Blacker than Black (36 page)

“No, don’t think so.” It takes a great deal of effort not to squirm. I want to talk to her about what’s going on, but first it would help to actually
know
what the hell is going on.

“Right.” She clears her throat and glances between the two of us again, one brow arching up her forehead. “Well then. The two of you run off and play tiddlywinks somewhere else so I can get some real work done.” Jhez shoves to her feet and heads for the desk, yanking the phone from its cradle as she rifles through drawers like a woman possessed.

“Oh, hello there, butler guy. Bring me a bottle of Manzanilla Olorosa. And a bowl of Marcona almonds.”

I can’t help but stare. She winks at me and makes a shooing motion with her hand, tucking the receiver between ear and shoulder. “Oh yes, salted will do nicely. Thank you. And I’ll need some drafting tools. One of those laser t-squares, and a holographic imaging device.”

When I glance at Leonard, he jerks his chin toward the door as if he knows I’m watching. Then he turns and retreats from the room.

“No, not the newer model. I don’t like the design on them. Oh, yes, that’ll be perfect.”

Jhez is still rattling off her list of wants like she’s talking to her own personal Santa when I pull the door shut behind me.

“You gave her carte blanche. I can’t say that’s an intelligent decision. It might end up costing you more than you expect.”

He looks at me finally, a faint smile curling his mouth. “Oh? I think it will be well within my expectations unless she finds some way to purchase the crown jewels, or all of Lichtenstein. Anything less than that, and I’ll consider it a sound investment.”

I hope she finagles the purchase of Vienna. All of it. And devises a perfectly logical argument to rationalize the expense.

“Jhez rarely disappoints.” I cram my hands in my pockets and stride along beside him through the stone corridors of
Dragulhaven
, not really noticing my surroundings. “So, tell me what you meant.”

“Ah. I thought it might be easier to demonstrate.”

Saw that one coming. “Easier for you, perhaps.”

He grunts. “Very well. What I meant is, the sensitivity was a result of the imbalanced energy between us. This aural sympathy reacts strongly to maintain equilibrium.”

“And you just stripped a
lyche
. So you have a much larger store of chi than I do at the moment. Is that what you mean?”

“Indeed. It will keep pulling”—his arm brushes against mine casually as we walk, as if he can’t keep himself from touching me—“until you permit me to tap you and let it balance out.”

He wants to dry-hump me to orgasm again? I sigh, not knowing if the sound is borne of relief or frustration. Which is, in itself, frustrating. “I thought you said this thing wouldn’t wear off unless you refrained from doing precisely that. Really sure I heard you say that.”

“This isn’t a very comfortable sensation, Black. And I’ve no way of knowing how long it will take for this connection between us to wear off.” The unspoken
or if it even will
echoes through the back of my mind.

Great. One last opportunity to grope him. I should be happy about that. It’s just going to make it that much more difficult to resist, though. I know that. I really do know that.

My hands twitch and I clench them into fists in my pockets. Damn it, it should be okay for me to be eager to touch him again. But. But this can’t possibly work in the long term, can it? I mean seriously. He said he wants me to stay; I distinctly recall that from earlier. But really, how rational can a mind be when blinded by lust and the need for release?

Oh what the hell. What’s wrong with some mutual gratification? Whatever form it takes.

Nothing. Nothing at all, damn it.
Quit berating yourself, why don’t you. He couldn’t possibly be serious when he said he wanted you to stay.
That was just the aural echo bouncing back and forth, sizzling his logic circuits. Gaia knows mine were sizzling.

I can’t think straight with him rubbing up against me like an overly affectionate horse. Nudging, bumping, all but jostling me. Slamming my back up against the wall and pressing his body along the length of mine.

I blink and stare, expecting him to start purring like a cat getting its belly rubbed. He inhales sharply, nostrils flaring, and meets my gaze, then stares at my mouth. Licks his lips.

“Don’t you feel it?” he whispers, mouth hovering just a fraction from mine. “Please, tell me you feel it.” The words come out rushed, almost hoarse. As if he’s going to start begging in a moment if I dare deny it.

