Tooth And Nailed Part 8

She moaned around him, loving the feel of him, the taste of him against her tongue. She slid one hand to his b.a.l.l.s, cupping them gently. They were drawn tight against the base of his c.o.c.k, heavy and full, and she knew if she didn't stop in the next few moments, she'd be drinking his come.

As darkly appealing as the idea was, she wasn't about to let it happen. Her p.u.s.s.y was drenched, pulsing with the need to have him deep inside her, and she wasn't about to let the opportunity to finally have him pa.s.s by. With a final swirling lick of her tongue, she pulled her mouth off him with a soft pop. She gripped him in her fist, lazily stroking his c.o.c.k as she watched him.

Jack was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with the effort. He was watching her, his hands now clenched in the sheet at his sides. His eyes were burning into hers and she felt as though he could see right past her outer defenses to the vulnerable woman underneath. She dropped her gaze in self-defense, but the sight of her small, pale hand wrapped around his dark c.o.c.k didn't calm her racing heart.

She forgot her fear, forgot she didn't want to be vulnerable to this man, and concentrated only on the delicious erection that more than filled her hand. He was weeping pre-come steadily now, bubbling at the tip and flowing down the shaft to soak her hand. She slid her hand slowly from root to tip, marveling at the way the flesh seemed to ripple under her touch. He was hot and hard, and suddenly she couldn't wait another minute to have him.

She rose to her knees in a rush and straddled him, lifting herself high as she gripped his c.o.c.k her in hand, positioning him at her opening. She was fairly dripping with juice, her inner thighs soaked with it, and she couldn't resist sliding the mushroom-shaped head of his c.o.c.k through the valley of her p.u.s.s.y. Her breath caught as she dragged him across her c.l.i.t and Jack growled in response. Her eyes flew to his, staggered at the restrained violence in the sound. His face was flushed, his eyes glowing bright red and his entire body was tight and tense. He looked ready to pounce.

She froze, poised over him as a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Jack, condom."

He understood immediately. "I'm clean," he rasped. "My body doesn't tolerate disease and it's doubtful I can get you pregnant."

"Oh good," she said, "and I'm on the Pill anyway." He brought her attention back to the matter at hand when he growled.

"Darling, I know I said this was your show," he said. His lips were peeled back in a snarl and she could see his fangs, fully extended. "But if you don't f.u.c.k me in the next ten seconds, I'm taking over."

Somehow the ultimatum, combined with the obvious signs of his arousal brought her back under control. Deliberately, she slid him once again through the syrupy wetness at her c.u.n.t, smiling to herself as he arched, instinctively trying to lodge himself inside her.

She silently counted down the seconds, all the while tormenting him by dragging his c.o.c.k along her dripping cleft until she got to ten. Then she leaned forward slightly, arching her hips so he was right at the perfect angle. She leaned even closer, whispered, "Eleven," and slid down.

Jack shouted hoa.r.s.ely, his hips arching hard so that her knees came up off the mattress. She cried out, releasing her grip on the base of his shaft to brace her hands on his ribs and gravity forced her fully down on his c.o.c.k. She keened loudly, bright lights and colors exploding in her head as her c.u.n.t clenched down on him hard in sudden, unexpected o.r.g.a.s.m.

Jack gritted his teeth, barely managing to hold off his own satisfaction as he watched her face contort in pleasure. Her c.u.n.t was gripping him like a slick, hot fist and he wanted to come inside her more than he wanted his next breath. But he resisted, urging her pleasure along with short, sharp thrusts of his hips. His c.o.c.k barely shifted inside her she was gripping him so tight, but he knew the added friction would prolong the spasms he could feel racking her womb.

He distracted himself from the almost blinding need to come by focusing on her face. He'd never seen anything as lovely as Rowan lost in pa.s.sion. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed. Her mouth was open, little mewing whimpers escaping her lips with each spasm of her c.u.n.t. Her milky white throat was bared to his gaze and he could see the pulse that beat there in rhythm to the contractions milking his c.o.c.k. He felt his fully extended fangs ache at the sight, his flared nostrils catching the sweet tang of the blood beating beneath her skin. Combined with the scent of her arousal, it was intoxicating and he redoubled his efforts to hold back.

Finally her contractions slowed and she brought her head forward on a sigh. She opened her eyes, licked her lips as she watched him.

