Free Fresh Blood by Jennifer Colgan Page B

you.”
    He sighed. This wasn’t how he’d pictured the
evening ending.
    “Come on.” He grabbed her wrist and dragged
her to her feet. She fell against his chest and slithered one hand
inside the front of his shirt.
    “Take this off, Max. Let me touch you.”
    “Maybe later. Right now you need to go to
bed.” He held her up and guided her gently toward the bedroom, but
halfway there she dug her toes into the carpet and stopped.
    “Let’s do it right here, Max, on the floor.
Make love to me right here.”
    With her warm and pliant in his arms, how
could he resist? He wanted her, in fact he’d wanted nothing else
since the moment he saw her at After Dark. Why couldn’t he just
give in and do as she asked?
    “You don’t know what you’re asking, love. If
you did, you wouldn’t have to say it twice.”
    “I need you, Max. I need to feel something.
Pleasure, pain, I don’t care. Just make me feel something.”
    Max growled. The loneliness in her voice tore
through him, touching memories he’d worked hard to suppress. How
could he tell her he knew how she felt? He’d spent so many years
not sure if he was living because nothing touched him since the
night he’d been turned, lured by what he thought was a hot-blooded
woman into a cold-water flat on the East End. No warm-blooded being
came near him for decades after that unless he willed them to so he
could feed from them. All he’d wanted for so long was to be
touched, to be wanted like Erica wanted him now.
    He allowed himself to caress her neck and
shoulders, then slid one hand to the zipper of her dress. He tugged
it down inch by inch to the small of her back exposing an expanse
of perfect skin. When he ran his fingertips down the elegant ridge
of her spine, her skin pebbled and she shivered deliciously.
    He parted the V of black satin and let the
dress fall over her hips and into a puddle on the floor. The sound
she made as she leaned against him caused his aching cock to pulse
with need. This is wrong, he told himself. If he indulged his
fantasy too much longer, he’d lose control completely.
    Before she made another sound, he scooped her
up in his arms and carried her down the hall to the bedroom. The
darkness made no difference to his enhanced eyesight. He saw as
clearly as if the lights were on. The bed was larger than he’d have
imagined for a woman who lived alone. Covered with a plumb-colored
spread just a shade darker than the carpet, and heaped with satiny
throw pillows, it invited much more than comfortable sleeping.
    He drew aside the covers and placed her on
the bed where she stretched sensuously. Her breasts jutted as she
arched--begging him to touch the tight pink nipples and ivory
mounds. She mumbled incoherently to him and reached out to draw him
down on her, but he resisted.
    He took her wrists in one hand and held them
over her head. She writhed with pleasure at his demand, reveling in
the power he held over her. Her reaction was almost too much for
him. He could have her like this, dominate her and feel no guilt
because she obviously enjoyed it.
    If not for the drug, he’d have mounted her
and shown her everything she wanted to learn.
    Instead he took a deep breath and commanded
her to remain still. She obeyed, and her eyes fluttered closed. He
touched her face but she remained that way, finally asleep.
    He sighed and reached down to unfasten the
garters that held her stockings in place. One at a time he rolled
the black silk down her legs, exposing the honeyed skin beneath.
Behind her left knee he found a beauty mark that begged him to
taste it. He would have, but the aroma of her skin, her arousal
even in sleep, drove him mad. He had to finish his task and leave
her before he gave in to his desires.
    Now, wearing only a black thong, she sighed
and stretched in her sleep. He removed the skimpy scrap of cloth,
lowering it over her thighs slowly and reveling in her final
secrets revealed.
    He’d won. He’d undressed her, touched her