Free Undead and Unforgiven by MaryJanice Davidson Page B

addict on the continent, you have to flaunt your no-doubt epic sex life, too?”
    â€œI’m fond of you, Marc,” came Sinclair’s voice in a sort of rolling deep purr that made me want to bite him
everywhere
, “but I won’t share Elizabeth—”
    Marc was peeking at him through his fingers. “She’s not exactly my—”
    â€œâ€”and she won’t share me. Run along, there’s a good fellow.”
    â€œI’d like to! But your skank wife is between me and the door!”
    â€œNot for long.” I took a big step and bounded onto thebed with Sinclair, hitting the mattress hard enough to jar his hand loose from his cock. That was fine, he could touch me instead. Screw raindrops and roses and whiskers on kittens; a naked Sinclair was one of
my
favorite things.
    â€œOh, Eric, really,” Tina said, sounding like a fond elderly spinster aunt. Which she was, come to think of it. It’s just, she was hot, also.
    â€œYou’re still here, too? What the hell, you guys?” I bitched. “Go the fuck away, I mean it!”
    â€œYou brought us here.”
    Tina took Marc’s hand and they walked to the door. “Never mind, Marc.”
    â€œNever mind? But—they—she—ugh—”
    â€œDo you want to watch season three of
Sherlock
again?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œYou love ‘The Empty Hearse.’”
    â€œI do. How come a dead woman from the antebellum South is the only one in this house who understands me?”
    â€œOut!” Sinclair and I roared in unison.
    â€œWe’re going, shut up. Tina, honest question: flushing my eyes with bleach won’t cause permanent damage, right?” Marc was walking so fast he was now leading them both (I’d never realized how big our bedroom was before), and Tina tripped a little to keep her balance. “If I only do it for five minutes or so?”
    The door slammed on her answer. “Ugh, sorry,” I said. What little clothing I still had on was getting rapidly ruined as I yanked and tugged. “They really don’t get boundaries.”
    â€œSo inappropriate,” Sinclair agreed, dark eyes gleaming. His brunet hair was cut short and neat, and he had what appeared at first glance to be eight miles of limbs. His broad shoulders were sleekly muscled—he’d been a farmer’s son in life, before a vampire destroyed his family—and tapered to a narrow waist and tight abdomen. You know how people joke about bouncing quarters off abs? Youcould bounce a rock so high off his you’d be in real danger of losing an eye. “And though I derive much pleasure from disrobing you myself, watching you shred your clothing in a frantic bid to get naked for me is easily as erotic.”
    â€œ. . . stupid . . . buttons . . . passing a law banning them . . .”
    â€œAs you wish, my own, so long as you don’t—ah.” I’d yanked too hard and started to tumble off our bed; Sinclair’s hand shot out, grabbed my wrist, and hauled me on top of him.
    â€œOh,” I said. I smiled down at him. “This works.”
    He grinned back, showing teeth. “Show me.”
    I did. For a lovely long time. Reason #27 not to let Sinclair have the run of Hell: if the vampire king was there, it wasn’t really Hell.
    At least, not to me.

CHAPTER
    NINE
    â€œHell pretty much runs itself,” I told him, panting. Silly, really—we didn’t need to take more than two or three breaths a minute. But energetic marital banging had rocketed my pulse to at least ten bpm. I’d literally run a mile (stupid fleet-footed serial rapist!) and not had my heart pound this hard. “Half the time I’m overwhelmed, and the other half I wonder why I’m even there.”
    â€œAnd this surprises you?” Sinclair was leaning on one elbow, gently stroking my belly with his other hand. He’d missed