Deep Kiss of Winter (17 page)

Her eyes widened. “What else did you dream?”

“I took your virginity,” he blurted out.

She shivered. “And how did I react?”

“You wanted me to. You wanted . . . me.”
You let
me take your neck.
His eyes fixed on her supple flesh, and his fangs ached for her. He raked his tongue along one of them for a shot of blood, pretended it was hers.

“Come closer, vampire.”

In a flash, he was up on his knees before her.

Without removing his coat, she began unbuttoning the shirt underneath, spreading the edges. “Will you be too cold?”

“I can take it.”

Once his chest was bared, she drew closer until her lips were less than an inch away from him. She eased down his torso like this, her breaths like little bites of frost, as if she were running an ice cube along his skin. He shivered—but not from cold.

As she made her way back up, she said, “Murdoch?”

“Uh?” was all he could manage.

She leaned up to whisper right at his ear, “You're going to let me stay in this place.” When she nipped his earlobe with her teeth, his cock jerked in his pants, his sac tightening.

Wait, what had she just said?

She moved to his other ear. “Would you like to do that?” she breathed, making him shudder with want. “I'm going to install myself—a female—in one of your properties. And I'm going to decorate it as I see fit.”

Can't . . . form . . . words.

“You want me to, don't you?” She slowly gazed up, looking at him from under a lock of shining,
icy hair. She nibbled her plump lip, and he was finished, defeated. He watched, bewildered, as his gloved fingertips traced the crystals at her temple.

“Yes.”
I can't believe I'm saying this.
“You can stay.” He'd always wanted to discard females—not move them into his home.

He was dimly aware that the seducer was being seduced. The player had just gotten played.

Yet he was still in the game. “You'll stay here. But first we need to seal this deal, Valkyrie. And I know just how.”

“Oh?”

He took out the gloves Loa had given him. “Put these on.”

H
e bought me gloves?
“What did you have in mind?” Danii asked as she gamely drew them on. For the first time in ages, she felt powerful. The ability to bring this massive warrior to his knees was heady.

“You'll see.” His voice was rough with need, his expression one of single-minded intent.

With each second, she grew more aroused for him. Yet then the wind came up, and the snow-covered limbs raked the drafts. They soughed like music, like secrets. The sounds, the scents, teased
her. Something within the dark depths of that cold beckoned. . . .

“Daniela?”

Murdoch competed with the pull. She faced him once more, gazing up into eyes grown black with desire.

Anticipation.
Danii felt it, was getting caught up in it.

When he took a lock of her hair and used a curl to stroke her nipple, she gave a cry and arched her back. The cold amplified every whisper of touch—she needed more. “Put your hands on me, vampire.”

He groaned, covering both of her breasts with his gloved palms, molding them, cupping as she panted. With a master's skill, he tormented the tips, puckering one, then the other. Once he'd made them throb, he placed a hand flat against her chest, pressing her back.

As she stretched out in the snow, he curled his fingers in her panties, dragging them from her. Yet then he merely gazed over her naked body for long moments, his shaft bulging.

She reached forward, stroking his erection through his pants as his head fell back. Eager to use her gloves, she murmured, “Take it out, Murdoch.”

“It will freeze,” he said, facing her.

“If it did, then I could suckle you at my leisure.”

He groaned. “Would you?”

“For hours. But for now, I'll be sure to rub you really fast, keep it warm with friction.”

With a hard shake of his head, he set her hand
away. “I want to see you come first. When you're like this. Want to see your face,” he said, moving to kneel between her legs. “Daniela, put your arms over your head. Part your thighs for me.”

Following his commands, she eased her arms back, then spread her legs.

“That's it,” he rasped, his gaze riveted to her sex. He might as well have been petting her there, because her body responded.

When he licked his lips, looking desperate to taste her, her hips rolled.
What would his kiss be like?
Would he be gentle with her? Or ravenous . . . ?

