SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (112 page)

I knew the answer—they would have to conserve their energy if I didn’t want to go back to being the burnt hag. They would have to recover.

My survival and theirs trumped nonessential memories.

I was flippant when I added, “I wish you could give me something to remember you by.”

Philippe had been watching me with a lowered gaze. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, Lilly. Believe me.”

“Well, you did seem perfectly willing to have it go somewhere back at the wine bar. Or was that merely a doppelganger who had me against the wall?”

He shook his head, but I noticed he
still
wasn’t leaving the room.

I bent a knee, flashing skin through the bubbles. My boot peeked out, too, and one of the vines nudged me, making me bite my lip because of the tingle that prodded my clit.

They wanted him as much as I did.

Philippe was watching in the mirror, his knuckles white as he gripped the counter. But he had that look to him—that tempted, I-don’t-know-if-I-can-last glaze. Was this
ever
going to go anywhere?

My boots gave me another zing, and I gasped. Philippe stood from the counter, strung together so tight I thought he might snap.

Now or never
, I thought. And, bloody hell, did I want the
now
.

With my heart hammering, I impulsively stood from the water, and it sluiced down me, tickling all the way. I could see myself in the mirror, wet, waiting for Philippe to make the next move.

He clenched the towel on the counter, and I held my breath.

Shadows Till Sunrise: Chapter Nine

For a blood-thumping moment, I thought Philippe might throw the towel back at me and then leave the room, slamming the door behind him to block out the temptation I saw so clearly written on his face.

But he merely stood there, each breath coming in ragged draws, each second an excruciating, slow drip of time.

Drip…drip…drip…

I listened to the water beading off my body and into the tub. But what more of an invitation could I give him than this?

Why wasn’t he doing anything?

When he moved away from the counter, still holding the towel, my heart dipped. Humiliation abraded me. Would I feel any of it after I slept and awakened again, or would my keen embarrassment be buried within me so I could forget this brutal rejection?

It seemed I was making a habit of being pushed aside—first with my family, now this…

While I waited for him to leave the room and pretend as if I had never offered myself—flaming right, I would be lucky if
that
happened—I focused on myself in the mirror. My hair was wet and straight to my shoulders, my skin glistening and pink. The tips of my breasts were aroused, and an ache made me want to slide my fingers between my legs, massaging the throb that was starting to consume me.

“Just what do you want from me, Lilly?” Philippe finally asked. He was bunching that towel.

“What do you think, Philippe?”

His smile was strained, rueful. “I’m the first to admit that I got carried away back in the wine bar, but I never intended to.”

“And here I thought I might be the perfect girl for you, Mr. Non-Commitment.” I wasn’t going to show him how this affected me. A girl had her pride. “How many women have you slept with, only to have you wondering afterward how quickly you could hop out of their beds, leaving them without any consequences? Well, I’m that woman. Chances are I will not recall a thing tomorrow.”

“Stop making light of us.”

“I wish I were.” To hell with this. I stepped out of the tub, water soaking the bath mat. I motioned toward the towel he was fisting. “Do you mind?”

Just throw it to me and be done
, I thought. This didn’t have to be any more mortifying than it was—I would crash in front of his TV for what I had left of my awake time, hoping the minutes would fly by and then…blessed sleep. Blessed blank slate.

I raised my arms to squeeze water from my hair. The move emphasized my breasts, which weren’t huge knockers, but nothing to ignore, either. Perhaps I was flexing and showing off my body because of a cruel streak in me—my negative Meratoliage energy—but I wanted Philippe to see what he would be missing.

He didn’t seem to be breathing anymore. He hadn’t thrown the towel at me, either.

“Really now,” I said, exasperated, stepping off the bath mat and toward him, intending to snatch that towel and get to using it.

But he moved first.

Slowly, he walked toward me, his gaze blazing with erotic heat.

I retreated because I hadn’t expected him to give in, and the backs of my legs hit the tub. My pulse banged in my ears, a savage drumming that took the place of my heartbeat in my chest, echoing in my clit.

