chapter Eleven
ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE
JOHNNY remembered when he reached the front door of his apartment that Lizette had changed the locks after he had gone in and taken his drum kit. Or more likely Dieter had. But either way, his key wasn’t going to work. See what happened when you let a woman into your life? She locked you out of your apartment. Okay, so maybe Lizette had locked him out because he’d faked his own death, but the point was, he didn’t like his world being disrupted. Even if he was the one who had started it.
Damn it. Feeling aroused and annoyed all at once because he was having emotions he didn’t entirely understand, he was fully prepared to break a window to get in, but Lizette held up a key.
“My apologies for the inconvenience,” she said politely, because Lizette was always polite. When she wasn’t yelling at him. Or letting him kiss her.
He wondered what she had been like in bed. If she had screamed or if she had been silent in her pleasure. Here was to finding out. “Thanks. I was just going to break the door down.”
She gave a cluck of disapproval that made him laugh. He pushed open the door, having a momentary fear that the place looked like crap, then realizing it didn’t make any difference. Lizette knew everything he owned, right down to his last pair of underwear. There was no impressing her at this point. Still, he was a little self-conscious about the fact that despite quitting smoking a month ago, there was still a stale lingering aftereffect of the cigarettes in his apartment. The drapes were drawn tightly closed, but he led her across the floor and pulled them open, wanting to see the moonlight spilling into the living room.
“Make yourself at home,” he told her. “Clearly Saxon isn’t here, and there is no sign he was.” The room was still and everything was undisturbed. Apparently Dieter put things back the way he found them as he check-listed other people’s shit. What a douchebag job.
“I suppose we should have realized that Saxon wouldn’t be able to enter the apartment,” she said, pulling the sweater off her shoulders one-handed.
“He would have just broken in if he wanted to crash here,” he reassured her, then realized that probably wasn’t reassuring to a woman like Lizette.
“There is a lot of breaking and entering going on,” she said, shooting him a long look.
“Being a vampire does have it advantages.” Lizette looked like she wanted to sit, but he desperately wanted a drink. He suspected he was still dehydrated from the night before. “Can I get you a drink? Have you had a hurricane yet? They’re the local classic.”
“No, I have not. What is in one?”
A crapload of alcohol. “Rum. It’s a sweet drink.” He was a rum kind of guy, though he usually didn’t add fruit juice to it. Drake always gave him a hard time about it, given that it was the guitar player who had been the pirate, not Johnny. But rum had a smoother flow to it than whiskey, and gin tasted like lighter fluid. Every man had his drink, but Lizette looked like she needed some pineapple juice added to her booze to take the edge off.
“Sure. I am thirsty.”
“How many rules are you breaking by being in here with me?” Johnny asked, moving into the kitchen and pulling ingredients out of the cupboard.
“More than I care to consider.”
“I’m sorry that you got wrapped up in all this, Lizette, I honestly am.” He was. He didn’t dig that they’d been drugged. He could only imagine how she must feel.
“Thank you. Though you aren’t ultimately responsible for what happened at the wedding reception.”
“It was my fault you were there. You were tracking me down.”
“Good point. So you need to make it up to me.” She leaned on the counter, the front of her blouse gaping a little, her tongue slipping across her lush lower lip.
Holy hell, she was flirting with him. He liked it.
“I can forward your vibrator to you when it arrives.” Johnny grinned, pouring rum into two glasses while Lizette blushed. “But that’s for next week. Tonight, I can think of even better ways I can make it up to you.”
“Is that so?” She propped her chin up with her hand and gazed out at him from under her thick lashes. “You will need to prove it to me.”
She had no idea who she was challenging. Johnny may not have been well educated or rich, but there were three things he prided himself on—his boxing, his drumming, and his sexual skill. Since he had no intention of punching Lizette and he was off work for the next three nights, he would have to make sure the final one counted. “I can do that.” He lifted the drink to her mouth. “Take a taste.”
Most women would insist on taking the glass from him, but she didn’t. She let him tilt the glass and she opened her mouth willingly, tilting her head to let the drink easily slide back down her throat. Johnny waited for her to hold her hand up or move her head away, but she didn’t, so when the glass was half empty he pulled it back, impressed. She licked the moisture off her lips.
“Mmm,” she said. “That’s tasty.”
