Captiva Craving - Vampire Werewolf Menage (Six Feet Under Series Book Two)

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“Welcome back, pet.” A thickly accented male voice floated around the cabin. “I charted this when I received the good news. It is not our normal plane, but I am sure you will understand discretion is of grave importance.” A deep inhale followed by a long release. “I was beginning to lose faith in my hunter.” Her heart was pounding. “Of course, when one has the choice of being tortured for centuries or bringing back a runaway female, one chooses wisely.” She licked her lips, tasting blood. The scent of warm sunshine and summer breezes invaded her. A finger brushed her lower lip. “Do not worry, it is not yours, but my blood.”

This was no dream.

“Look at me,
my
Blythe,” a compelling voice insisted, oddly familiar. She could
feel
his power.

Yet she stared at a stranger.

He towered over her and the tiny bed, bare-chested with a rippling six-pack, two streaks of blood streaming his throat. Long, dark hair fell halfway down his back. Perfectly proud features stared back at her. Eyes so golden they could pass for a lion’s, but anyone could see that he was too powerful to be a mere king of beasts. He blinked deliberately, flashing silver pupils instead of the customary black.

Behind him, a white silk shirt lay haphazardly across a covered bench. Underneath was her leather dress. He followed her eyes. A slow sweep of a piercing gaze heated with lethal seduction. “Ah, I remember when you first wore that dress.” A golden hand clenched his thigh. “Or didn’t wear it.” His tongue trailed his lower lip. “I could not keep my hands off you, and we never made it to the club opening. Do you remember that night? The first night I took you in my private bedroom. Made love to you, treasured your body, and committed my heart to you as a woman and not my Donor?” His eyes flipped up, penetrating her head-on. “Think back.”

Pressure increased inside her skull. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. Then, she saw the memory. The same dress tossed across a damask chaise in a bedroom fit for a king…
“Don’t turn away from me.” Gianni gripped her chin between his finger and thumb. “Face me. See me for what I am. Understand what you are. You have needs only I can satisfy.” He thrust deliberately, lifting her knee with his other hand to drive deeper while reaching that sensitive spot within her. They weren’t in that room. She didn’t want him this way. In his bed and lying on his pillow while playing his mind games that spoke of true love and everlasting commitment, things she didn’t believe in anymore. “You can speak freely in my bedroom.” With his opposite hand, he reached between their bodies, expertly kneading her clit. “You know that.” Her heart was beating faster, nearing the orgasm she desperately craved. “Pet, what aren’t you?”

“
I
have nothing to say,” she moaned around the words, “that would be what you want to hear.”

“Love me, Blythe.” He buried his face against her throat. “It’s a simple thing to love someone.”

“Loving someone is the hardest part, hating is simple.” Her breaths picked up. “To whisper words of love and then turn away from a lover’s promise is the cruelest thing a man can do.”

“Tell me who destroyed your heart, and I will lay his at your feet.”

She gaped at the memory, placing her palms against her eyes. Her lids were fluttering, as she relived portions of her time with him in Italy, frame by frame. From the moment that she met Gianni until months later when Anthony secreted her away. There were major gaps. Things were missing…chunks of her life, huge pieces of her existence.

“What happened to me?”

Dark brows slashed over golden eyes. “Even now, you have no recollection?”

“Not everything.” She gathered the covers, hiding her nudity, definitely remembering
the room
. “Who took my memory away?”

“I fed you only once.” He sat next to her, ignoring her flinch. “Still, you should have remembered all.”

“Fragments.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “My memories are a patchwork quilt, still unsewn, strewn all over the place.” Her heart raced. Where was Sixten? Had they harmed him getting to her? Was he even alive? Fear of losing him speared her painfully, a terror she’d never known. “You referred to me as Donor.”

“I
did
.” He wrenched the covers away easily. Eyes widening in appreciation as he perused her naked form. “But now, I call you
mine
.”

“You are mistaken,” Blythe said through gritted teeth, yanking the covers back over her body. “I am
not
yours.”

Gianni smiled, tilting his dark head to the side, lashes lowering, studying her with sparkling, golden eyes dotted by silver pupils. He moved his sculpted body like liquid over stone, a fluid kind of grace she figured only vampires could display. “Your
former
lover might entertain your theatrics,” his sensual whisper spoke of true hunger. “I find them a waste of our precious time. And we have wasted precious time, haven’t we, my Blythe?”

