Set up: after Niki was sent away from Lonny Pennyweather's (vampire) house--this scene can be viewed HERE--Sabrina has been recovering from her night. Let's peek in and see what Vasyl and Sabrina are doing now . . .
His hand clutched mine once more and kissed it. “I am not angry, Sabrina. Not at you, at any rate. You were a victim. And what he got was what he deserved. You need not feel regret over anything that happened.” He moved closer and gently kissed me on the lips. I'd forgotten what his kisses did to me; they made me feel wonderful, and at the same time safe, and absolutely loved. “Are you feeling better?”
I nodded. “Yeah. My ribs don't hurt any more.”
“I am happy to hear this.” He shifted so that he was up against me, and kissed me again, one hand feather-light against my jaw. The kiss helped me forget whatever it was we'd been talking about. “Take off your gloves,” he whispered. “I want that you should be able to resist me, should you want to.”
I blinked at him, not exactly surprised by his request, but at the realization of what he meant to do. I felt my stomach tumble hard. This was it. I was unprepared for his attentions, knowing full well he had waited all this time. I pulled off my gloves and set them aside. I knew no matter what, I wouldn't resist him; I had looked forward to his love-making since he began overtures toward me.
He kissed my wrists, and then dropped my right hand and took my left arm in both hands and kissed eagerly—as though my arm were corn on the cob—up to the bend in my elbow and kissed his old bite. I was stunned as I instantly went into an orgasm so strong I gasped and arched my back. Shit, what's going to happen when we finally do it? Will I instantaneously combust?
His one arm curled around me, catching me from falling back onto the bed; the other hand went to my crotch pressing and massaging me, helping turn the orgasm into an even stronger one. His lips were on my throat, whispering in French, “Magnifique, mon amour . . . magnifique . . .” as though encouraging me through the gratification. Whatever he'd said, it was marvelous and seemed to go with the throes of ecstasy I was experiencing.
The knock at the door interrupted us. It was a good thing I was pretty much done, or I'd have killed them about then.
Vasyl looked toward the door. “What is it?” he asked almost languidly.
“Your food, my lord,” the voice was familiar. It was Chris. I was certain of it. I was glad that he had somehow made it back here, and was—for all that I could tell—alright.
Vasyl launched himself off the bed and answered the door. I heard the low tone of a male voice out in the hall. It sounded like Chris, but now I wasn't sure. I would know once I touched the tray who had brought it. Vasyl spoke quickly to whoever it was, assuring them that I was fine. “Much improved,” he said and edged back through the door.
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