Fangs for the Memories (24 page)

He lifted his mouth from hers, and his hands found the belt at her waist, yanking it. He parted the robe, baring her body to him. He stared at her, and even though his unruly hair fell forward and shrouded part of his face, she could see his amber eyes glinting in the lamplight. Immediately she was reminded of that feral look she’d seen the first night she met him.

For a moment she was frightened. This Rhys seemed so different from the one who’d made love to her before. That Rhys was gentle and giving.

This one looked wild, starved. His eyes raked over her nakedness, as though he wanted to consume every inch of her, yet despite her uncertainty, she responded. Her nipples puckered into tight throbbing buds. Her vagina pulsed, and she could feel the moisture beading between her thighs. She wanted him. She wanted his possession.

He seemed to sense her submission, and he fell on her. His mouth sucked at her breast, pulling the nipple deep into his mouth, his teeth scraping against the throbbing flesh.

She cried out, the sensation almost too much, teetering somewhere between pleasure and pain. But still his aggressive touch aroused her madly as she writhed underneath him, her hands knotting in his hair, pulling him closer.

While his mouth tormented her breasts, his hand slipped between her thighs. Spreading her open, he stroked the dampness there. His fingers were as rough as his mouth, and just as excruciatingly exciting.

She wiggled against him, unsure what to do.
How to please him.

“Just let me taste,” he muttered against the curve of her breast, and for a moment she wasn’t sure if the voice was truly his or a figment of her own arousal-hazed mind.

He moved down her body, his lips trailing wet kisses and little nips over her belly, heading lower and lower.
Until he knelt between her spread thighs.

She whimpered and tried to close her legs. But he caught them, keeping them open.

“I want to look at you.” His voice was low, almost gruff. “Open them wide, Janie.”

A ragged breath escaped her as she looked at him kneeling there, his eyes burning like a ravenous beast, and she knew he wanted her as his meal.

She felt the heat of a blush scorch her cheeks, seeping down toward her chest. But then she also felt a matching heat between her thighs.

Her legs quivered, but she did as he asked, letting them fall open.

He groaned, his eyes fixing on the point at the apex of her thighs that begged for him. He touched her then, using both hands to spread her labia, exposing her.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “And mine. Mine alone.”

She closed her eyes, overcome by his words, the hunger in his expression and her own spiraling need.

She felt his hair brush her inner thigh first, but that tickling sensation was quickly obliterated by the sweep of his tongue, fiery and rough, licking over her.

She gasped,
then
cried out as his tongue found her clitoris, lapping the hardened bud, circling it, finally sucking it with greedy lips.

She called out his name, begging him to—she didn’t know what exactly. She just knew he was the only one who could give her the completion she needed.

Rhys closed his eyes, drinking in the flavor of Jane. Her hands twisted in his hair, and her hips bucked up against his mouth. She moaned his name over and over again, her head thrashing back and forth on the mattress.

His tongue left her clitoris and darted into the heat of her vagina, tasting her arousal, tasting the need and the thrill growing stronger in her very essence.

And as her passion spun, and she spiraled wildly toward the release, the fierce, frantic hunger in
himself
took complete control.

He had to taste her.
Deeper, more fully than the juices of desire.
He wanted to be one with her, to feel her life mingle with his. He had to satisfy this blinding hunger that tore at him.

He again lapped the rigid little nub at the top of her sex, and she cried out, pressing herself hard to his mouth. He felt his teeth sharp against his own lips, and he shifted his mouth, moving upward until he was kissing the curls covering her plump mound.

He opened his
eyes,
staring up at her, hoping that seeing her would help him focus, help him keep control. But it had the opposite effect. Her skin was creamy in the light, her breasts jiggling as she squirmed against his mouth. Her eyes closed, her mouth parted as she breathed in shallow puffs.

He closed his eyes.

God, he wanted her.
For his very own.
For eternity.

He heard her scream, the sound sharp, piercing. Then he felt her convulse under his mouth. Then the sweet, delicious flavor of her release swirled over his tongue. He drank in her climax deeply as his own orgasm met hers.

She cried out again and again as their orgasms united, and Rhys ceased to be and Jane ceased to be. They were one— their passion one.

“Jane,” Rhys said, his voice low, the natural huskiness replaced by an almost guttural quality.

She forced herself to open her eyes and found him watching her, his peculiar amber eyes fixed on hers. A frown creased his brow.

She breathed a deep gulp of air, trying to calm the intense waves of sensation that still surged through her.

She offered him a tremulous smile, even though she felt shaken to her core. What had just happened?

Somehow she felt as if she’d just given Rhys more than when they had full intercourse, which made no sense. He had given to her, pleasured her.

No, pleasuring didn’t even begin to do justice to what he’d done to her. Yet, she felt as though she’d given him her soul with her powerful release. But at the same time she felt as if he’d given her his soul in return.

She closed her eyes again. She wasn’t making any sense. She wasn’t thinking straight. And a bone-deep exhaustion seemed to weigh heavily on her whole body.

She felt Rhys move, coming up to lie beside her. Still she couldn’t seem to gather the strength to open her eyes.

“Are you all right?” His voice was low, but not as harsh as moments earlier. And it was laced with concern.

She wearily turned her head, opening her eyes and offering him another small smile. “Yes, just exhausted—and very
very
satisfied. I can’t even move.”

Her compliment didn’t seem to reassure him. He reached out and touched her cheek, his fingers just a faint whisper over her skin.