“Let me see.” Johnny reached out and flicked his tongue across her bottom lip, the sweetness of the juice and the tang of the rum light notes to the heavy syrup of the blood he had added. It was delicious. Just like her.
He took a swallow straight from the glass, then offered her the rest. She willingly drank it.
“It’s making me warm,” she told him.
Her cheeks had gained color instantly, going from the smooth marble of her vampire complexion to a more human peachy cream. She was still alabaster and unflawed, but with a hint of color to her cheeks and her neck. The tops of her breasts, which were revealed when her blouse shifted with her movements, looked warm and healthy, a vein visible and pumping her sweet blood with hypnotic vigor.
“Where are you warm?” he asked her, taking his finger and tracing it across that blue trail beneath her flesh.
“It seems to be settling in my hands and between my thighs.”
Again, he had to say he loved her honesty. Johnny’s cock tightened in his jeans. “Not a bad place to feel warm.”
“Not at all.”
Johnny kissed her, still letting her rest on her hand while he took her mouth, his eyes drifting closed. She sighed against his lips. When he pulled back, she stood up and dropped her hands from her chin.
“Is this going to be a challenge with these handcuffs on?”
“No.” In fact, he found it arousing.
“I suppose I cannot remove my blouse.”
Oh, no. He was not about to settle for Lizette half-dressed. He wanted to see every inch of her bared out for him. “I can fix that.” Reaching back, he pulled a knife out of a drawer. He didn’t use it for cooking, but the apartment had come furnished and sometimes it came in handy. Like right now.
Her eyes widened. “You cannot be serious. It will ruin my blouse.”
“Your blouse is already ruined. There is no way you’ll be able to dry-clean the blood out of it.”
“But what will I wear after?” But then Lizette shook her head. “Never mind. I did not say that. I’m going to be spontaneous. I am going to enjoy the moment and not worry about the consequences. It will be good for my soul, yes?”
She looked so earnest, so nervous, that Johnny leaned down and kissed her gently, his own emotional response a little puzzling to him. How was it that he could want to protect Lizette and pound the hell out of her with his cock all at the same time? It seemed weird to want to have rough sex with someone and yet cuddle with her before and after. But that was how he felt, and she was clearly experiencing her own sense of mixed feelings and anxiety.
“Yes,” he told her. “It will be good for your soul and your body.” He brushed her hair back off her forehead. “It’s going to be good for mine, too, you know. You make me want to be less of an idiot. More respectable. That’s no small feat.”
She gave a soft laugh. “You make me want to relax.”
“Win-win, baby. Now hold still so I don’t cut you.” It was just a matter of slicing down the one sleeve, then letting her slip out of the other, and Lizette was free of the bloodied fabric, her black lace bra displaying her small breasts damn well. She had a slender body, and the skirt she was wearing accentuated her narrow waist. Johnny had never thought he had a particular type with women—if he did, it was for big-breasted, ballsy blondes. But Lizette was nothing like that, and yet, there was something so intensely feminine about her that he decided she was definitely the most beautiful woman he had ever met. The delicacy of the bra, the hourglass waist, the smooth pale arms, and the red nails that matched her red lips, it was all turning him on a whole hell of a lot.
Time seemed to be standing still, and there were no distractions, no noises from outside, no light to take away his focus from her. There was just a moonlit room and a beautiful woman who was crazy enough to get it on with him. One who was not wearing panties, if he remembered correctly.
As they kissed again, he let his hands wander, up her soft back, over her shoulder, to where he peeled her bra strap off, then back down to her waist. The hands that were still cuffed together were clasped, fingers interwoven for ease, and her free hand splayed across his chest. She seemed as intrigued about exploring his body as he was about hers, though neither of them was in a particular rush. Johnny didn’t want to wham-bam her. He wanted to take his time, ensure she was enjoying herself, stretch it out as long as possible so that he would really have something to remember her by.
Once Lizette went back to Paris, he most likely would never see her again, and he wanted to savor the moment. He stripped his T-shirt off as much as their cuffs would allow and let it dangle, wanting his skin on hers, wanting to be as close to her as possible.