"Hmmmm," she murmured. "That was nice, but I'm glad you didn't join me."

Jack arched one tawny brow. "And why is that?" The answer better be d.a.m.ned good, he thought, or she was going to find herself flat on her back in less time than it took her to come the first time.

"Because," she breathed. She rose up on her knees, pulling almost completely off him before sinking back down to engulf him fully. "Now I get to do it again."

Jack growled. He wrestled briefly with the idea of flipping her onto her back and simply having his turn. Then she brought her hands up to her own b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pinching the pretty pink nipples and twisting them, making herself moan, and he gave up. He placed his hands on the tops of her thighs for balance, gave one brief prayer of thanksgiving that the shop downstairs was closed and began thrusting up to meet her.

Within moments he could feel his b.a.l.l.s tighten even farther, the tight, hot clasp of her p.u.s.s.y pushing him to the brink, and with a shout of completion, he arched hard and began coming. Rowan squealed, lifted off the bed and impaled fully on him once again, feeling her c.u.n.t contracting as she came with him. Her head flew back and once again the pulse in her neck drew him like a lodestone. He gritted his teeth hard, knowing she wasn't ready for that, p.r.i.c.king his own lip with the edge of his fangs in an effort to hold back.

When it was over, Jack lay sprawled on the bed, legs still akimbo, arms spread wide. With a throaty moan, Rowan slid down weakly on top of him, her head nestling in the notch of his shoulder. Jack brought his arms up around her, lazily stroking her back.

They lay there for long moments, panting for breath until finally Rowan broke the silence. "You didn't bite me."

Chapter Seven.

Rowan could've cheerfully bitten her own tongue off. His hands paused in their lazy stroking of her back and she held herself as still as possible. She hadn't meant to say the words out loud but the haze of great s.e.x was still clouding her brain and she'd spoken without thinking.

After a long pause, his hands resumed their gentle glide up and down her spine and he spoke. "I wasn't aware you wanted me to." His tone was lazy, amused, and for some reason got her hackles up.

She braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed up so she could look him in the face then scowled at the hank of damp, tangled hair obstructing her view. She blew it out of the way and scowled at him. He looked amused and satisfied. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, the motion nearly dislodging her hands. "You made it clear you were calling the shots, darling. I figured if you wanted me to take a nibble, you'd have said so."

That gave her pause. She was still astonished he'd let her take command as he did, although she had the sneaking suspicion she wasn't nearly as in charge as she'd seemed to be. She frowned at him. "I thought you would. I thought that's what you meant earlier when you said you only drink from humans for recreation."

He quirked a brow. "I did mean that."

"So why didn't you do it? You knowa""she waved her hand vaguely "a"the biting thing."

"Because you're afraid of it." He patted her on the a.s.s. "Be a love and get my f.a.gs from the table there, would you?"

Rowan huffed out a breath, but shifted over to reach the bedside table for the pack of cigarettes and lighter that rested there. She handed them to him, sliding off his chest to lie at his side while he lit one and took a long, satisfying drag. "I didn't know you smoked."

He blew out a lazy stream of smoke, propped himself higher on the pillows. "Only occasionally. Soa"" he took another drag, blew it out "a"you wanted me to bite you?"

She bit her lip. "No."

He chuckled and flicked ash into the porcelain dish on the bedside table. "You lie so badly, darling. It's charming."

"Stupid mind reader," she muttered.

He chuckled. "Look, Rowan. The *biting thing', as you so quaintly put it, can be a very sensual experience. That's why some of us still like to do it. It's why I still like to do it. But it's like any other sensual experiencea"if you aren't in the mood for it, if you're not aroused, then it's just somebody biting you. It won't work."

She rolled her eyes. "In case you didn't notice, I was turned on. So againa"why?"

He sighed. "Because you didn't tell me you wanted me to. And I don't think you know if you want me to. And you're deliberately testing me to see if I'm going to do something to go back on my promise."

Rowan grinned at him. "Caught. In any case, I can safely say you've earned your ladies' man reputation."

He grinned back. "Does that mean you're one of my ladies now?"

She stuck her tongue out. "Don't hold your breath, Fangityville Horror."

He winced as he stubbed out his cigarette. "Lovely, now she's got whole new material to come up with nicknames."

