Belonging (27 page)

“Let’s just say my next few homes were not quite so loving. The last foster home I was in before I decided to stick my middle finger up to the system was the worst. Eric and Lillian Greenbreier. Eric had everyone fooled. By then I had a pretty healthy set of girls and a lean, but curvy, body. And Eric noticed.”

Damian now radiated with nearly uncontrollable rage, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her. She could barely get the words out, but she’d come this far.

“His wife worked nights at the hospital. She was an emergency room nurse. Eric took the opportunity when she was gone to visit my bed. I tried to fight him off, but he was a cop. He was strong, he was armed, and he was a sadistic bastard. I knew the second CPS pulled up to their house that I would be in trouble there. I begged them to take me back that it wasn’t the right home for me, but they wouldn’t listen. I was in hell for three months before I had a chance to escape. Eric kept pretty close tabs on me so it was hard. He took me to and from school. Wouldn’t let me spend time with friends. Finally at Christmastime there was a party at the hospital that his wife made them attend. Adults only. So I grabbed the extra cash I could find in the house and a few extra sets of clothes and took off. I didn’t return to CPS or they would have just shipped me back there, so I had no choice but to live on the streets.

“Since he was a cop and I was now living on the streets, I had to take care to avoid him. He saw me one time, but I hid in an alley dumpster until he left. I fought to survive, falling into a life of drugs and well…you know the rest.”

The fight to hold back the waterworks failed miserably. They now stood only a foot apart, but it felt like the Grand Canyon. Damian was clearly struggling to control his emotions as well.

“So you see, Damian, I was a prisoner myself. Only I was a prisoner of the foster system versus a coven of witches. I know all about pain and suffering. I know all about dark and hate. And I know all about how abhorrent another’s touch can be.”

She finally closed the distance between them and laid her hand on his chest, which was heaving up and down with the effort to stay back and respect her space. She gazed lovingly into his molten eyes before continuing.

“You are the only being alive whose touch I can bear. You are the only person I trust with my heart, with my life. You were right when you said we are the light to each other’s darkness. I am nothing without you. I am dead inside without your warmth. You were also right when you said I didn’t want to go. I don’t. The thought of never seeing you again is far worse than anything I have been through. I love you and I want to be your mate, but will you return the same trust I’ve placed in you? Will you let me heal you, just as you have done for me?” What she really meant was
please,
will you let me touch you?

“Jesus, Analise,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her waist and putting his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “I’ll try,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. “For you, I’ll try.”

C
hapter
37

Mike

They’d searched all day for the body of Frankie Durillo. He’d checked in with Giselle several times, directing her to other remote spots she should scout, but both of them came up short. They’d decided to check out the club first and Giselle confirmed there was indeed a faint scent of blood in Frankie’s office. They’d been to Frankie’s house, which was a smelly pigsty, and no sign of him.

The guy had the biggest stash of porn he’d ever seen though. At least it was adult…that he could tell. He wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to log onto his computer and find some kiddy shit stashed in a folder or bookmarked on Bing. Magazines and videos lined his living and bedroom floors. He’d found several male sex toys in the pervert’s nightstand drawer and even a fucking blow up doll in his closet. Who looked like she was real, for fuck’s sake. It was creepy. If he did happen to find Frankie alive, he might beat the shit out him on principle alone. Jesus, just buy a hooker for the night, dude.

When he’d talked to Giselle throughout the day, it was strained. They’d decided to call it quits and she said she’d update Damian, so he headed home where he now sat in the back on the slab of concrete he called a patio, a cold bottle of Miller in hand.

He stared at his lawn, almost so long it was seeding. His bushes were out of control, not having been trimmed since last spring. His neighbor would probably call in a complaint on him pretty soon. He should just hire the shit done. It’s not like Devon wasn’t paying him enough for his gopher services. Yeah, he’d get on that. Tomorrow. He finished his beer and grabbed another cold one from the cooler he’d brought out with him.