It felt like they were dancing, Lizette thought. Like they were engaged in a sensual tango in a dank basement a hundred years ago. Though she would have never done something like that. Since the death of Jean-Baptiste, she may have had sex rarely, but she had never been intimate. She had never taken the physical and the emotional exploration of a man and blended them together the way she had Johnny were doing here. His eyes were glassy in the moonlight, and he looked at her like he thought she was beautiful. She felt beautiful. She felt not reckless, but confident in her capitulation. Maybe it was lack of quality sleep, or having been drugged and the knowledge that she had already slept with Johnny even if she didn’t remember it, but she didn’t feel nervous. She didn’t feel tense or awkward.
She felt aroused, eager, languid. It was a glorious feeling, and as his hands wandered over her flesh, she explored his as well, admiring the muscles in his chest, his shoulders, his biceps. There was evidence in the muscular strength of his mortal days spent in the boxing ring, and she tried to imagine him sweaty and intense, bouncing on his feet. Never would she have imagined she would be attracted by that thought, but she was, and she had been intrigued when she’d read his history in the VA dossier. Running down his arms, she gripped the belt loops of his jeans as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth to mate with hers. The thrust and retreat made the warm ache between her thighs grow more urgent, and she shifted restlessly, well aware of her lack of panties. There was no protective barrier between her desires and the cool rush of air-conditioned air.
Johnny seemed to pick up on her subtle nonverbal cue, because suddenly his hand was strolling up her leg beneath her skirt as he kissed her, and she instinctively turned her knee out to give him access. It was forward for her, but she never even hesitated. If she were going to have sex with a case subject in an apartment he was not allowed access to, she was damn well going to make the most of that decision. That way, when she removed herself from the case, she would at least have gotten the pleasure for the pain of stepping down.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his hand pausing on her inner thigh, charming her with the thoughtfulness of his question.
He clearly wanted to make sure they stopped before the point of no return if she wasn’t sure, and she appreciated that. But she had no intention of denying herself at this point.
“Yes, please continue.” Lizette tilted her head back, then gave a little moan when he simultaneously cupped her sex while nipping at her ear. It wasn’t a bite to draw blood. It was a questing, teasing gesture, possibly to test her tolerance, or maybe just because he wanted to play. Whatever the reason, Lizette enjoyed the foreplay, her body humming with anticipation, moisture deep within her spreading over Johnny’s finger as he stroked inside her.
“I don’t mourn the loss of your panties at all,” Johnny murmured into her ear.
“At the moment, I don’t either,” she said, her voice sounding breathless to her. His forearm pressed against her, trapped between them, and Lizette found herself moving her hips, matching his strokes with a rhythmic rocking, so she increased the impact. It wasn’t something she normally would have done, but it felt so obvious, so natural, that she just went with it.
“That’s it,” he said, his tongue trailing down her neck and finding the slight swell of her breast above her bra.
Then he bit her, without warning, sinking his fangs right into the plump flesh, causing her to cry out in ecstasy.
“Oh, mon cher!” she said, without thought, the endearment slipping out purely meant as appreciation for the way he made her feel. “That feels wonderful.”
No man had bit her before during sex. It wasn’t entirely proper, as vampires didn’t feed off of each other, but she had heard it was a highly erotic experience that many indulged in. But Jean-Baptiste had thought it crass, common, and since his death, there had been no man she had trusted enough or let go enough with to allow such a thing.
She hadn’t allowed Johnny so much as he had just taken, but she couldn’t believe what the sensation of his fangs puncturing her skin had done to her. It was like having an orgasm, only better. It made perfect sense to her why vampires indulged in biting each other, because it was like he was drawing pleasure up out of her on a pulley, each suck dragging from every inch of her body a tense, wiry ecstasy. She felt it everywhere.
Because he was drawing on her blood, sucking with enough intensity for her to feel the tug and pull, but not enough to cause pain, he didn’t reply. Instead, his thumb moved over her clitoris and stroked the swollen nub. The stimulation both above and below the waist had her clinging to him, her body tight and hot and ready to explode. An orgasm was imminent if she didn’t stop him, and she did not want to come. Not yet.
“Please.” She grabbed his wrist and tried to move her hips away.
For a second he didn’t respond, but then he stepped back, breathing hard, his hand still on her thigh, his mouth red with her blood, a trickle running down his lower lip onto his chin.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Even as he spoke, his eyes drifted closed. “Did I hurt you?” His tongue came out to stroke from one corner of his lower lip to the other, lapping up her blood.
