A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(80)

The breath caught in her throat, her chest hurting. “I’m going to miss you, Vampire.”

His thumb traced her bottom lip. “And I you. Perhaps you will allow me to visit from time to time. If there is no other male in your life, or in your bed?”

“I think I’d like that.” She pressed her cheek into his hand. His skin was cool again, but his eyes so warm. The thought of leaving him saddened her in a way she couldn’t comprehend.

He leaned forward slowly, drawing out the anticipation as his lips brushed hers in a whisper-light touch, then moved against them more firmly, more insistently.

Need stirred inside her, and she began to tremble from the knowledge that this might be the last time they were alone like this. As if he heard her thoughts, or shared them, both of his hands slid into her hair, and the kiss turned harder, hotter, until her arms were around his neck, her mouth devouring his as his devoured hers.

The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, cradled against his chest as he rose and started up the stairs.

Her arms still around his neck, she kissed the corner of his eye, and his cheek, pressing her forehead against his temple. He smelled so good. Being in his arms felt so . . . right. For this moment, for this night, he was hers. Tomorrow could wait.

He carried her into a bedroom that had been furnished with two sets of bunk beds. Beds that, amazingly, appeared to have been recently made. But she remembered who this house belonged to. Neo. And she knew this must be temporary housing for escapees. A house now devoid of furniture on the main level, thanks to her.

Arturo set her on her feet in the middle of the room and took her into his arms, claiming her mouth as she claimed his. Heat rushed through her veins, weakening her even as it strengthened. Emotion pulsed inside her chest, a need, a desperation, to memorize every touch—the warmth of his lips on hers, the rough scrape of his tongue, the swelling of his fangs as they crowded his mouth, crowding their kiss, the firm brush of his fingers as they tangled possessively, tenderly in her hair. She vowed to remember every moment of this and everything about him—his warm, almond scent, his cool, crisp taste, the gleam of passion in his eyes as he gripped her head and rained kisses over every inch of her face.

He pulled back, still holding her in that gentle vise, his gaze traveling the path his lips had just taken. His eyes pulsed with longing, and the same sadness that throbbed inside her, the knowledge that this might well be their last night together, whether all went well tomorrow, or terribly, terribly wrong.

Quinn lifted her hands, cupping his jaw, running her thumbs over his cheeks as she memorized his face in return—the strong bones, the lovely gold of his Mediterranean skin, his dark hair, his straight nose, his full, beautiful mouth. And his dark eyes, golden brown in the firelight, centered white with hunger yet alive with tenderness and yearning.

His eyes beckoned her into their warm depths, promising the things that had so long been missing from her life—tenderness, closeness, affection. Acceptance. She’d known more of those with him than with anyone, including the parents who’d raised her. The thought of losing that again, of losing him, ripped something loose inside of her.

She didn’t want to feel this way. She refused to need anyone. And she didn’t. But Heaven help her, she would miss him.

“Vampire,” she breathed.

He kissed her forehead, then pulled back, a softness in his eyes that melted her from the inside out.

“Turo,” he said, whisper-soft. “You called me Turo, before and I would hear it on your lips again.”

“Turo . . .” She smiled slowly, the pressure building against her ribs. “Make love to me, Turo. I don’t ever want to forget.”

His own smile bloomed, mirroring hers, his eyes deep wells she could drown in. “You will not forget.” Slowly, he pulled off her shirt but left her bra, trailing his mouth over her shoulder, across her chest, into the hollow at the base of her throat, as if he would taste every inch of her.

She gripped his waist, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his flesh against her palms. Pulling back, he released her to remove his shirt, meeting her gaze with that slow, seductive smile. Reaching for him, she pressed her hands against his kiss-warmed flesh, reveling in the hard play of muscles beneath her palms.

Leaning forward, she kissed his chest, tasting him, exploring, memorizing, adoring him as he had her, her lips on his chest, his shoulders, his biceps.

With a groan, part pleasure, part frustration, he unfastened her bra, then, to her consternation, turned her away from him.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, then understood when he brushed her long hair over one shoulder and pressed his mouth against her back shoulder blade. As his lips moved down her spine, his hands found her br**sts, kneading them, playing with them as he held her close.

She slid her fingers over the backs of his caressing hands, running her palms up his forearms, touching him even as he touched, kissed, and fondled her. As his kisses reached the back waistband of her jeans, his fingers found her button and zipper.

“Step forward, tesoro mio,” he said softly, his voice husky and sexy as hell. “Grasp the post of the bed.”

Heat rushed deep into her body and, intrigued despite herself, she stepped forward. She glanced back at him. “What are you going to do?”

The small, devilish smile combined with the heat in his eyes had her pulse soaring, her body dampening, and her legs turning to jelly. Whatever he had in mind, she wanted.