Page 35 of Shift in the Blood
“You don’t hate me?” Hope bloomed within me. Over the last month, I’d felt my hope draining away, little by little. The spark that was left flared into life.
“Clara.” His voice washed over me, the silken tone making my knees weak. “Come here.” He held out a hand.
I walked to him as though in a dream. I’d wanted this, thought about it, daydreamed about it. Yet here it was, finally happening. Oh my god.
Stepping close to him, he cupped my face with his hand. “I very much do not hate you. I have been burning for you since the moment we met at the museum.”
I leaned into his hand, loving the sound of his voice surrounding me, when what he said hit me. I stood up straight. “What?”
“What?”
“You’ve wanted me all this time, and you never told me?”
“I didn’t think you wanted me. Not really, not as the vampire I am.” Didier was the epitome of smooth, but not now. He all but tripped over his words.
“What?” My vocabulary was momentarily stuck as I tried to digest his words.
“I wanted you to have a choice. I didn’t want you to feel you had to be with me, because of our patron relationship, or anything else.” He looked down, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.
I stepped into his space, bringing his hands up and wrapping them around my waist. “I’ve made my choice. I choose you.” I lifted his chin up. “I choose us.”
His eyes went up in flames, and his face shifted, showing me the predator he was. I was ready to be hunted, to be conquered. Only by this man. My Edward-come-to-life, but far, far better.
“Are you sure? I want you to be sure. There’s no going back from here.” He spoke in a growl. The timbre of his words scraped across my skin, making me shiver in anticipation.
“One hundred percent sure.”
The last word wasn’t even out of my mouth when a pair of steely arms came up around my back and brought me to him, molding my body to his.
He did want me. Oh, boy, did he ever. I could feel it, nestling against my core, making me hot.
I didn’t have time to think about what was next to my thighs, much as I wished to, because Didier’s lips came down on mine, full and hard and demanding. He kissed me like a man who hasn’t eaten in years. Not days, but weeks and months and years.
It was glorious. My hands went up to his neck, my fingers twining into his hair. Pulling him closer, wanting to feel him dissolve into me, to dissolve into him.
He kissed the line of my neck, stopping for a moment at the point where my neck met my body. He inhaled deeply, and then I felt the scrape of his teeth against my skin.
I lost my balance.
Didier caught me, and then leaned down to scoop me into his arms. He was at the bed in two strides, and he carefully laid me on the bed.
I sat up, pushing myself toward the middle. Then I reached for my top.
“Clara. Will you let me? Please?” His eyes were still on fire.
I nodded.
He took my top in his hands, and ripped it open.
I felt a wetness flood between my legs.
Then he flicked a hand at my bra, and it fell apart into two pieces. He crawled onto the bed, up between my knees, his head at my stomach.
Gently, given the violence with which he’d removed my clothes, he kissed along my belly, and then up to my breasts.
His incisors were more prominent than normal. I could die of happiness, or lust, from the feel of his teeth against me. It was gentle, and careful, and spoke of restrained power, of him holding back. He sucked at my nipple, using his teeth to make me jump, to make my body arch toward him. Wanting more. Wanting so much more.
He moved between my breasts, worshipping them. Worshipping me. In his hands that held my body, in his mouth, his lips—I felt the strength of his care for me.