He looked so aroused, so intense, so clearly enjoying her taste, that Lizette forgot what she was going to say. She just watched him, goose bumps racing along her skin as she realized that it didn’t matter that he had removed his finger from inside her. Her inner muscles were quivering, her hips rocking forward, her breast aching from his point of entry as she watched him taste the very essence of her. It was overwhelming, and she reached for him, wanting her own taste.
Lizette gave him a long, deep kiss, capturing his mouth roughly, plunging her tongue inside to taste her own blood mingled with the rum. His hands gripped her hard about the waist and he was making a deep, barely audible sound of approval in the back of his throat. When she broke the kiss, she tilted her head and smiled at him, her eyelids heavy, handcuff jangling.
Then she bit his neck, letting her fangs drop in like steel into butter, the skin giving way with ease. When the first drops of his blood flooded over her, she almost fell backwards from the pure intensity of pleasure. It was intoxicating, and she sucked harder, feeling him tense against her, his grip tightening, his moans rising in volume and frequency.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he told her.
Afraid to stay too long, take too much, lose control, she pulled back. Her intention to lick the remaining sweet drops off her lips was thwarted by Johnny descending on her mouth with an urgency that sent her falling backwards into the kitchen counter. She grappled to hold on to his waist, then realized she was in the perfect position to undo his jeans. Yanking harder than was strictly necessary, she had them unbuttoned and the zipper down while they kissed, his hand popping her bra clasp on her back. Then he bit her other breast.
Oh dear. Lizette tried to hold on, tried to keep herself cognizant, but she was losing herself to some strange, desperate, urgent desire to have Johnny everywhere on her body, inside her and sucking her dry. When he pulled back, she shoved his jeans down and bent over, dropping her fangs into his hip, along that mysteriously sexy muscle that men had which seemed to act as a directional to where their erection was. His jeans were caught, but she could feel his bulge pressing against her shoulder and breast as she let the tangy sweetness of his blood rush past her.
Her body felt hot and hyperaware, her hand shaking a little as she further freed him of his jeans and his briefs. When she broke away this time, he lifted her up, completely off the ground, his vampiric strength in evidence.
As he held her there, eyes racing over her breasts, he said, “Take your skirt off so I can fuck you.”
She wouldn’t have expected such brazen words to do anything but make her either offended or uncomfortable, or both. But instead, they only served to make her more desperate to have him do just that. She tossed her hair out of her way, and reached back to unzip her skirt. One small shove at the hips and it fell to the floor. It felt perfectly bizarre and perfectly arousing to be a foot or two off the ground, naked save for a lace bra, which was sliding down off her shoulders, her moisture stroked to the forefront by his touch glistening on her thighs.
“What now?” she asked him, lifting her leg to wrap it around his hip. She repeated the process with the other leg.
“Now I do this.” He shifted slightly, then suddenly he was thrusting deep inside her.
“Merde alors!” she swore, which should have embarrassed her, but didn’t, because she was beyond caring about anything but how goddamn good he made her feel.
Digging her fingernails into his shoulders and holding on, she threw her head back and accepted his hard cock into her body. There was no way he was suffering from any sort of Irish curse. She may not have been around the block more than once or twice, but she was informed enough to understand that he was in possession of that which would be the envy of many a man. She was certainly feeling most appreciative.
So much so, that she had an orgasm.
Johnny felt Lizette’s muscles tightening around him, her head thrown back, hair tumbling freely into the air, and he pumped harder, enjoying the view of her pure pleasure.
He didn’t think that he had ever been so turned on, so completely lost in the moment of sex with a woman. Her face was very expressive, her eyes doelike, her sounds unchecked and raw. He hadn’t expected the elegant curtain to be pulled back quite so easily, yet all it had taken was one bite and she was gone, as far into the rush of lust as he was.
Now she was squeezing him everywhere, nails digging into his flesh, muscles clamping onto his cock in a way that had his mouth hot with saliva and his balls tight. She felt so fucking good and he was losing control.
Not wanting to come so soon himself, the minute she quieted down, he carried her a few feet to the area rug in his living room and laid her down on it. The bedroom was too far, but he didn’t expect her to take it on the kitchen tiles. She gave a soft moan of protest when he pulled back out of her entirely. Like she thought he wasn’t going to come back. The irony of course was that he couldn’t leave her.
But he didn’t want to think about that. He just wanted to think about sinking back inside the warmth of her body and making her come a second time. Three was his current record with her, according to his fictionalized version of what had happened, so he wanted to best himself. What guy wouldn’t?
