Fashionably Dead (29 page)

“Yes,” I readily agreed, feeling light-headed and out of control. He pulled me to his bed and threw me on my back. He stood there naked, looking beautiful and deadly and mine. He was the most exquisite man I’d ever seen, just looking at him made my body sing. I was about to orgasm again without him even laying a hand on me.

He slowly, with carnal intent, kissed and nipped his way down my body. He paused at my breasts and marked me with his fangs ‘til I screamed and begged him to fuck me.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded. No more nice. No more gentle. No more soft. “Open for me, baby,” he said as he parted my legs with his hands and blew on my most intimate places. “You are perfect.” He lowered his head and made me see Jesus with his tongue.

“Oh Ethan . . . I don’t think . . . ” I cried out and clamped my legs around his head trying to make him stop.

Startled, he looked up at me from between my legs. “What’s wrong?”

“Um . . . .well, I’m not very experienced with this kind of, um . . . ”

“But I am,” he grinned. His eyes sparkled and his lips glistened with my moisture.

“Well, that’s certainly a big turn on,” I huffed and tried to escape, picturing him with hundreds of hot sexy Vampyre sluts.

“Trust me, I’ll turn you on,” he whispered so sexily I lost brain cells, erasing the images of other women.

His hands were like manacles around my thighs and any thoughts of anything else were obliterated. This was not nice or romantic or simple. It was violent, sexy, and hard. It was changing me at some fundamental level. As I screamed and moaned, and fought to gain dominance over the beautiful inhuman man possessing me, a trigger flipped. Suddenly, I was just like him, violent and sexual and no longer human. I wanted him more than I wanted to live. I would die for him and destroy anything that would threaten him in the slightest. He was mine. Period.

His fangs pierced me in places I had no idea were proper to bite and I returned the favor, making him shout in pain and pleasure. The line was so fine, I couldn’t discern it anymore. And I didn’t want to.

In a flash, his fangs were in my neck and his body was on top of mine. My body convulsed and he wasn’t even inside me yet. I lost count on the mini and major orgasms wracking my body and started to beg.

“You’re mine. Your body. Your mind. And your soul,” he moaned into my ear and I shuddered.

“Please, Ethan,” I gasped, writhing under him in wanton invitation. “Please.”

“Please what?” he ground out, grabbing my hair and making me stare into his blazing green eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

“You. I want you,” I cried.

“More specific,” he demanded, grinding his body against mine.

“Fuck me. Oh God, please fuck me.”

“As you wish.” His smile was pure sex and frightening, but it was everything I never knew I wanted or needed. “Open for me.”

I spread my legs for him. He took my hand and placed it on his engorged cock. “Put me where you want me,” he said gruffly.

He was like thick steel covered in silk, hard and smooth at the same time. I was so in love with him, and as unsure as I was of his size, I also had no intension of stopping. Ever. I guided him to where we both wanted him to be. He pushed the head of his shaft into me and I gasped.

“God, it feels so good,” he moaned, one hand grasping my ass and the other tangled in my hair, forcing me to lock eyes with him as he breached me slowly.

“Oh God,” I gasped, “don’t stop.” I was right. He was huge and I was not.

“Mine,” he groaned as his fangs descended.

He filled me to the point of pain, but his fingers on my clit forced my body to accept him as he methodically pushed more of his beautiful body into mine. He filled me to capacity and beyond, yet I wanted more. I wanted all of him. The thin line between pain and pleasure blurred to the point I was unsure what it meant. They were so intertwined that I lost sight of myself and became part of him. My core throbbed and I writhed beneath him, begging and crying. My body demanded satisfaction without care for the consequences. I lost all control and arched my pelvis up, pleading for more. My unspoken need undid him. He roared, and with a deep and violent thrust, he buried himself inside of me.

I screamed.

I was flying. My heart and my mind were with him, but my body tightened in protest. I felt him press at my womb. The orgasmic agony ripped through me and suddenly shifted. The pleasure overrode the pain and a slow sensual burn consumed my entire body. I bore down and gripped him inside of me, never wanting to let go.

