Page 55 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
“No.” He brings a hand up to cup my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “But I’ve never had a blood bond before, and I’ve never had such a tempting offer from a sweet little human that I’m supposed to be working with.”
“I want this, Dennis. Let’s give in to the bond while it lasts. I think it will be more frustrating and awkward if we don't.” He leans his face down so his forehead touches mine. “Should we get dried off and take this to bed?”
“I don’t think I can make it to bed, lovely,” he says.
I’m about to protest that shower sex never works; it’s too slippery and water gets in all the wrong spots, but he picks me up beneath my thighs and braces my back against the wet tiles.
My legs wrap around his waist, and I snake my hands behind his neck.
I’d argue that sex standing up isn’t a good idea in general either, but he’s so strong that he's doing all the work. My body relaxes in his hold. I’m not even worried he’ll drop me as he shifts my weight toward one arm and grabs his cock.
He rubs it over my clit, then presses against my entrance, moving to fill me slowly at first, then once he’s inside me, he stills.
My blood is tingling all over as I stretch out around him.
He pulls away and drives back in. I allow my body to stay loose as he works into me, bouncing me up the wall beneath the comforting warmth of the shower. Steam rises from his cool chest, and I’m feeling heady from the mist and the scent of him.
I press my hips forward, aching for release. His eyes are focused, never straying from me as he grabs me tight and thrusts into me.
I’m lost to the sound of him calling my name, calling to his own blood that runs through my veins. His muscles flex and tighten beneath me, and I can feel his climax building. Mine races through me first, and I shout his name, pressing my head back against the wall. He growls and strokes deep inside me before pulling out, his cock still hard when he finishes on my belly.
I’m weak and delirious from the afterglow of my orgasm when he sets me down and helps me to rinse off.
For all he said about not being able to be gentle, he wraps me in a towel like I’m made of porcelain before slinging one around his waist.
He strips the bed and changes the sheets in silence while I watch and wonder if he compelled someone to get that extra set of linens. When he’s done, he looks at me sheepishly.
“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep in the chair,” he offers. “That’s what I was planning on doing.”
“Dennis, we literally just had sex. Mind-blowing shower sex. I think we can share a bed. We both know what this is between us.”
He runs his hand through his damp hair.
“Right.”
He climbs into bed next to me, and I turn over even though the bond is urging me to move closer to him. Sex is one thing, but cuddling is a whole different story.
Maybe he should have stayed on the couch because this position feels dangerous.
“Get some sleep, Dennis,” I say. “It’s been an incredibly long night.”
I feel him grow tense behind me.
“Goodnight Beatrice,” he says stiffly.
I close my eyes, thinking it must be my imagination or wishful thinking under the influence of the bond when I feel his fingers brush the downy hairs on the back of my neck, soothing me into a deep sleep.
20
TUCKED AWAY
I’m vaguely aware that I’m dreaming as I run my fingers along the banister, but I can’t remember why I’m here. I trace the patterns on the wall when the hallway expands into a well-lit space. There’s a pale oak railing with carved posts guarding the overlook to the bright foyer.
I feel like I’m walking through a sepia portrait. Everything is washed in earthy tones of sandy brown and cream with hints of aquamarine that pop from the wallpaper.
A baby cries up ahead, and I follow the sound, moving slowly like I always do in a dream, as if I have no will of my own. I pad down the carpet runner until I come to a row of doors, the wailing growing louder when I press my ear to one of them.
I step into the room, and my eyes drift away from the crib to the sunlight spilling across the floor, a golden glow stretching across a man’s wide back as he holds a woman in his lap. Blonde hair spills over the crook of his elbow where he kneels, and I feel the urgent sense that this is a nightmare when I see the blood splattered across his white shirt and brown suspenders. From this angle, he seems far too rough-looking to be cradling such a delicate woman. She looks like a doll clad in a pretty pale blue frock.