“Lizette, open your eyes,” he commanded as he plunged into her again. He wanted to see those expressive inky pools, wanted to see how good he made her feel. It mattered to him.
She did, but it clearly took effort, her arms slack, thighs sinking farther apart. She was enjoying herself, but in a slower, slumberous way, and taking it nice and pretty was not what he had in mind at the moment. Since he had so thoroughly enjoying biting her and she had so obviously liked it, too, he dipped down and sank into her shoulder, enjoying the hiss of approval from her right along with the first taste of tangy fluid rushing past his lips.
But she surprised him by raising her head and biting him right back on the opposite shoulder.
Holy shit. Johnny paused to close his eyes and just enjoy the ecstasy, the connection, the intimate and primal joining. It felt base and elevated all at the same time. Lizette bit him harder, her heels kicking into the backs of his thighs like she wanted him harder, deeper.
Still with his teeth in her skin, Johnny rolled her so she was on top, and while he’d intended her to stop there, she continued to roll until they were across the room, crashing into the coffee table with his hip and shoulder. They were both on their sides, him still thrusting inside her, Lizette pulling her fangs out to give a satisfied cry as she exploded in another orgasm. Her chin, her chest, her teeth, were all saturated with both of their blood, and he licked his lip, gritting his teeth. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, all that red against the pale, smooth white of her vampire flesh, her normally red lips stained even darker, a gruesome eroticism that only a vampire would understand. Biting was more intense than oral sex for mortals, and looking down at her, his puncture marks in her shoulder, her cries of anguished passion, he couldn’t resist his own body anymore.
Leaning down and taking her mouth, blending her blood with his, her tongue with his, her body with his, Johnny exploded in the most intense orgasm he’d ever had.
Stunned, they both lay there intertwined for a good two minutes, blinking at each other. Finally Johnny reached out and wiped some of the blood off her lip and licked it. “That. Was. Amazing.” There were actually no words to describe how off-the-charts awesome that had been.
“Indeed.”
It was such an understated, typical-Lizette response, he gave a choked laugh. “I think I found the most authentically French thing in the Quarter,” he told her.
“What? Me?” She brushed her hair back off her forehead, her breasts still rising rapidly from their vigorous encounter.
“Your vagina.” He grinned and waited for the reaction.
It was immediate.
“Ah!” She gasped in indignation and smacked him on the shoulder. “How dare you!”
“Or as I like to call it ‘La Pussy.’”
“I like to call you ‘L’Asshole.’ Note the liaison due to the vowel sound.”
That made Johnny laugh even harder and he shifted, pulling out of her. “You’re killing me.”
“No, I am going to kill you. You are outrageous and inappropriate.”
“So you keep telling me. But I actually think you kind of like that about me.” He winked at her. He did think she liked it. It was like he said all the things she might think in her head but didn’t allow herself to say out loud.
“I think you are arrogant and insufferable.” Then she gave a smile. “But you are also right. I cannot exactly explain why I like you, but I do.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t suffer from low self-esteem.” Johnny stroked her arm lightly and reveled in her smile. This felt good. “Maybe you like me for my stellar penis.”
“It is adequate.”
That was a ringing endorsement from Lizette. He’d take it. This felt amazing, all of it. The sex, the teasing, the comfortableness of lying next to her.
If it had been like this last night, no wonder he had handcuffed himself to her.
She was the bomb in bed. Or in this case, on the floor.
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked, because they both looked like a crime scene. There was drying blood smeared all over.
“That would be wonderful.”
Johnny sat up and waited for her to follow, then he stood. It was then she seemed to remember that they were handcuffed, which meant they would be showering together, because she said, “I would prefer to shower alone.”
“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “I’ve already seen you naked. In fact, you happen to be naked right now.” He put his free hand on her smooth ass to further prove his point.
“I know, but sometimes a woman requires privacy.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s not like you’re taking a crap, you’re in the shower. With soap and water and a sponge. That is sexy. What’s the big deal?”
Her tongue clucked. When her tongue clucked, Johnny was starting to realize there was no point in arguing with Lizette. She had made her mind up about some moral piece of whatever and she wasn’t going to back down. But she didn’t say anything. Maybe because she was realizing that it was a fortunate thing they were vampires, because neither one of them was ever going to need to use the toilet like a mortal would. Even he had to admit that would have been awkward.