The deep rumble of the airplane’s engines horrified her more than his words. “Where are you taking me?” She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and inched back on the bed to put some necessary distance between them. Gianni followed her, his masculine beauty shadowed beneath flickering moonlight piercing the tiny window above her head. One hundred percent male, and then some, he radiated pure sex and dangerous satisfaction.

“Home,” he answered, “eventually.” Predatory eyes focused on Blythe, his larger body hovering over hers.

“I
was
home,” she argued hotly, tasting the remnants of his wine-like blood in her drying mouth.

Gianni’s smile slipped into something unnerving, his expression belonging to a wounded prince. “Come here, Blythe.” Ebony hair slid over his naked shoulders, brushing Blythe’s throat as he cupped her face. “Let us greet one another properly, shall we?”

Strong, seeking fingertips lifted her chin determinedly, turning her to face him again. Tears blurred her vision, spilling over her bottom lashes as his firm lips gingerly brushed hers, testing, tempting. With that simple touch, mouth on skin, Gianni stroked her memory. A few, heated puzzle pieces locked, threatening to deliver her back to his paradise. Animalistic sex, the raw kind no one talked about, but counted on in dreams, night after aching night. Blythe recalled how Gianni fucked. Thoughts of their untamed and relentless couplings caused her stomach to clench in low and feminine places. Some part of her deigned to bring him into her body again.

“That’s the way,” he murmured, licking at the seam of mouth, lightly coaxing her to receive his tongue. And she did, opening for him as if she’d done it a million times. She grew pliant, stretching upward to wrap her arms around his thickly corded neck. His muscular arm curled beneath her shoulders gently, pressing her full breasts against his panting chest. Heartbeat against heartbeat. Pounding, pounding, and pounding, until they beat as one through the thin sheet separating her naked flesh from his. She could sense Gianni’s emotions through his touch, his joy in finding her overwhelming her own senses like a physical blow. Or could she blame it on dizzying lust? His other hand released her chin. Fingers traced her cheekbone, before combing through her long hair and knotting it in a careful fist.

Gianni brought her head back, arcing her throat to strengthen the kiss. She faintly remembered that he enjoyed her sucking his silken tongue, so she drew it deeply. His answering groan was all the confirmation she needed as she drew him closer. Her hands stroked across impenetrable shoulders, her lust-filled mind marveling at the hard press of his shoulder blades.

He drew her clinging hands away from his neck and wrapped them around his tight waist. Gianni still wore pants. However, she couldn't mistake his erection straining wickedly as he slowly lowered his solid weight between her now open thighs. She went on a step further, trailing her hands over his tight ass, Gianni’s muscles working beneath her hands as he languidly ground against her beckoning core while bracing his elbows on either side of her head.

“I’ve missed this,” she heard herself say, her voice spinning inside her head and her heart pounding wildly. Blythe’s mind filled with flickering images she remembered from their shared past, days of non-stop lovemaking ending with nights of erogenous games etched by sensual risks.

“Not nearly as much as I have, sweet Blythe,” he hissed in the way of a mated vampire. “The long months away from you have practically killed me.” His scent grew, burning sunshine on a summer day. Soft kisses glided over her bare shoulder, lowering to the curve of her breast. “I am vulnerable without you, painfully so. I am raw
with
you, and my emotions are commanded by your presence.” He moved one powerful hand around her ribcage before skimming her lower back as his sculpted mouth kissed its way to that sensitive flesh behind her ear. Fingers trailed downward, knowing her body better than she did. Bare skin touched bare skin. Until he massaged her ass the same way that she gripped his, mirroring her needy move to perfection. His kisses quickened, becoming fierce, as his thrusts increased between her trembling thighs. An over-whelming orgasm reached her feminine pinnacle, readying to take her away.

Right when a sense of doubt brushed her cloudy mind. “Gianni." She clamped down, hips bucking, fighting her tightening vagina. Squeeze, release, squeeze, release on nothing, since he still wore pants, had not pushed into her. But it didn’t matter, not when it felt this good. Nevertheless, somewhere in the back of her mind…something mattered. Again, a fragment wormed its way into her thoughts.