A searing sensation blasted my veins, my skin humming as Philippe came to stand in front of me. He reached out with the towel, touching it to my face, drying one cheek, then the other. All the while, his gaze devoured me.

“Did you ever stop to think,” he said, “that I didn’t want to take advantage of a woman who wouldn’t remember a thing, come the next day?”

“Such manners,” I whispered, because he had lowered the towel to my chin, dabbing it until he rubbed upward, caressing my lower lip.

I moaned, my belly clenching. He pressed the tip of his covered thumb between my lips and, without thinking, I nipped him before he pulled out.

His whisper was jagged. “Maybe I can make you remember. Tell me what you want me to do to you,
cher
. Tell me what would make you never forget.”

Was that what was truly bothering him? That he would lose me?

All that mattered now was that it seemed he couldn’t resist me as much as I couldn’t resist him. He was losing this fight.

He eased the towel down, over my neck, then my shoulders. I swallowed, then said, “Would it surprise you to know that I don’t know what I like to have done to me? You’re going to have to show me what you’re good at.”

He walked round me, urging me a step forward, off the mat. As he dried my back with slow rubs, I bit my lip. Nudges of desire were pushing harder at me from the inside out, and I struggled to restrain myself.

“Maybe,” he said, “you don’t want anything fancy or exotic. You strike me as a woman who likes to get straight to the point.”

“I don’t know how many points I’ve had, but I’m certain I’ll like getting straight to yours.”

He laughed roughly, then bent to smooth the towel over one of my legs, then the other. He was avoiding all my pink and pounding places, driving me to an edge that I was sure I would love to fly right over—if he only stopped teasing me and pushed me there.

But the teasing…it was nice. So nice…

He had dragged up the towel, bringing it round my waist until he held both ends. Then, with one practiced move, he slid his hands over my belly, pressing upward, drying every inch of skin on his way and making me even more slippery in an entirely different place. When his hands cupped my breasts over the towel, kneading them, my knees went weak, and I leaned back against him.

His cock brushed my lower back, and I hauled in a breath, holding it as he gently rubbed away every drop of water from me.

“Such a mystery,” he said in my ear, bathing it with his warmth. “It drives me insane that I haven’t touched you and read you lately.”

No
, I thought. I couldn’t let him touch me in that way again, to psychically read me and see beneath to the real Lilly. I wouldn’t remind him of what I truly was.

I wanted to tell him that, instead, he could have the part of me that I could give, here, now, but it sounded like Philippe wanted what he couldn’t have. Perhaps he was that sort of man, never satisfied, always longing.

Always haunted because he was missing something.

But I was willing to give everything but my past to him, especially when he pushed the towel down my front again, leaving a trail of jumping muscles in his wake before he stroked between my legs.

I let out a tiny, frustrated sound and parted for him. As he eased back and forth between my folds, the texture of the towel caused friction, seductive pain, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I moved with his every rub, reaching back to hold onto his neck. He slid his other hand to my breast, squeezing it, making me feel as slick as a bayou vine where it counted.

Speaking of which…The boots stirred against my legs, restless, adding to my sensual agitation.

Did they want to get in on the action? What would Philippe do if they dared?

Stay put
, I thought to them as he kept working me, making my hips gyrate, making my temperature rise even higher. I almost had him, and I didn’t need anything to put him off again.

The boots listened, at least for now…

Philippe ran his lower lip over the shell of my ear, then swirled his tongue over my lobe, sucking it into his mouth. I recognized an erogenous zone when I felt one, and I nearly fell forward, out of his arms. But he had me firm and tight against him as he skimmed his mouth to my neck, nipping at it.

He dropped the towel to the floor, and I heard the thud. It sounded like the last of his willpower piling to the ground, left behind.

On the roof, the rain fell in steady patters, but the loudest sounds were the pounding blood in my ears, the chopping of my breath, the juiced slipperiness of his bare fingers coasting through my folds. And when he skimmed one of those fingers up and into me, I cried out, wiggling back against him, feeling his hardness.