And now he had officially killed the mood. Johnny mentally kicked himself. They’d been on such a sex high and he had fucked it up by pushing the point and mentioning crap. He was L’Asshole. So he lightly kissed her. “Never mind. Of course you can shower by yourself if you want. I’ll just sit outside the shower curtain, okay? We can take turns.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” Even if it was completely stupid, in his opinion. But he was willing to do it for her.
Which was how he found himself sitting on the cold porcelain tub, freezing his ass off, chin in hand. While his other arm dangled behind him getting hit by the warm spray and flopping around at Lizette’s will as she jerked him to and fro, washing her body. Washing her body. Damn. He really wanted to be a party to that process. He wanted to squeeze gel soap into his hands and slide them all over her, from head to toe. He wanted to lick between her thighs and listen to that catch in her breath she gave.
Now he was sitting naked on the edge of the cold tub with a boner.
Lame. That’s what this was. And honestly, he was pretty damn sure he would have just ignored her protestations and jumped in anyway with any other woman because they had already had sex. That entitled him to shower sharing. But for whatever stupid reason he just perched like a naked bird feeling bitter while his arm went numb from hanging there in the cuffs.
“Finished. May I have a towel?” She popped her head out from behind the curtain.
Damn it, she was beautiful. It was making him grouchy. But he stood up without hesitation and grabbed her a towel. “Need help drying off?”
“No, thank you.”
Of course she didn’t. Because that would be fun for him. “I’m coming in,” he told her, the dried blood on his shoulder and neck starting to pull at his skin. He was just about out of patience.
But she was quick, emerging from the shower wrapped in the towel. “It’s all yours.”
They traded positions, and she managed to avoid any contact with him whatsoever in the transition.
Funny how when he was the one standing in there, his arm was still stretched to capacity and he was hunched over. She had half of his arm out of the shower as she toweled her hair dry, while he felt like a chimpanzee trying to learn to use tools. He was all bent over and bouncing around on the balls of his feet trying to get some shampoo onto his head one-handed.
What the fuck.
Her French * had clearly whipped him.
Because he wasn’t complaining. He was just one-handed washing while his arm went completely numb and water slapped him in the face.
Lizette didn’t offer to dry him off. Not that he expected her to, but it would have been a nice gesture.
“Our clothes are in the kitchen,” she told him, still burrito-wrapped in her towel, her damp hair falling over her shoulders in waves.
“Your clothes are trashed. How about I find something of mine for you to wear.” Not bothering with a towel, because well, he liked to be naked, and she couldn’t stop him, he went over to his dresser.
Rifling through his T-shirt drawer, he found a Union Jack shirt. “Oh, look, here’s one for you.”
“Ha-ha. Aside from the subject matter, I cannot wear a T-shirt with these handcuffs.”
She was right. She would need a sweatshirt or something, which was ridiculous because it was ten million degrees outside. “You’re going to have to wear a T-shirt. It’s too hot for anything else.” He found one that was loose, and just a plain gray cotton. “Here, try this.”
Lizette turned her back slightly, which was ridiculous, but she did, and edged her towel to her waist to put the shirt on. Of course, her left arm fit in normally but the right one couldn’t, so her flank was completely exposed. But Johnny could fix that. He rifled through his dresser and found a stapler.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding alarmed.
“Trust me.” He stapled the shirt together, closing the gap from waist to arm pit. It looked weird, but she was in, and it was clean, even though the shoulder was bunching.
“But . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t have my bra on.”
He hated to tell her that no one would ever notice. She wasn’t exactly a busty chick. But he just told her quite honestly, “You can’t tell. I swear.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The shirt’s really baggy, there is no way you can tell.”
“I feel ridiculous. I wish I had panties.”
He wasn’t sure what the one statement had to do with the other, but he could at least fix the second problem. “Do you want to borrow a pair of my underwear?”
“No! Of course not. That would be . . .”
“Inappropriate?” he asked, pulling a pair out of his drawer for himself. He bent over and stepped into them. Of course, the motion caused her to have to bend over, too, putting her face in very close proximity to his cock.
This had potential.
“I know precisely what you are thinking.”
“Yeah?” Good, then he wouldn’t even have to ask or suggest.
“It is not going to happen.”
Damn. “You’re sure? Because I would return the favor.”