My skin tingles despite the layers of clothing that separate us. His arousal rests heavily against my groin, eliciting an almost instantaneous response from me. Quick enough to make me lightheaded. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but all I manage to do is gasp.

His lips brush feather-light against mine.

“Not here.” My frantic brain slips gears for what seems an eternity before something snags and catches.

Leonard’s mouth hovers close, every puff of breath mixing with mine. He smells of scotch. I want to taste it. But not here. Gaia please, not in the middle of the hallway with how many
lyche
lurking everywhere. His gaze slams back into mine, yellow eyes half glazed with energy-driven lust.

Oh hell, who am I kidding? The only thing I care about at this moment, the only thought registering in my brain, is the fervent hope that he does more than dry-hump me this time.

“Not here,” I repeat. And stare at his mouth. I want to kiss him. Badly. I tear my gaze away from his lips and look him in the eyes. “I want you naked this time.”

Leonard blinks. Either I made something snap irreparably, or I forced his brain to reengage. He smiles, lips curling by slow increments. I never realized how much pleasure I could find in witnessing the birth of a truly authentic expression. It steals the breath from my chest.

“Ditto,” he murmurs, grabbing my hand. He turns and heads off down the corridor again. He’s not running, but it’s a close thing. And I think if anyone, or anything, interrupts or tries to thwart him . . . well. It won’t be pretty.

He takes me back to his little den of darkness, shadows deeper than a moonless night. No starshine, here. Does he feel at home anywhere else in this sprawling stone monstrosity?

Leonard doesn’t stop at the couch like I half expect. So I follow along behind him, feeling my way with fingers trailing over passing furniture. Through an open doorway, indistinguishable from the shadows. The wood is smooth and warm to the touch.

He turns back, cups a hand against the nape of my neck, and then his mouth is on mine, nibbling my lips, brushing teasingly, the tip of his tongue flicking out to trace over my jaw.

“Leonard.”

He hums at me. I fist both hands in the front of his shirt to either side of his buttons, and rip it open in one swift jerk.

“Impatient?” he asks against my ear before licking his way back down my neck.

“Aren’t you?” I flatten my hands against his chest and run my palms over his ribs, enjoy the texture of his toned muscles undulating beneath my touch in the darkness. The searing pleasure-heat of our auras sliding against one another with every movement, in and through, is almost as stimulating as the physical contact. The waistline of his trousers thwarts my exploration. So I fumble with them.

“Anticipation is a good thing, though.” He takes his time undoing each individual button on my shirt. Damn good thing I only did half of them.

“This from the man who almost tried to take me in the corridor. The height of restraint and eloquence.”

His hands fall still for a moment, as if he forgets what he was doing.

Did I say something wrong? No, I don’t think so. I push his trousers off his hips, letting my hands linger on the expanse of bared flesh. The curve of bone, hard and unyielding, the bulge of pliant muscle and flesh. Heat radiating into my palm. My fingertips trail along the groove of his oblique muscle, memorizing each nuance of his form.

“It’s . . . very difficult to concentrate . . . when you do that,” Leonard murmurs in my ear as he deftly opens my trousers and encourages the material to slump to the floor. He shrugs his shirt off and slides his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, as if intent on tracing every inch of flesh.

His mouth is back on mine, tongue thrusting between my lips. I moan and lean into him, meeting his advance with one of my own as he twines his arms around me and walks us backward. There better be a bed back there somewhere.

Skin to skin, the tingle of auras brushing against one another is nonexistent. Instead, there’s the intimate heat that comes when two auras are fully meshed—that satisfaction of having found a way to crawl inside another person’s skin.

Leonard disengages his mouth from mine and stares into my eyes. His gaze flicks past me. “Bed,” he says significantly, as if the furniture in question will manifest at his command. His arms tighten, twining to pull me flush against him as he lowers us both down onto the slick, pliant surface of black satin sheets.