She giggled and reaching her hands up to the headboard, indulged in a long, luxurious stretch and a jaw-cracking yawn. "G.o.d, I'm tired. It's almost dawn, I better get back to bed." She started to swing her legs to the floor.

Jack reached out, snagged her arm. He caught her off balance and used her own momentum to swing her back into bed, and in a blink had her pinned underneath him.

"What're you doing?"

"That was my question." He raised an eyebrow. "Is there any reason you can't sleep in this bed?"

"Um. No, I guess not. But I was looking to actually sleep."

"Well, contrary to another popular belief, I'm capable of sleeping with a woman without jumping her every second."

Rowan snorted. "That's not what your ladies say."

Jack wrapped his arms around her and rolled so she lay sprawled on top of him. "Good night, darling."

Rowan snuggled in, her cheek against his chest. "G'night, Fangityville."

Jack chuckled. "One day I'm going to get even for that one."

She yawned. "Promises, promises." And with his chuckles ringing in her ears drifted to sleep.

Rowan was jerked out of a dream about a giant wheel of brie several hours later when her tailbone hit the floor and her head hit the leg of the nightstand. She cursed, seeing stars and struggling to wake. She sat up, wincing as she rubbed her head and peered up over the edge of the mattress. Jack was sprawled over the mattress diagonally on his stomach, arms and legs akimbo. His face was buried in her pillow and he was snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

"Well, good morning to you too," she grumbled.

Since he didn't seem to be close to waking, she left him snoring and went back to her room for a hot shower. She took her time, letting the heat and steam wash away the last of the travel fatigue and stress. She noticed that he had her brand of shampoo and conditioner waiting for her, still in their packaging. Her favorite brand of body wash was there, along with a brand-new loofah sponge. He'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble to make sure she'd be comfortable there.

She soaped leisurely, letting her mind drift over the events of the last day. Even though the immediate problem of spending time with Jack in close quarters was resolveda"at least for the time beinga"she now had the whole new issue of him being a vampire. The thought was so daunting she put it in the back of her mind and thought instead of the mess her father was in.

She wasn't sure she believed the Army of G.o.d was as big a threat as everyone seemed to think. After all, her father had been known to overreact when it came to her safety. She grimaced at the showerhead, recalling a particularly embarra.s.sing incident in her seventh grade year. The bodyguards her father insisted she keep with her at all times had mistaken a member of the school hockey team for a snipera"apparently a hockey stick looked like a long range rifle to an ex-Marinea"and they'd taken him down on the front lawn of the school. They'd fractured two of his ribs, his parents had sued and she'd had to change schools.

Rowan frowned, picked up the bottle of shampoo and poured a generous amount into her palm. She didn't know much about current events, she barely paid attention to the news as a rule, and she'd been so busy lately with one thing or another that she hadn't even bothered to check in with the world at large for longer than usual. As she worked the fragrant suds into her hair, she tried to recall everything she knew about the Army of G.o.d and the Reverend Stephen Job.

Unfortunately she tended to tune out the crazies and weirdos so she didn't know much. She knew he was overweight, mostly bald and a pompous jacka.s.s, but that described half of the population of L.A. She stuck her head under the spray, closing her eyes as suds sluiced down her face. She picked up the conditioner, working it in as she tried to recall more details. She thought she remembered something about him publishing some manifesto on the web recently, some kind of manual he'd written for the d.a.m.ned ma.s.ses of humanity to redeem themselves.

She rolled her eyes, cursing when conditioner dripped in them. When they'd stopped stinging, she finished rinsing her hair then shut off the water. She dried herself briskly, wrapped herself in her own robe, which she found hanging on the hook behind the door. Looking around the bathroom, she noticed her own cosmetic bag sitting on the vanity and gratefully made use of the moisturizer.

She emerged from the bathroom feeling refreshed, the hot shower having revived her considerably. She found her clothes unpacked and hanging in the closet, and dressed hurriedly in a clean pair of jeans and a tank top. She combed her hair out to let it dry naturally then left the bedroom. She peeked in on Jack, snorting out a laugh as she saw him still sprawled across the bed.

She was starving so she padded into the kitchen to forage for food. Aside from all the little packets of stored blood in the freezer she wasn't about to touch, there was beer, bottled water and one sorry little apple in his fridge. "Geez, you'd think he'd go shopping for me," she muttered. She took the fruit, wandering around the apartment as she ate. She hadn't had much of a chance to look around the day before and she took her time now.