“No. That is not something I have ever done.”
Was she kidding? She’d never blown a guy? Wow. “Because you think it’s gross or because it’s just never happened?”
He wasn’t sure how anyone could go several hundred years and never at least have the option of sucking cock presented to her, but then again, they didn’t move in the same circles. Maybe Paris was dead these days. His unintended pun made him want to grin, but he controlled himself and just stood in his underwear waiting for her response.
“I have limited experience with men, as I mentioned. Jean-Baptiste, he considered that particular action reserved for a mistress, not a lady.”
Jean-Baptiste sounded like a pretentious prick. “So wait a minute, you’re telling me he’d let a prostitute blow him, but not you? That he wasn’t even faithful to you?”
She swallowed visibly. Her words were defensive, but her tone was soft, maybe even sad. “Yes. But that was the way of our world. I never expected him to be satisfied with me alone.”
That was fucked-up. “But let me guess . . . you were expected to be faithful to him.”
“Of course.” She looked like that was a ludicrous question. “I never wanted to be with another man. I was in love with him.”
Johnny wanted to ask why, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know the guy, and she was right, times had been different. So he concentrated on what that meant. “So you never have, but have you ever wanted to?”
“Certainly. It has crossed my mind on more than one occasion that I would like to have the experience. I would like to know if I am capable of creating that sort of a response from a man.”
She had never given oral sex to any other man, yet she was open to the idea. That was the hottest thing he’d ever heard in his entire life. He could be the first man she put her mouth around and sucked to oblivion. An erection sprang to life, and he wondered if there was a casual way to ask to her to reconsider dropping to her knees.
“When I am ready, I will let you know,” she said.
For some reason, that did something really weird to the interior of his chest cavity. Johnny brushed her hair back off her cheek and looked into her deep brown eyes. “I really like you, Lizette.” It was a completely cornball, lame-ass thing to say, but it was how he felt.
She smiled. “That’s not going to make me change my mind.”
The ironic thing was, for once he didn’t have an angle, nor was he joking around. He didn’t even bother to explain that to her. He just found himself saying earnestly, “I wish you didn’t have to go back to France. I wish we had more time to spend together.”
The smile fell off her face and she tilted her head, studying him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I want more time to get to know you, both in bed and out. I don’t want you to leave yet.” He took her hand and held it a little more aggressively than romantically. But he had a point to make.
Her expression softened. “I don’t think that I want to leave yet either.”
“Then maybe it’s a good thing you canceled your flight.” He kissed the corner of her mouth because it looked delectable. She looked delectable.
“Perhaps it is.” She sighed. “But I only have a room at the hotel through tomorrow.”
“You can stay with me,” he said, because he was crazy. Crazy about her and just plain crazy. Because never once, in his entire life, had he offered for a woman to stay with him. Not even his sister.
So the fact that he had just suggested to Lizette that she shack up with him for an undetermined amount of time meant that he had completely lost it. Her body had numbed his brain. There was no other explanation.
Of course, there was another explanation, but he refused to consider it.
Which was why he suddenly found himself hustling her out of the bedroom after he yanked on his jeans and grabbed a clean shirt to take with him. “You know, I just had a thought. There is a metal shop down on Rampart. I bet they can cut us out of these cuffs. Your skin is starting to chafe.”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, we have to get out of them sooner or later.” He handed her a pair of basketball shorts from his dresser to wear.
“What is this?”
“Shorts for you. Unless you want to put your skirt back on. But the shorts might help with your concern over a lack of panties.”
“Oh, that is true.” She sat down and pulled them on. “Thank you, that is very sweet of you.”
Feeling like he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, Johnny led her through the apartment and out the front door, feeling much better when the sultry night air hit his skin.
And since they were passing the bar with a vampire bartender on the way back to his place, he decided he needed a drink. Bad. Like a big gigantic drink that would make him forget that for a split second, he had felt pleased that Lizette had canceled her plane ticket and ordered lingerie sent to his apartment. He wanted to obliterate the idea that he might actually be happy living with a woman from here to forever. With Lizette. That she was the woman.
Holy crap.
Johnny yanked the door open to Fahy’s and held it open for Lizette, anxiety crawling up and scratching him on the balls. “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” he asked, even though he’d already pulled open the door. If she said no, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.
He had just freaked himself the fuck out.
And Lizette was going to be staying with him.