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t get Giselle out of his head. The feel of her lips on his skin. The electricity zinging through his blood at the first scrape of her teeth. He could still feel her on his lap, his body pressed close to hers. He’d never been so close to ejaculating outside of a woman’s body before, even in his prepubescent years. He’d given up trying to fight this mysterious attraction to her and decided to just accept it and see where it ended up.

As he’d had time to reflect today, he realized he’d overreacted at her vacillation earlier. Giselle had been through something traumatic. Something she hadn’t yet come to terms with so she could begin the healing process. Yes, he was a fucking a hypocrite. He’d been in a self-induced living hell for eleven years, ever since Jamie went missing. Maybe it was time to pull himself out of the quicksand he’d been willingly stuck in and turn his sorry life around. God knows if he wanted to be any good for
any
woman, he needed to get his own shit together. His bitterness and anger and vengeance were a burning, heavy weight on his soul.

Yes, Mike Thatcher was going to make a change. Be a better man. Be a better citizen. Be a better neighbor. He downed his beer and went into the garage, gassed up the mower and started on the front lawn.

It wasn’t lost on him that the very species that turned his life to shit so very many years ago had also been the inspiration he needed to pull it back together.

C
hapter
38

Damian

He was sweating fucking bullets. His gut felt like it was on fire. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was getting sick, but vampires didn’t get sick. Ever. He’d had plenty of gashes, cuts and burns and those hurt like a mother, but he’d healed quickly. He had never known what it was like to have a cold or a sore throat. Or what it felt like to be diagnosed with something as horrific as cancer, which killed you slowly from the inside out. And he’d had no damn idea what heart palpitations felt like…until this very moment. Even in captivity he hadn’t felt like this.

But he’d told Analise he would try and he would. For her. For
them
. He wanted nothing more than to throw her on the makeshift bed he’d made for them in front of the roaring fire and make her his. But he had to get through this first.

So as he lay down naked on the bed he’d made for Analise, he watched her slowly strip out of her clothes. She was getting quite good at that. She looked fucking amazing in that purple dress, but the lingerie underneath…wow, come to daddy. He would have to remember to thank Katrina personally.

“Leave the lingerie.” He looked down at the wedges that framed her ruby red painted toes. “And the shoes.” It would be easier for him if she had at least some clothing on. Then he could look forward to removing it when she was done with her exploration.

She slowly sauntered toward him and, with trim legs on either side of his hips, lowered herself on his lap over his rock hard erection. The thin barrier of her panties was the only thing keeping his cock from entering her, which it wanted to do of its own accord. Fucker was twitching like mad. Maybe she should be naked. Maybe he’d be better able to handle her touch if he was setting a punishing rhythm with his dick inside her, taking his mind off what her hands would be doing.

Jesus.
This was a supremely bad idea, Damian
. He hadn’t let a woman touch him in hundreds of years. He hadn’t been on his back at a woman’s mercy since he’d lain on a cold dirt floor, shackled to a wall. His heart raced, feeling it reverberate in his fingers and toes. His stomach clenched and he thought he might actually vomit.

“I’ll go slow,” she whispered softly. Sade played through the ceiling speakers and her syrupy voice serenaded them in the background. He thought he might actually be on the verge of a panic attack. He needed to get his breathing under control.
Concentrate on the music, Damian
. Closing his eyes at her first tentative touch, he couldn’t help but flinch. She immediately pulled back.

“Damian, are you okay?” He nodded, not opening his eyes. “Damian, look at me, please.” He cracked one eye, deeply ashamed at his reaction to his Moira’s touch.

“We can do this another time, it’s okay.” She moved to get up and he grabbed her hips, firmly pulling her back to his lap.

“No. Stay. I
need
to do this, kitten.” As much as he didn’t
want
to do this, he did
need
to. But he needed her lips on his first. “Kiss me.”

She tentatively, but greedily, obeyed. At the first touch of her lips to his, his body raged with fire but in an entirely different way from before. His arms wound around her nearly naked perfect form and held on for dear life as he claimed her. His tongue swept inside her hot mouth and he mimicked with his tongue what he wanted to do with his cock.

