He opened his eyes . . . which evidently had slammed shut. “Let me ask you something. Have you ever been with a man?”
“Never with a human man. And . . . not with a male, either.”
Manny’s cock just about blew its top off. Which was nuts. It had never mattered to him before whether a woman had been with someone . . . or not. Actually, the kind of chicks he usually went for had lost their virginity in their early teens—and never looked back.
Payne’s clear, pale eyes stared up at him. “Your scent is even stronger.”
Probably because he’d broken out in a sweat trying not to orgasm.
“I like it,” she added in a deeper voice.
There was an electric moment between them, one that he could not believe would be erased by any mind-over-gray-matter parlor trick. And then her lips parted and her pink tongue came out to wet her mouth . . . as if she were imagining something that made her thirsty.
“I think I want to taste you,” she said.
Right. Fuck kissing. If she wanted to eat him raw he was down for it. And that was before he watched the tips of her white fangs drop even farther from her upper jaw.
Manny could feel himself panting, but he couldn’t hear a thing as the blood roared in his ears. Goddamn it, he was on the verge of losing control—and not in a metaphoric sense. He was literally a heartbeat away from stripping the blankets off her body and mounting her. Even though she was in traction. And had never been with anyone before. And wasn’t his kind.
It took all he had in him to stand up and step back.
Manny cleared his throat. Twice. “I think I’d better take a rain check.”
“Rain check?”
“Later.”
Instantly, her face changed, the lovely lines tightening up and hiding the fragile passion that had bled through her features. “But . . . of course. Indeed.”
He hated hurting her, but there was no way to explain how badly he wanted her without making it pornographic. And she was a virgin, for God’s sake. Who deserved better than him.
He took one last lingering look at her and told his brain to remember it. Somehow, he needed to not lose her. “Do what you have to. Now.”
Her eyes drifted down the length of him and lingered at his hips. When he realized she was looking at his sex, which was standing at attention and then some, he discreetly hid what was going on beneath his scrubs with his hands.
His voice got hoarse. “You’re killing me here. I can’t be trusted with you right now. So you’ve got to do it. Please. God, just do—”
ELEVEN
R avasz. Sbarduno. Grilletto. Trekker.
The word trigger banged around V’s skull in all the languages he could put it into, his brain spicin’ his vocabulary up for shits and giggles—because it was either that or the thing would cannibalize itself.
As he rocked his Google Translate, his feet took him through his penthouse at the Commodore over and over again, his relentless pacing turning the place into a multimillion-dollar hamster-wheel equivalent.
Black walls. Black ceiling. Black floor. Night view of Caldwell that was never what he came here for.
Through the kitchen, through the living room, through the bedroom and back.
Again. And again.
In the light of black candles.
He’d bought the condo about five years ago, when the building was still under construction. As soon as the skeleton had risen down by the river, he’d been determined to own one-half of the top of the skyscraper. But not as some kind of home—he’d always had a place away from where he slept. Even before Wrath had consolidated the Brotherhood into Darius’s old mansion, V had been in the habit of keeping where he crashed and stashed his weapons separate from his . . . other activities.
On this night, feeling as he did, the fact that he had come here was both logical and ludicrous.
Over the decades and centuries, he’d developed not only a reputation in the race, but a stable of males and females who needed what he had to give. And as soon as he’d taken possession of this unit, he’d brought them here to this black hole for a very specific kind of sex.