Situated above a tobacco shop it was small but charming with pine floors and arched doorways and windows. The walls were painted a creamy white throughout. The paint looked textured but it was uneven in spots, and when she ran her hand over the wall she realized it was because the walls were plaster instead of sheetrock. There were bookcases built in, covering an entire wall in the living room, the dark wood a pleasing contrast to the white walls. A closer look at the shelves yielded a surprisingly eclectic taste in reading material. There was an entire library of Irish history there, along with lots of popular fiction and a smattering of romance novels, which had her brows rising in interest.

The furniture looked new and was modern without being over the top. The sofa was leather, a creamy b.u.t.terscotch color. She ran her hand over it, noting the supple softness of the leather. The other chairs in the room were upholstered in the same b.u.t.tery leather with pillows in a soft sage color tucked into the corners.

She realized as she looked around that the entire room was decorated to soothe. Soft textures, neutral colors, it all combined to create a sense of calm she was sure was deliberate. The bedrooms were the same way, she recalled. The same creamy walls with wood furniture and muted tones for the bed linens. This was obviously a haven for Jack, a place for him to be at ease.

Rowan swallowed the last bite of apple and went into the kitchen to throw it away. The room reflected the same quiet tone as the rest of the flat, with pale sand-colored countertops and simple stainless steel fixtures. She felt comfortable here, she realized. Comfortable and at home, and wasn't that a scary thought?

Shaking that thought loose, she found the trash under the sink and threw away the apple core. She turned on the faucet to rinse her hands, thinking again over what Jack had said about Army of G.o.d and their plans for her. It was frustrating to not be able to recall much about them or their methods. Her father was always warning her that her penchant for ignoring the world around her would come back on her one day. The irony of that statement wasn't lost on her.

"Well, I need information," she muttered to herself, turning off the faucet with a flick of her wrist. And the best way to get it was the Internet. She headed for her bedroom, curious to see if Marvin had packed her laptop.

She found it on a closet shelf and the apartment was setup with a wireless Internet connection. Within ten minutes Rowan was sprawled on her stomach on the living room floor with a bottle of water, looking at the Army of G.o.d website.

Jeez, they were creepy. The website was like an homage to hate and there didn't seem to be anyone immune from their wrath. The homepage had a list of "spiritual enemies"a"they stopped short of using the word targeta"who the righteous followers of the Army were to help "educate" in the name of G.o.d. Rowan shook her head. It never ceased to amaze her the lengths some people would go to, to justify their own evil.

She noted several film stars on the sitea"apparently they cursed and had s.e.x too much in their movies. Several national bookstore chains, along with independent stores in every major city in the country were listed, along with restaurants, dance clubs, bars and sports teams. There was a list of "disapproved" television shows, a section on churches that weren't holy enough and of course, a list of local and national politicians who stood in the way of their vision. And her father's name was at the top of the list.

She read through the dossier they'd composed on him, astonished at the detail. They had her mother's death noted and even had her parent's wedding picture next to the text. She traced a fingertip gently over her mother's smile, a pang in her chest. G.o.d, some days she missed her so much. With a sigh of regret, she turned to the text. They listed all of his political campaigns, his voting record in the California house, the various charities he contributed to or raised money for. There was so much information there was a second page. She clicked the link, taking a sip of water, and nearly choked when the page loaded and she saw her own face grinning back at her.

The picture was a recent one, taken at a charity softball tournament a few weeks ago. She'd agreed to play when someone else had backed out at the last minute. She was standing on third base in the shot, grinning like an idiot. She'd hit the ball hard, had barely stretched what should have been a double into a three bagger, and the photographer from the local newspaper had caught the gleaming triumph on her face. It had been a great moment but looking at it now with the caption reading "Second Generation Evil", she felt slightly ill.

She quickly scrolled through the rest of the page, sickened but not really surprised to find it was mostly about her. They chronicled her childhood in cold, merciless terms, calling the private education she'd received "brainwashing" and every little incident was laid out in stark detail. The time she'd put a frog in Mr. Palmer's meatloaf was noted as the first sign that the devil lurked within her soul.

