Everdark (Dark Ink Chronicles #2)

Everdark (Dark Ink Chronicles #2) Page 37

With gentle fingers, Eli tilted my head back, and soothing hot water glided over my head and my face; it soaked my hair and drenched my body. His hands smoothed my wet hair back; his fingers traced my nose, my jaw, the column of my throat. Already, the tension in my body began to seep out.

An aroma of jasmine and verbena filled the air; I realized quickly it was the shampoo that filled Eli’s palms. Gently, he lathered my hair; blunt, strong fingers dug into my scalp, massaged it, and I thought I’d fall asleep standing there.

“No, don’t do that,” he whispered. “Stay with me, Riley.”

I sighed. “I’m trying.”

His seductive mouth against my wet skin made my nerves leap. “Try harder.”

“Rinse.” He pushed me beneath the cascade of water and rinsed my hair. Next, the air filled with the same aroma as he lathered his hands. “Now be still. Don’t move.”

Then, he lathered my body.

I stood and allowed it for a little while.

Eli’s hands, slick with water and soap, glided over my shoulders, down my arms, intertwined his fingers with mine, and drew me close. His wet body pressed close to me, his lips sought the top of my shoulder, my throat, my ear, jaw, and slid to my mouth. In a slow, erotic kiss, his tongue grazed mine, his teeth scraped my lips, captured the bottom one, suckled gently.

Inside, I grew heavy with desire; my knees weakened, and I lifted my arms to his chest, trailed the muscles there; his breath caught in his throat; he captured my hands in his hands and lowered them.

“Not yet, Riley,” he said, his voice strained, his accent more prominent, his breath brushing against my ear. “You touch me, I’ll explode. Just … be still.”

“Then don’t kiss me like that,” I said.

I felt his smile against my skin. “No promises there.”

I sighed.

“Turn around,” he said against my cheek.

I did, and he pushed my hair over one shoulder and lathered my back, his fingers kneading deep into the sore muscles. I gasped with pleasure and pain, and it took every ounce of strength I had to remain upright. It took even more not to touch Eli.

There was a wet, sexy, naked vampire in the shower with me.

Eli’s low chuckle as he read my thoughts resonated against the tile, and his fingers continued to work magic. For now, I didn’t think of carnage, vampiric attacks, monsters, or fight clubs; I thought of nothing but Eli, his touch, and the craving he stirred within me. His hands glided over my body, every inch passed made my eyes roll back in bliss; I wanted him everywhere, inside, out, and I never, ever wanted him to leave me again.

His hands moved over my hips, encircled my stomach, and pulled my body against his. I felt his muscles pressing into my spine; his hardness pressing against the small of my back. His arms tightened around me, his mouth at my jaw. “I swear, I’ll never leave you again,” he whispered, his voice strained, somewhat painful.

I turned in his arms, and together we stepped out of the mainstream waterfall; steam rose all around us, and I locked my gaze on his. His dark, wet hair fell across his eyes, and I reached up and pushed it aside; I grazed his jaw and ran my thumb over his sexy lips. “Don’t,” I said quietly. “Don’t ever again, Eli.”

His mouth sought mine. “I promise,” he whispered, his tongue tasting mine.

I pushed him back. “Now you be still.”

A small smile tilted his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

I gathered a handful of liquid soap. “Sorry.” I ran my hands over his chest, his shoulders, down his arms, over his stomach. “You’re gonna smell like a girl.”

He ducked his head and captured my mouth. “I don’t care,” he said, in between sensual kisses and nips. I lost myself in his drugging kiss; my hands glided over the muscles in his back, over his tight ass, his hips. The feel of his tongue against mine, his teeth scraping my lips, made me hot, wet, crazy. Blind with need, the pain of my battered body forgotten, I moved my soap-slickened hands over the cut ridges of his abdomen, lower, and grasped his slick hardness. He gasped in my mouth, groaned, kissed me deeper.

“Jesus, Riley,” he said, pained. “Control’s slipping.” He pushed me against the tiled wall, his hands roaming all over me.

“Don’t care,” I muttered against his throat, my hands stroking him. “Need you,” I panted, pressing my body to his. “Now, Eli.”

Without words, he lifted me; as I wrapped my legs around his hips, I slid over his hard length until Eli filled me completely. My head dropped back, drugged, weightless. Beneath the waterfall, Eli’s mouth tasted my skin, his tongue teased the hardened, sensitive peaks of my breasts; first one, then the other. With his fingers digging into my hips, he moved me effortlessly, the feel of his hardness sliding inside me making me crazy high. His mouth caressed me as his cock moved within me.

“Eli,” I gasped, and held on, our rhythm matching, and somewhere deep within me, an intense orgasm began like a faraway storm. We moved beneath the steaming water, fast, out of control, until the storm grew in strength and finally crashed. Wave after wave of climax claimed us both. I lost my breath, and spasms wracked my body. Eli held me close, his mouth pressed to my throat. The world tilted still; Eli’s lovemaking had that effect on me. I could do nothing more than hold on to him. I knew if he wasn’t holding on to me so tightly, I’d slip to the tiles below.

