shoulder, her mouth working its way toward my clavicle.
“Well, it’s working.” I moaned as her hand stroked my breast, the barest of touches. “But if that’s not something you want to talk about, Lenorre, all you have to do is tell me.”
Without warning her hands slid under my ass, pulling me lower so I was no longer propped against the pillows. Lenorre grabbed a fistful of sheet, tossing it aside with a whoosh. The cool air caressed my naked skin.
“It is not something I wish to talk about.”
Her head bowed and she kissed the pentacle scar on my sternum, just above my breasts. Goose bumps broke out on my arms.
Lenorre began tracing the circle around the pentacle scar with the tip of her tongue. “You never told me just how this happened.”
My legs spread wantonly. “I told you it was an accident, didn’t I?” I wrapped my arms around her, hands stroking small circles on the back of her shoulders. The robe was smooth and slippery. I arched, raising myself off the bed as my hands sank lower. She was so tall that from this angle I had to settle for playing my nails along her spine.
“Nay, you have not told me.” Her tongue licked over the first diagonal line of the star. “Mmm, I know witches are fond of their symbolic jewelry. Silver?” Her breath was cool against the damp lines. The combination of her tongue and words against my skin made my neck prickle.
“Yes.” I shuddered as her lips found the side of my breast.
“Yes?”
The warmth of her breath against my nipple made my body tighten. She traced me with her tongue, as slowly and intricately as she had traced the pentacle scar on my sternum. “Yes.” I moaned, trying to remember the conversation. She cupped my other breast in her hand, thumb circling the sensitive skin, matching the slow luxurious strokes of her velvety tongue. I moaned again as she caught my nipple between her teeth.
My pulse beat between my legs like a trapped hummingbird.
Lenorre’s eyes burned brighter with power, and the breath caught in my throat.
“Lay down.”
When Lenorre lowered herself on top of me I touched her shoulder with a hand. “No,” I said, “I want you on the other side of me. On your back.”
The amused expression didn’t leave her face as she gracefully rolled onto her back. “Like so?”
I held myself above her on hands and knees. “Yes.” I nuzzled my face in the bend of her neck, burying myself in the ebony curls of her hair. She smelled of cool night air, as if I could smell a frosty breeze on a cold winter night, but mingling with that smell was my scent, the scent of wolf, earthy like musk and pine. I drew the skin of her neck lightly between my teeth and she made a small pleased sound.
I pressed my mouth against the pulse in her neck, feeling it beat like a bird pounding its wings between my jaws. Strangely, at times she had no heartbeat at all, and others, it was there. Did vampires have an on-and-off switch or something? Did it beat when they were well-fed? I traced the vein in her neck with my tongue. I could’ve bitten her, could’ve called some of the wolf to my aid and driven canines into her skin, but though blood was a delicious and sweet candy even to the wolf, it was not substantial food.
Besides, werewolf saliva isn’t like vampire saliva. Vampire saliva has an anticlotting enzyme in it called Draculin. I shit you not, that’s what it’s called. It’s the same anticoagulant vampire bats inject into their victims. It keeps the blood flowing steadily while the vampire is drinking. Their saliva, much like a vampire bat’s, keeps the red blood cells from sticking together and the veins from constricting. How do I know this? Vampire-bat saliva has been used in genetically engineered drugs to help stroke and heart-attack victims. Werewolf saliva just isn’t that nifty. Scientists might’ve been brave enough to take on a vampire bat, but I didn’t think they would dare follow an actual vampire around with a spit
“Well, it’s working.” I moaned as her hand stroked my breast, the barest of touches. “But if that’s not something you want to talk about, Lenorre, all you have to do is tell me.”
Without warning her hands slid under my ass, pulling me lower so I was no longer propped against the pillows. Lenorre grabbed a fistful of sheet, tossing it aside with a whoosh. The cool air caressed my naked skin.
“It is not something I wish to talk about.”
Her head bowed and she kissed the pentacle scar on my sternum, just above my breasts. Goose bumps broke out on my arms.
Lenorre began tracing the circle around the pentacle scar with the tip of her tongue. “You never told me just how this happened.”
My legs spread wantonly. “I told you it was an accident, didn’t I?” I wrapped my arms around her, hands stroking small circles on the back of her shoulders. The robe was smooth and slippery. I arched, raising myself off the bed as my hands sank lower. She was so tall that from this angle I had to settle for playing my nails along her spine.
“Nay, you have not told me.” Her tongue licked over the first diagonal line of the star. “Mmm, I know witches are fond of their symbolic jewelry. Silver?” Her breath was cool against the damp lines. The combination of her tongue and words against my skin made my neck prickle.
“Yes.” I shuddered as her lips found the side of my breast.
“Yes?”
The warmth of her breath against my nipple made my body tighten. She traced me with her tongue, as slowly and intricately as she had traced the pentacle scar on my sternum. “Yes.” I moaned, trying to remember the conversation. She cupped my other breast in her hand, thumb circling the sensitive skin, matching the slow luxurious strokes of her velvety tongue. I moaned again as she caught my nipple between her teeth.
My pulse beat between my legs like a trapped hummingbird.
Lenorre’s eyes burned brighter with power, and the breath caught in my throat.
“Lay down.”
When Lenorre lowered herself on top of me I touched her shoulder with a hand. “No,” I said, “I want you on the other side of me. On your back.”
The amused expression didn’t leave her face as she gracefully rolled onto her back. “Like so?”
I held myself above her on hands and knees. “Yes.” I nuzzled my face in the bend of her neck, burying myself in the ebony curls of her hair. She smelled of cool night air, as if I could smell a frosty breeze on a cold winter night, but mingling with that smell was my scent, the scent of wolf, earthy like musk and pine. I drew the skin of her neck lightly between my teeth and she made a small pleased sound.
I pressed my mouth against the pulse in her neck, feeling it beat like a bird pounding its wings between my jaws. Strangely, at times she had no heartbeat at all, and others, it was there. Did vampires have an on-and-off switch or something? Did it beat when they were well-fed? I traced the vein in her neck with my tongue. I could’ve bitten her, could’ve called some of the wolf to my aid and driven canines into her skin, but though blood was a delicious and sweet candy even to the wolf, it was not substantial food.
Besides, werewolf saliva isn’t like vampire saliva. Vampire saliva has an anticlotting enzyme in it called Draculin. I shit you not, that’s what it’s called. It’s the same anticoagulant vampire bats inject into their victims. It keeps the blood flowing steadily while the vampire is drinking. Their saliva, much like a vampire bat’s, keeps the red blood cells from sticking together and the veins from constricting. How do I know this? Vampire-bat saliva has been used in genetically engineered drugs to help stroke and heart-attack victims. Werewolf saliva just isn’t that nifty. Scientists might’ve been brave enough to take on a vampire bat, but I didn’t think they would dare follow an actual vampire around with a spit
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