"They wouldn't say that if they knew Mr. Palmer," she muttered to herself, reading quickly through the rest of the page. h.e.l.l, they even had her prom picture, the one of Tommy Mulvany and her standing out by the pool, both of them looking eager and uncomfortable in their formal wear. Rowan giggled at the sight of the corsage on her wrista"Tommy was of the opinion that bigger was better, so she was wearing a huge arrangement of roses and baby's breath on her arm. He'd told her, with not a little pride, that it had had to be special ordered, and like a giddy girl in the throes of puppy love, she'd thought it the most beautiful thing in the world.

She shook her head. The picture was captioned "Getting Set to Dance with Satan". How any person could look at those two clueless young people and see anything nefarious was beyond her comprehension.

Unwilling to read any more, Rowan rose from the floor, carrying the water bottle back toward the kitchen. She was putting it on the counter next to the sink when she heard the noise. Thinking Jack might be waking up, she turned to head down the hallway, determined to give him s.h.i.t for kicking her out of bed. She froze as she heard the noise again, this time clearly coming from the hallway outside the front door to the apartment.

"s.h.i.t," she whispered, frozen in momentary indecision. She could try to wake Jack but the front door was between her and the hall, and someone had just slid a key into the lock and entered the apartment.

Rowan went with instinct, pressing her back against the kitchen wall and sliding as soundlessly as possible along the wall until she reached the doorway. She had a view of the front window and doorway but she couldn't see anyone. Whoever had come in was out of her line of sight. She held her breath and risked a quick glance into the room, taking it in, in a heartbeat and then pulling her head back into the shadows quickly, her blood beginning to boil. The intruder was crouched over her laptop, his back to her, likely reading through the website she hadn't bothered to minimize. Since he faced away from her, she risked another longer look.

He had a cap of fiery red hair and was dressed in jeans and a black sweater, worn sneakers with the laces trailing the floor on his feet. The sweater was bulky, she couldn't tell if he had any kind of weapon tucked into his pants but she could see that he wasn't holding one. His hands were busy on her keyboard, opening the files she kept on her laptop, and she clenched her fists.

She knew she should stay put, see what he did after he finished violating her privacy, but her temper was getting the best of her and rational thought went the way of the dodo. She hated it when people snooped into her private property. It was rude and wrong and it just p.i.s.sed her off.

Riding a wave a self-righteous anger that obliterated her natural caution, she swung into the doorway. "What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?"

At her snarl, the man's head snapped up, surprise stamped on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, coming out of his crouch and reaching one hand to his waist. Rowan didn't think, just reacted, spinning and kicking out. The back kick caught him in the chest rather than the jaw as she'd intendeda"he stood faster than she'd antic.i.p.ated and he was tall!a"but it knocked him back a full two steps and gave her time to reset.

She went into a crouch, balanced on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet, antic.i.p.ating an attack. Instead, he held up both hands. "Easy, lady. I was just taking a peek. No harm done."

She'd straightened slightly at the gesture of surrender but his words had her seeing red again. "No harm? That's my personal property, you pig!"

"Well, if you didn't want anyone taking a look, why'd you leave it lying about for anyone to see?"

"It wasn't lying about for anyone to see," she hissed through clenched teeth. She was going to wipe that quirky little grin right off his face. "I want an apology."

He quirked one fiery brow. "For takin' a peek at your little machine? I don't see where the trespa.s.s occurred, love, but if it'll ease your unreasonable female temper, then I apologize most humbly." He swept his arm out, bowing from the waist in mock deference and it snapped the final thread of her temper.

With a shriek, she launched a double front kick, catching him square in the chin and sending him flying back. He crashed into the coffee table, sending it splintering into a dozen pieces. Rowan ducked as a table leg came flying past then whirled at the m.u.f.fled grunt that sounded behind her.

She winced as she saw Jack standing there naked as the day he was born with a bright red mark on his forehead from where the table leg had caught him.

"What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l is going on here?" he bellowed. He looked past her to the semi-conscious man lying in the debris of what used to be his coffee table. "Deacon?"

"Aye," the man on the floor groaned and sat up. "f.u.c.k me, it feels like me head flew off and hit the wall."

"Looks like she caught you good, mate." Jack walked past Rowan, paying no heed to his nudity and caught the man by the hands to haul him to his feet. "It's good to see you, lad," he said, and pulled him into a hug.

While Rowan looked on, confused, the man called Deacon hugged him back. "Same goes, Jack, though I could've done without the kamikaze greeting from your woman." He slid a side-glance at Rowan.