“Wider,” he grated, and she let her knees fall open. With a harsh groan, he lowered his head to run his face alongside her thigh, never touching her. But she could feel his breath, making her tremble.

Over and over his breaths trailed up and down her thighs as his gloved hands fondled her breasts. She was shameless, undulating for his mouth, nearly ready to endure the burn just for a brief touch of his tongue.

“I want to kiss you so much.” His mouth was an inch from her sex, his fogging breaths tickling her clitoris. “Spread you before me and lick you till you scream for me.”

“Murdoch,” she moaned. “I can't take much more of this.”

“Do you want me to make you come?” he asked, leaning up.

“Yes!”

“You told me the ice feels wicked against your skin.” He reached to his side and plucked a long, thick icicle from a twig. “Were you hinting to me?”

His eyes were dark and fierce. Hers went wide. Ah, gods, did he plan to touch her with that?

She held her breath . . . until he grazed the smooth end over her cheek, making her shiver.

“It doesn't melt against your skin,” he murmured, seeming fascinated as he traced it lower to her parted lips.

With her gaze holding his, her tongue darted out to lick the tip just before she sucked the phallus-shaped ice between her lips.

A strangled sound broke from his chest.
Heady power.

When she relinquished it with a last darting lick, he skimmed it down her chest to the beginning swell of her breasts. They were heaving with excitement, her nipples begging for attention.

With the ice, he circled one taut peak, then the other, until her back was arching up to meet each frozen caress.
So sensual, so perfect.
“Yes, Murdoch . . . clever vampire.” Now he was using his mind, delighting her by taking her here, pleasuring her body with the ice.

She swallowed when he trailed it along her torso, past her navel. He repeatedly teased it just above her curls, making her undulate for it, sometimes holding it just out of reach to play with her. “Do you want this?”

“Yes!”

“How badly?” He smoothed the edge of the ice down until it was just against her aching clitoris.

“Please, please . . .” When he began lazily rolling it over the bud, she gasped, then moaned low.

“My female likes this.” His smoldering gaze was rapt on his ministrations.

“Ah, gods, yes!” Again and again, he worked it back and forth, sending her closer each time. Between ragged breaths, she said, “More, Murdoch.”

He skimmed her slick opening, making her cry out with bliss. Lightning streaked across the sky.

Their gazes met; his held a question. “Yes, do it! Inside me . . .”

Then . . . he slipped it into her wetness. She arched her back, moaning with abandon.
Cold. Exquisite.

Emboldened by her response, he began languidly thrusting the phallus inside her sheath.

Her gloved hands dug into the snow, her head thrashing. She'd never been brought to come by another.

I'm about to be.

•   •   •

He'd meant to tease her. To send her out of her mind with pleasure.

But now
his
mind was in turmoil, his shaft rampant in his pants, about to erupt.

“Don't stop . . .” When she rolled up her hips to drive the ice deeper, his own hips bucked uncontrollably in response.

Sex. Want sex. Want to plunge hard into her.
He needed to replace the ice with his cock so badly he thought he'd go mad.

“Murdoch,”
she moaned. “I'm coming!” As she climaxed, her body writhed in a wanton display—and he felt the beginning tremors in his shaft.

Her cries made him frenzied. Now, for the first time, this encounter wouldn't be about building his reputation so he could secure pleasure for himself.

This was going to be rough and unplanned and dirty. Because he was about to spill in his pants.

As soon as she pushed his hand away, spent, he said, “You're going to make me come, Bride.” He tore open his zipper, took his cock in hand, and almost went off. He had to squeeze down tight on the head to stop his seed. “Do you want to?”

She breathed, “Oh, yes.”

“Then stroke it.” He didn't recognize his own snarling voice.

As he held on to the head, she cupped the shaft in her fingers, running her fist up and back.

“Ah, God, again!”

On her second stroke, he widened his knees, thrusting up to her grip. His balls drew tight, readying, swelling.
“That's it . . . .”