“Your skin is so cold.”

She smiled serenely. She didn’t feel cold. She felt weak and a little light-headed and most definitely sated. Her body seemed to be floating on a cool cloud. It was lovely.

Her eyes drifted shut.

“Jane?”

She blinked, forcing her gaze to meet
Rhys’s
.
“Hmm?”

“I’m going to draw a bath for you. And while you relax and warm up, I’m going to get you something to eat.”

“Okay,” she agreed, but didn’t really comprehend his words. She just wanted to sleep—to drift on this puffy cloud of satisfaction.

“I’ll be right back,” he assured her, although his voice seemed miles below her.

She nodded, or maybe she didn’t. She continued to float.

Rhys scrutinized Jane. Other than the faint smile still lingering on her lips, she didn’t look like a woman who’d just experienced sexual gratification.

The pallor of her skin matched the sheer curtains framing the bed, white and translucent. He could see the pale blue traces of her veins under her eyes. Her lips, which always looked rosy, were now an unnatural color of muted mauve.

He watched her breathing as he had that morning. Her chest no longer rose and fell in a deep soothing rhythm, but rather in shallow, rapid starts.

God, what had he done? A rush of fear and anger rushed through him. Fear for her and anger at himself. He had caused this—whatever was wrong with her—although he couldn’t quite figure out what he’d done. But he did know that as soon as he had touched his mouth to her and felt her reaction to him, everything was a blur. All he could remember was both of their passions swirling around him, spurring him on until they’d both shouted out their climaxes.

He closed her robe to protect her chilled skin. She was so pale, so fragile; she appeared like a porcelain doll tossed carelessly onto the bed.

Another wave of anger coursed through him.

What had he done?

He stared at her a moment longer, then started toward the bathroom. But at the last minute, he changed his mind. She was so exhausted; he didn’t trust that she could actually sit up, alone, in the bathtub.

Besides, she was too pale.
Food.
She needed food.

He returned to the bed and carefully pulled the comforter over her as much as he could without disturbing her.

But she still opened her eyes to gaze up at him. She smiled again. “Hi.”

“Hi. Are you comfortable?”

“
Mmm
-hmm.
I feel—nice.”

He smiled back, but his lips turned down as soon as her eyes fluttered shut again. She was responding to him. That was a good sign, but she still needed food.

He adjusted the blanket a bit. Then he headed to the kitchen.

Once in the narrow room, he stood there, looking around. What did Jane eat? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know what to prepare. Had he ever prepared any sort of meal? He didn’t think so.

Damn his drunken stupidity for sending Cook on holiday.

Finally, he strode over to the refrigerator, yanking the door open. Surely he could make something.

He frowned at the meager selection of food on the shelves.
Eggs, milk, orange juice and some cheese.
Plus the bags of…
What the hell was that stuff anyway?

He grabbed one of the pouches filled with dark liquid and the orange juice,
then
headed to the cupboards to see if there was anything there that he could fix Jane.

As he searched the cupboards, he unstopped the container of dark fluid and took a sip. He grimaced slightly as he swallowed. The drink tasted cold and stale, with a strange hint of chemicals under the salty flavor.

Jane had tasted so much sweeter.

He pushed that thought out of his head. He didn’t have time to reflect fondly on his sex life at the moment. Jane needed food.

He browsed the cans on the shelves.
Tuna—in a can?
Bleh
, he thought as he absently took another swig of the chilled red liquid.

He reached up and picked up another can wrapped in white paper.
“
Deviled
Ham?
Does she really eat this?”

He placed that back on the shelf and opted for something called peanut butter. He at least knew what butter was, and when he sniffed the creamy brown substance, it didn’t smell too awful.

He considered the peanut butter again for a moment, trying to decide what she would eat it on.
Crackers?
Bread?

He spotted a loaf of bread on the counter. Bread it was.

After opening several drawers, he located a knife and began to prepare Jane’s meal.

“What the hell did you do?” Sebastian said from right behind him.

Rhys started, smearing the gooey butter on his thumb. He turned to glare at his brother. “What the hell, Sebastian. Why are you lurking around like the dead?”

Sebastian smirked slightly. “It’s what I do.” But then his expression grew serious again. “Where’s Jane? Is she okay?”

Rhys frowned. Was she okay? He wasn’t quite sure. “She’s in her bedroom.
Resting.”

Sebastian stared at him for a moment,
then
nodded as if he decided Rhys was telling him the truth. “What are you doing?” He gestured to the knife in
Rhys’s
hand and the glob of peanut butter on his thumb.

“Jane is hungry. I was making her something to eat.”

Sebastian nodded again, his expression looking even more relaxed. “Good. That’s a good idea. That will definitely help.”

“Help?”
Did Sebastian know that something was wrong with Jane?

Sebastian waved a hand. “You know what I mean.”

No, he didn’t.

“Listen,” Sebastian said. “I’ve got to go out for a while. You will be okay, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Rhys said gruffly, suddenly annoyed with this conversation. Of course he’d be fine. And Jane would be fine, too. He had things under control. He was in control.

Sebastian studied him for a moment,
then
said, “Good. I’ll be back in a bit. Make sure you drink plenty of that.” He pointed to the pouch of liquid on the counter. “It’s good for you.”

Rhys didn’t respond, but watched Sebastian until he disappeared out into the hallway which led to the elevator.

He stood there for several more seconds, even after Sebastian was gone. Why did he get the feeling Sebastian knew something he didn’t?