“Damn, you’re so tight,” he whispered into my ear.

He was right—I could feel just how tight I was. Had it been a long, long time since I had done this? Or was he my first, even if I was past an age most girls lost their virginity?

Something tender and innocent in me wished for that to be true, but how would I ever have the answer unless he read me or unless my boots were separated from my skin, deprived of feeding on my energies to survive?

Was it worth the price, just to know?

He moved in front of me, cupping his other hand to the back of my head, looking into my eyes as he slid his finger in and out, circling round inside me until I gave another tiny cry. As I looked into his eyes, seeing how bright and feverish his gaze was, I decided that Philippe
had
to be my first. And right here, right now, I only wished for him to be my last.

Time seemed to hang like a burning star as he paused inside me, searching
my
gaze. What was he seeing? A normal girl who wanted him with every banging cell in her body? Or was he remembering the withered crone from a couple months ago, when he had witnessed what I was like with my boots off?

As if to cleanse myself of the thought, my boots twisted round my legs, redirecting my attention.
Don’t think about that
, they seemed to be saying.
You’re not that girl. Not anymore. We’re here for you
.

And I believed them as Philippe smoothed his other hand down my back, sliding it under my bottom, then lifted me. I wrapped my legs round him, moaning as his finger went deeper inside me. He had a look of complete worship on him, and I had enough time to think,
Truly? This is for me?
before the boots tugged at me again.

They sent a carnal zap spinning through me as his thumb pressed against my clit, bringing my blood to a fast tick, a charged countdown to something so much more.

He walked us out of the bathroom, across the hall, and I barely had time to realize he was bringing us to his dimly moonlit room before I fell back on the bed, Philippe right above me.

“God, Lilly,” he said, pressing my clit again. “You’re gonna get me so hungry for you, and then…”

“I’ll fall into my deep slumber?” It was more
Sleeping Beauty
than
Beauty and the Beast
. And I would damned well take it. “Don’t worry. Just give me something to remember you by…”

He stretched his length over me, resting his free palm against my cheek, looking at me with such affection that I nearly exploded.

“You’ll remember,” he said. “I won’t stand it if you don’t. I want you so bad, Lilly, want every part of you, all of you…”

As if turned on beyond measure, one of my vines detached from my leg, hovering in back of Philippe.

Me, too?
it seemed to be asking.

The naughty possibilities seemed endless, but I willed the vine back to where it belonged. Who knew if my hidden burns would scar me again if the vines got overly excited and removed themselves in the heat of the moment?

Behave
, I thought, and they did, clamping back to me.

Philippe had bent to take one of my breasts into his mouth, and I arched under him, luxuriating, telling myself I would remember…
I will remember...

He sucked off of me, laughing low in his throat. “Is that your way of telling me you’re ready? Because I could love you all night,
cher
.”

“There’s not much night left,” I said, already feeling sunrise in my bones.

Yet maybe I was only feeling the brightness of Philippe, kissing his way down my body, then taking his fingers and separating my folds just before stroking his tongue through them.

I bunched his hair in my hands and heaved in a breath.

“Cinnamon,” he murmured.

Then he loved me thoroughly, licking, kissing, gnawing, pressing against my clit with his thumb and urging me toward that edge I had been wondering about earlier.

It was as if darkness was creeping into me, inching over my vision bit by bit—but it wasn’t a terrible darkness. This was a wonderfully unknown one, thrilling in its mysteries. Wet and wild and pulsating as it pushed into me, then out of me, undulating with every suck and stroke of Philippe’s mouth and tongue.

I rocked against him, fisting the bedcover with my other hand, and when he moved away from me, I winced, looking up at him.

The room was shaded only by the rain-spotted moonlight pouring through the uncurtained window. The slight illumination framed him as he stood there, stripping off his shirt, then his jeans, until he was bare and glorious, muscles running below his smooth, toasty-toned skin. His shoulders seemed even broader now, his chest wider, tapering into a slim, cut waist. He stomach was ridged, his belly flat with a trail of hair leading to…