On the third stroke, he removed his hand.

At once, he began ejaculating in her fist, the crown of his cock steaming with hot seed.
So fucking good . . . feels . . .
A brutal groan broke from his chest as he watched her milking him steadily, pumping his semen out into the snow, again and again.

Once she'd wrung him dry, he collapsed onto his back, hurriedly tucking his rapidly cooling shaft back in his pants.

Unable to help himself, he turned on his side to stare at her. Daniela the Ice Maiden had so much fire . . .

A man could get burned.

If I'm not wary, I'm going to become dangerously obsessed with a woman.

He'd bragged to her that sexually he'd been able to last as long as he pleased—because he always had been. Yet within hours of his boast, he'd almost come in his pants. He'd told her that he never lost control—she'd made him
totally fucking lose control
.

She was smiling, glancing up from under her icy lashes. “You should probably go get my things before dawn breaks in New Orleans. I left two suitcases in my car. It's a red X6, parked near the corner of Dauphine and St. Philip.” She had that optimistic air about her again, her eyes glittering like the crystals on her face.

Her expression reminded him of the hopeful one she'd evinced their first morning together. He stiffened, reacting to it as poorly as he had then.

She noticed his sudden tension. “Murdoch, we had an agreement.”

How did she turn this around on me?
He felt like scratching his head in bafflement.
I control situations with women.
“And how are you to stay here?”

“You know I don't eat. I don't need or want heat. This is ideal for my needs,” she said, her tone growing
absent. She seemed distracted, her gaze fixed on the drifts in the distance.

“Fine, suit yourself.” He stood, buttoning his shirt. “Though I don't know when you think I'll be able to return.”

She blinked up at him. He thought he spied a brief flash of hurt in her eyes, but it vanished so swiftly he decided he imagined it—especially when she said, “Vampire, after you fetch my stuff, I'm not asking you to return at all.”

With a scowl, he traced back to the Quarter and found her car just where she'd said it'd be. He traced inside to grab her bags.

Back out on the street, holding two suitcases, he thought to himself:
My God, what have I done?

While he went to collect her things, Danii slipped on her dress, then explored her new hideout.

Murdoch had modernized the lodge to a degree. There was running water, lighting, plumbing, and a fairly new generator. She found bedding and towels.

In every spacious room, the timeless sculptures, decorations, and brickwork had proved impervious to cold. Which meant this place was perfect for her.
She was a nester. Her star sign decreed nesting, and she was helpless to resist.

The first thing it needed was . . . ice.

When he returned with her bags, Murdoch gruffly showed her to a guest room, acting like he'd made a huge concession by letting her stay. But he also appeared a bit wild-eyed as he glanced from her to the suitcases and back. She supposed BP would be worse in him since he'd been single for so long.

“Do you have something in your bags to write my number on?” he asked her.

“Yes, but you can just tell me. I'll remember.”

As soon as he uttered the last of the digits, he hastily said, “But keep in mind that I'll be
extremely
busy following our leads and hunting Ivo.”

She gave him her best ice queen impression. “Of course, I understand.” But did she? If she were honest, she would acknowledge that deep down, she'd hoped to convince him to stay here with her.

Which regrettably hadn't panned out. But no matter what, she still had this prime place of safety to hide out for a time—and that's what really counted. If he didn't want to experience more of the exquisite pleasure they'd just shared, then it was his loss.

Which means it's mine as well—

“Good-bye, then,” he said, tracing away before she could say anything else.

Once she was alone, she gave a casual shrug as if she wasn't hurt. But fooling him was easier than
fooling herself. Ignoring the pang in her heart, she proceeded to decorate, figuring it would be many days before she saw him again. . . .

Hours later, she lay on the stripped bed in the master room, eschewing the smaller chamber he'd stuck her in. A delightfully chill wind blew, rushing in through the outer doors and windows—which she'd opened to the freezing night.