“I’d never let that happen,” he whispered against me.

“I know,” I answered, and ran my fingers through his soft, slick hair, tracing the shell of his ear.

Without words, Eli reached down with one hand and turned off the waterfall. Through the steam, his eyes searched mine. Slowly, he lowered his head, captured my mouth, and kissed me. Now, his control had returned, and he used it to savor my lips and my tongue, speaking to me with just his mouth; they were actions that spoke volumes over any words he could have whispered.

Still wet from the shower, and with me still clinging to him, Eli walked to the bed and followed me down into the softness of the down comforter. We shifted, and he pulled me close against him, my head resting on his chest, his arm completely around me and holding me to his body. He pulled back, just enough so that I could see his face without it being blurry.

Serious, cerulean eyes bore into mine. “I love you, Riley Poe.” He brushed a thumb over my lips. “Don’t forget that.” He kissed me, slowly, erotically, then looked at me again. “Ever.”

I opened my mouth to tell Eli how I felt, but his fingers over my lips stopped me.

“No, Riley,” he said gently. “Another time. When you’re really ready.”

Before I could respond, he pulled me against him again; resting his chin on top of my head. “Go to sleep, mostly mortal woman. We have a busy few days ahead of us.”

Prick, I said in my head.

Eli laughed, squeezing me a little tighter, and I closed my eyes, smiling.

Finally, I fought the exhaustion no more. I was content. I mean, how could I not be? Eli was naked. I was naked. We’d just had mind-blowing, soul-searching sex. The only thing better right now would be … I don’t know. Some corn dogs, maybe. Or a bag from Krystal.

“God, you’ve become such a hog,” Eli said, shaking with laughter. “Go to sleep, girl. I’ll get you food after you’ve rested.”

I laughed. “Okay.” I snuggled against him. His body temperature was perfect—not too warm, and definitely not too cool.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Sleep.”

Just before sleep claimed me, I felt relief that the monster hadn’t killed again; it was nearly daybreak, anyway.

How very wrong I was.

I experienced two kills, back-to-back. It was almost too much for me to handle.

I’d just felt that wave of exhaustion and contentedness wash over me.

I found myself walking along the city market. In the harbor, a tugboat blasted its horn, but I paid little attention and continued up the walk. Most of the stores hadn’t opened yet, but in the French Quarter a little café opened its doors to early risers; they weren’t about yet, but I slipped along the wall, to the back entrance of François Patisserie. Silently, I eased inside. The scent of freshbaked bread and pastries filled the café, but that wasn’t what made my stomach ache with need. In the back, near the double ovens and beside a long stainless steel counter, stood a plump, middle-aged woman, pulling a fresh batch of croissants from the oven. She had no idea I was in the kitchen with her. Rising on pudgy tiptoes, she reached for the top shelf over the sink, grasped a plate, then slid a hot croissant onto it. She smiled, moved to the counter, and removed the lid from a ceramic butter tray. With a knife she buttered her already-buttery croissant and took a big bite. She groaned with pleasure.

A feeling of impatience came over me, and I knew it was his feeling, not mine. I did the usual—scream, holler, but nothing came out, nothing worked, and I could not warn the plump baker that her death was coming.

No sooner had the baker woman swallowed her bite of croissant than I moved directly behind her. She must have sensed a presence, for slowly, she turned.

Her scream died in her throat.

The monster wasted no time. He lunged, held his hand over the woman’s mouth, and ripped right through her white cotton blouse. He sank his fangs into the flesh of her chest before finding the pulse of her heart. As he pierced the pumping organ, her warm blood gushed into his mouth and slid down his throat; fast at first, then slower, slower until her life force was no more. He dropped her on the floor, wiped his mouth with a rag left on the counter, and left.

The moment he stepped outside and noticed the jogger heading toward the river, I knew he’d kill again. I don’t know how, but I did. I thrashed, bile rising in my throat at the memory of the poor woman in the bakery, her blouse doused with blood, her dead face contorted in shock and terror.

Thankfully, the next kill was swift. The shirtless man jogging along the river was young, extremely fit, his chest cut with muscle, a six-pack to die for. He wore a Gamecocks ball cap as he ran, his iPod jamming in his ears. The moment he turned off the river and down an alley to cut through to another street, the monster was there. He stepped out, bumping into the man. The jogger stumbled, his blue eyes shocked to see someone else along his path. The monster waited for nothing. He changed; I knew this because of the horror on the jogger’s face. The monster ripped into him just as he’d ripped into the baker woman, nearly snatching the man’s heart out with his fangs. But the moment the hot metallic fluid pumped into him, he relaxed; he drank fully, and, when he was finished, he threw the jogger against the brick wall and walked away.