“Mine,” he growled. He was triumphant, his eyes blazing a beautiful green.

He moved in and out of me with inhuman speed. I was physically at my limit, but unwilling to stop. I needed more. I met each thrust with an abandon I didn’t know I was capable of. My control had snapped and I didn’t ever want it back. I knew it would be amazing, but I didn’t know it would be perfect. I knew it would be good, but this was beyond. A fiery heat erupted as our bodies met. I needed him closer. I needed him deeper.

My nails raked across his back drawing blood, and I kissed him everywhere . . . neck, chest, shoulders, and lips. It was animalistic and inhuman and I loved it. We branded each other over and over. I no longer knew who I was without him. I spiraled toward an orgasm that would either make me see Jesus or kill me.

“Angel,” Ethan gasped, “bite me.”

My fangs descended and I leaned into his neck as his body possessed mine with a speed and a force I had never known. I bit into his neck and began to drink. He did the same. The explosion that rocked my body was nuclear. I was flying higher than I could have imagined. I couldn’t stop coming . . . it was the monster of all orgasms. My brain was skitzed and spots of brilliant color danced in my vision. Although I was spent, my body refused to obey. Ethan stiffened on top of me and then released himself. It was powerful and beautiful and felt like nothing I’d ever experienced. He had made me his and I had made him mine in every way possible.

“I love you,” I gasped, running my hands through his hair and gently kissing his swollen lips with my own. “We should, um . . . probably get cleaned up and go downstairs to your father.”

Ethan laughed and smoothed my hair back from my face. “I love you too, my Angel, but we’re not going anywhere,” he said, tracing my collarbone with his finger. “We’ve only barely gotten started.”

“You can do it again?” I was shocked.

He was delighted. “Oh baby, I’m a Vampyre. I can direct where I want the blood in my body to go.” He grabbed my hand and guided it to his rock-hard penis.

“Oh my God,” I gasped and giggled.

“Are you ready to go again?” he asked, caressing my breast.

“I’m not sure,” I lied with a smile as a slow heat coiled low in my body.

“I believe I can help you be sure,” he said with a wicked grin, moving down my body and burying his face between my legs.

I shrieked as shots of electric pleasure pulsed through me as his tongue did things I’d never known a tongue could do.

“I’m getting pretty sure,” I gasped.

“That’s good.” His voice was gruff as he slid back up my body. “Because I’m very sure I will never get enough of you.”

Chapter 27

Eight hours and forty-five minutes later . . .

I wasn’t exactly sure how I was able to walk. I’d had more sex in the last eight hours than I’d had in my entire life thus far. Drinking Ethan’s blood, as old and as strong as it was, helped me recover some, but it was still a miracle that I could move. Quite honestly, I was surprised he could walk.

About four hours into our sex-a-thon, Ethan presented me with a ring. A six carat, square-cut pink diamond surrounded by white and pink champagne diamond clusters. I almost passed out, being the materialistic gal that I was. Pink diamonds were the rarest in the world. The ring had belonged to Queen Paloma, the King’s first wife. Ethan’s own mother, Queen Antonia, had died in childbirth with Ethan, so Queen Paloma raised Ethan along with her own daughter, Princess Lelia. She had been the one in the Betsy Johnson dress and great shoes, who had tried to kill me in graveyard.

The Queen had given the ring to Ethan over five hundred years ago making him promise to give it to his mate when he found her. Queen Paloma told Ethan that his mate would be the Chosen One and that their life together would be both complicated and beautiful.

“Why did he have so many wives?” I asked, gingerly pulling on some clothes from the stash Ethan had bought for me due to the fact that what I had been wearing yesterday now lay in shreds on the floor.

“It was very common then. There was a high mortality rate. A King had to give the world many princes and princesses. If I had to pick his mate though, it was Queen Paloma,” Ethan told me. How in the hell did he always look so perfect? I watched him button his black shirt and marveled at his beauty. “I am nowhere near as beautiful as you are, my Angel. You are exquisite. Every inch of you is absolutely ravishing and totally mine.”