As he ravaged her lips, her hands tentatively cupped his face. He tensed only briefly, focusing on her lips, her mouth, her tongue instead. She broke away and hesitantly kissed the side of his mouth, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on his cheek, moving slowly toward his ear. She nipped his ear sharply before sucking the lobe into her wet mouth. All the while she lightly stroked her hands down his neck, over his collarbone and his broad shoulders, running them down his arms.

She was doing a fantastic job distracting him with her mouth, but if he concentrated on only her hands, he found that the feeling of them on his skin wasn’t so bad at all. In fact, her light, gentle touch was soothing, warm and comforting. Healing.

Suddenly he craved more. He wanted her hands everywhere. Tracing the tats on his chest, nails digging into his back, fingers kneading his ass. Stroking his cock. He grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her back, so she was now sitting once again over his straining shaft.

“I’m sor—”

“Touch me,” he rasped. “Touch me all over, Analise. Heal me,” he begged. Her hazel eyes were a pool of muddled emotions.

Relief.

Happiness.

Excitement.

Lust.

Love.

She held his burning gaze, slowly reaching her hands toward him. Light fingertips grazed over his jutting collarbone before gently tracing down his sternum to his pecs. He closed his eyes in pleasure as her index fingers gently scraped his flat masculine nipples, bringing them to hard points. His cock was now painfully hard, regret eating at him for the silk that kept her hot sheath from him.

Her sultry voice penetrated his thoughts. “What’s this one?”

He knew exactly what she was tracing. The tat over his heart he’d gotten in tribute to his dead family. Mixed among the black tribal tattoo were three red script letters…CBE.

“They are a memoriam to my family. My papi Cedric, my mimi Beulah and my brother Elias.” Because the color faded, he had to have them frequently redone.

Her smile was sad. “That’s lovely, Damian.” He was hanging on by a very thin thread now. The need to be buried inside her was so great he had to fist his hands in the blankets beneath him.

“I need you naked, kitten. Now,” he growled as he thrust his cock into her drenched panties, her desire evident.

She gasped, “Not a chance, vampire. I’m not nearly done exploring your smoking hot body yet.”

“Analise, I’m close to losing it here.” In about ten seconds she was going to be beneath him and filled to the brim with his unyielding manhood.

“Please, Damian,” she whispered softly. “We have all evening to make love. Please let me do this.”
Christ
. He couldn’t deny her. He would never be able to deny her anything.

“Since you asked so sweetly, kitten, how can I say no?” Taking a deep breath he willed his disco stick down. Gotta love Lady Gaga.

The next thirty minutes were both heaven and hell. Analise ran her hands all over his body, tracing each and every tattoo with her fingers and tongue. She especially loved the ring of fire, which covered his entire back. He’d demanded several more times that she remove her bra and panties, but she’d refused, saying it would distract him from her task. Little did she know, but she was going to receive some punishment for her disobedience when he took back the reins, which was right fucking now.

He was reaching for her hands, when she stroked them straight down to his aching cock. She was tentative at first, getting bolder with each pass.

“Analise, that feels so good,” he croaked, his voice gravely and thick with lust. He wanted to watch her, but his heavy lids couldn’t stay open.

If he’d thought her hands felt good, her mouth was pure paradise. At the first touch of her tongue on his cock, his hand flew to her head, grabbing a fistful of her silky hair. When she took the tip into her hot, wet mouth, he was sure he’d died and gone to heaven. No woman’s mouth had ever felt as good as this.

When she took him in as far as she could, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips as he involuntarily pumped his hips. “Christ.” His voice was raw, primal. And when she started sucking and licking, he nearly blew. He was embarrassingly close to the edge and she’d only just begun. When she started gently fondling his balls that was it. He couldn’t stop himself from fucking her mouth in earnest, using the handful of hair he held as leverage.