Free Reap the Wind by Karen Chance

I was trapped, caught between sinuous movements from behind, where his body still cupped me, and sure, sweet strokes from in front, those talented fingers both caging and bringing me to the brink in moments. Until the deep throb of desire blotted out everything else. A hand gripped my thigh, pulling it farther up. Leaving me open and aching as he slid slowly against me from behind, huge and hard and . . .
    “Take me already!” I gasped, and heard him chuckle.
    “Are you asking or demanding?”
    “Either. Both.” I barely knew what I was saying as that wonderful heat kept. Missing. The target. “Can’t you find it?” I asked desperately, after another few seconds, because I was losing my mind.
    “I think I can manage.” The voice was amused, but the words were punctuated by a full-length glide against me. “But I don’t take orders well.”
    “Neither do I!” I told him, pushing back.
    “I’ve noticed” was hissed in my ear as the wonderful, hateful pressure slid against me again. And again. And—
    “Damn it, Pritkin! Don’t tease!”
    Abruptly, the movements stopped. And the hands on my body tightened. And a familiar voice growled in my ear.
“Pritkin?”
    And then somebody knocked on the door.
    I jerked awake with a little scream, staring around in confusion and instinctively grabbing for the sheet. That was lucky, because the door burst open a second later, spilling two well-armed security guards into the room. Along with a small vampire clutching large white paper bags.
    The vampire’s name was Fred. He was looking a little bewildered. Possibly because of the scream, or because I was staring at him like he had two heads.
    I clutched the sheet a little higher and did it anyway. My heart was in my throat, my hair was everywhere, and my nipples were hard as rocks. It was a little difficult to think clearly at the moment.
    “Sushi?” he blurted out.
    “Wh-what?” I stared at him some more.
    “Or Indian?”
    He thrust out the bags, so I stared at them instead. They looked like the kind you get at takeout places, and one of them had a greasy bottom that was about to leak through the waxed paper. It smelled wonderful.
    My brain finally woke up enough to inform me that I must have fallen asleep while waiting for dinner, and that I was now freaking out Fred. And the other guards, one of whom had a hand on his gun. I licked my lips and retreated from heart attack territory, although I didn’t lower the sheet. I couldn’t because my shirt had ridden up. Had ridden suspiciously up, I thought, glancing around again.
    But there were no phantom lovers in sight, and I knew from phantom. Just soft darkness, a dim haze from the nightscape outside the windows, and the air conditioner tossing the sheers around. I pushed sweaty hair out of my face and told myself to calm down.
    It had been a dream, that was all—just a vivid dream.
    Really, really vivid.
    I swallowed, and turned my attention back to the small vamp.
    He was silhouetted in the brighter wedge of light from the hall, a short, somewhat dumpy figure in an ill-fitting suit. It showed off his love handles but matched his large, myopic gray eyes. He had wispy brown hair that he’d let grow a little long to try to cover a bald patch, a tie that always ended up everywhere except where a tie was supposed to be, and a nose that looked like it was missing the glasses he chose not to wear because he thought they made him look weak.
    I hated to tell him, but it really didn’t matter. Scary, Fred was not. However, we all have our gifts. And right then, he was holding bags from two of the local eateries that had received the Fred seal of approval. Which meant that they specialized in greasy, sugary, spicy, or fried foods, or preferably all of the above.
    My mouth started to water.
    “Suuuushi, or Innnndian?” he asked again, recovering slightly. And wafting the bags around.
    “What . . . what kind of Indian?” I managed to say, without drooling on