God, he could fluster me. A pulsing heat beat between my thighs. A change of subject was in order or I was going to throw him down and molest him. Again.

“Get out of my head.” I narrowed my eyes at him and he grinned. I grinned back. “Wait . . . he couldn’t have been a Vampyre when he fathered you.”

“He wasn’t. He was a regular king with many wives and eleven small children. No one is clear on how he was changed, not even my father himself. We knew of Vampyres, Demons, Angels, and Fairies, but we had never encountered any. After he was turned, he went into hiding for a year, terrified that if he stayed he would harm or kill everyone that he loved.”

“Did he?” I asked.

“Yes.” Ethan paused and then continued slowly, “He drained his brother. Killed him during his first thirst.”

“Oh my God.” I felt horrible for the King and for his brother. Remembering my pain and desperation before I fed for the first time, I was so grateful Pam had been there to feed me. I could have easily killed a mortal in that awful state.

“My father was devastated.” Ethan took my hand. “He adored his brother. That’s when he left. He didn’t know the first hunger was the worst. None of us did.”

Ethan pulled me over to one of the leather couches, sat me on his lap and continued the story.

“During his absence we encountered Demons and Fairies. The worst and most dangerous was Abaddon, the King of the Demons. He showed up and repeatedly tried to seduce my father’s wives in his absence, hoping one would kill my father. This would have let Abaddon assume his reign. The King of the Demons might even have been successful with one of them, but Queen Paloma had his number, so to speak. No matter what face he chose to show himself in to the wives, she banished him back to Hell every time.”

“Why didn’t Abaddon just try to kill the King himself? Why get a wife to do it?” Again I was confused.

“The story is a bit complicated,” he said. “The King’s death must be at the hands of someone emotionally and physically connected to him. Abaddon was neither. The Demon had to be personally responsible without physically committing the murder, if he wanted to gain control of the Upper World. Therefore, one of the King’s wives was a perfect choice. Trust me, the Demon could be very beautiful and very persuasive. The person who destroyed his plans was Queen Paloma. She fought him every time.”

“She sounds amazing,” I said with admiration.

Ethan smiled. “She was. She was as beautiful as she was tough. We all adored her, especially my father.”

“Did that make any of the other wives jealous?” I always wondered how the Mormons did it. You never really heard much about Mormon wives offing each other.

“No,” he said, “it was quite common to be in marriages like that in those days. My father took very good care of all of his wives. They wanted for nothing.”

“Oh, come on.” I punched him in the arm and realized my entire upper body was sore, too. How in the hell was my upper body sore? Oh wait . . . maybe the handstand position had something to do with that. I knew that was risky, but Ethan had been so impressed . . . “You can’t tell me that every wife was happy with that arrangement. There had to be some Jerry Springer stuff in there somewhere.”

Ethan raised his brows at my aches and pains, or maybe it was my referencing Jerry Springer. He began to massage my back and neck. God, that felt good. “There was some strife, but that didn’t come until my siblings and I were in our twenties.”

“Mmm,” I moaned. I was in heaven. First sex and then a massage. It didn’t get much better.

“At the time,” he chuckled as I snuggled closer, “we did not know how or why Queen Paloma had died. We didn’t find that out for a hundred years.”

“Didn’t he try to change her?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s when he realized that women who had borne children could not be changed,” he said sadly.

“Why didn’t he say anything? So much heartache could have been avoided had he spoken out.”

“He was too devastated,” Ethan replied. “It’s a decision he regrets every day of his life. Many women died because their husbands didn’t have the knowledge that my father had. Several hundred years ago when everything became known, the monarchy was almost destroyed.”

“So which wives got all pissy?” I asked. Heathcliff had told me some of it, but Ethan had been there. I had to admit that it was weirding me out a little that I was Vampyre-married to someone who was over five hundred years old, but damn, you’d never know he was older than dirt in the bedroom. He was a total rock star in the sack. I didn’t even know people did some of the stuff we did. I couldn’t wait to do it again.