands at the clasp of her bra and parted the fabric to reveal herself to him.

"I'm sure, Jesus. Incredibly sure."

He dragged his hands away from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to her shoulders, where he ran his thumbs across the fragile lines of her collarbone before inching down the straps of her bra and removing it. Then he slowly pa.s.sed the pads of his fingers down the softness of her skin until he cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He ran his thumbs across the hard peaks of her nipples, intent on savoring all the differences between them: the paleness of her skin against the darker tones of his; the size of him, immense against her slight frame, reminding him of her physical fragility. But as she encircled his wrists with her hands and urged him onward, her actions spoke instead of the strength of her spirit.

He circled the hard tips of her nipples with his thumbs then pulled on them, dragging a response from her as she raised her hips and ground herself against him.

Bending, he replaced his fingers with his lips, sucking and teething. He thrust his hips against her center, building her need. Enticed by the soft gasp of pleasure and the shiver of desire that came beneath his lips, that slipped from her skin to his as his body brushed against hers.

Michaela grabbed hold of his shoulders as he loved her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She rocked his body against the center of her, creating a deep sensual clenching that wanted more.

While he tongued and sucked on her nipples, bringing her to the edge, she reached down and undid her black jeans. Parted the fabric there.

He sensed her motions and responded, lowering one hand down her body until it rested on the gap of skin exposed along her belly. His thumb circled the indent of her navel, while the tips of his fingers brushed the hair between her legs.

She shifted her hips and he raised his head from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, locked his gaze on hers and dropped his hand down the last few inches.

His eyes were dark with emotion when he parted her with his fingers, seeking the center of her. Intense as he slowly circled the nub between her legs, building her pleasure. Warmth and damp erupted between her legs at his caress and she once again urged her hips upward.Again he didn't disappoint.

He eased first one finger and then a second within her and brought his thumb to her c.l.i.toris, the pressure and thrust of his movements sure. Demanding.

She grabbed hold of his shoulders. Powerful. Stable. A solid place where she found purchase as she moved her hips, seeking her pleasure and release.

Jesus loved the look on her face, in her eyes. Part wonder. Part desire.

All woman.

Strong, certain female.