The bedroom’s black-light illumination creeps in along the edges of my sight finally, eyes adjusting slowly. I can see Leonard crouched above me, braced on his forearms. Every line of silhouette arresting in its beauty. I want to trace them with my fingertips, but don’t want to block my view. His burnished gaze is glazed, half-hooded. Energy craze, I’ve heard it called—in whispers, by the Nightwalkers that follow the
darker
path. The ones that mix aura with orgasm and don’t last very long. My aura thrums in tandem to the pulse in my temple, matching cadence with the resonance of his. It feeds back and forth between us, amplifying, gathering momentum like a gravity-fed roller coaster crawling up the lift. The anticipation of the inevitable drop, the thrill, the relinquishing of control, the embrace of power, none of it prepares you for the exhilaration of feeling the wind whip through your hair, pull at your clothes . . .

His lips move, but form no words I can hear. He exhales, a ragged unsteady breath, and stretches the length of his body along mine, half on top of me, our legs tangled together. His erection juts firmly into my stomach, hard and hot against my skin, brushing against mine as he shifts his hips.

There was something I needed to say, wanted to tell him, but the thought is gone. Higher brain function, exit stage left.

Leonard’s lips trail away from my mouth, the rhythm of his caresses matching the thrust of his hips against me. Long legs wrestling with mine, skin stroking skin, he kisses along the curve of my jaw, sucks on the lobe of my ear, tracing it with the tip of his tongue. Tingling waves of pleasure shudder through my body, and I undulate against him. Lost in a flood of sensation and mindless lust.

“Lovely,
mon noire
.” He whispers against my skin, breath harsh, loud. He draws one knee up, thigh muscle heavy against my hip, his fingers roughly stroking my shaft before gripping me. The firm touch is welcome, sends pleasure searing along my nerve endings, and I roll my hips into the caress. He says something else, husky voice murmuring against my skin, but the words are lost as he swipes his thumb over my glans.

I grab at him, fingers digging roughly into his flesh. Shoulders, back, thigh, glutes, indiscriminate, wanting only more, closer, faster. Seeking gratification, completion, release, the humming tension of energy imbalance between us almost audible, intolerable. With a fistful of his hair for leverage, I crush my mouth to his, kissing him fast and fierce.

I trail my fingers over his cheek and pull back, but can’t see him, can’t see anything. I can only feel. His leg, shifting. His touch, firm on my flesh. I slide a hand over his stomach to stroke my fingers along the length of his cock, warm and responsive to my touch. And then Leonard impales himself on me, tight wet heat engulfing me to the hilt. I feel his tension, his stillness, hear the hiss of sound from his lips—pain or pleasure I don’t know; not even his aura, swirling over, through, around mine, gives a hint—as I groan and arch upward, driven by pure instinct and sensation.

He grunts, mutters something. No idea what, because just as I’m about to stop, to gather my wits and scattered brain cells enough to ask if he’s okay, he starts moving, sliding, deliberate, languid. It overwhelms me, skin stroking skin, heat searing an unforgettable path along my nerves. He taps me, dragging on my chi as he sucks on my tongue.

And on and on, until I’m lost, hurdling from one sensation to the next in a free-fall toward orgasm, trapped between the ecstatic friction of his movements and caresses and the slide of energy flowing back and forth between us. Tapped into me, but not feeding. He just holds the connection open. Letting me feel all of him, emotions and sensations swirling into my aura, feeding my arousal and flooding me with more than I can hope to process. His skin warm beneath my touch, muscles hard and solid as I slide my hands over his thighs, hips, fingers digging into flesh encouraging, before moving on to explore his flanks, ribs, follow the ridge of his spine.

I close my eyes, only to force them open when the pinpricks of white light threaten to make me dizzy. His hands frame my face, lips brushing mine as he holds my gaze, body curving against me. As if he has all the time in the world to give me the most mind-blowing orgasm he can manage. His yellow eyes are still glazed, half-hooded. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I feel his cheek press against mine, hear his soft grunt in my ear as his body tenses in my arms.