A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(81)

Long fingers slid her jeans down to her thighs, then returned for her panties. “Step back, cara. Lean over.”

Oh my. She did as he directed, feeling oddly more exposed with her shoes on and her pants around her knees than she probably would have if he’d first removed all her clothes.

His hands gripped her hips, his mouth continuing its tender mapping of her anatomy, covering first one nether cheek with his kisses, then the other, then spreading her wide and running his rough tongue in between, his fangs scraping lightly over her flesh.

Finally, finally, his tongue found the part of her body that awaited his attention the most impatiently. He stroked between her legs, delving his tongue inside of her until she was panting with need for more.

“Turo.”

He pulled back, and, a moment later, she felt his finger stroking her wetness. When it slid inside, she groaned with hot satisfaction.

“I need more,” she gasped. “I need all of you.”

His hands slid down the backs of her thighs, his touch less of tenderness, more of need, a hot, desperate need that matched her own.

She felt him rise, heard the zip of his pants. And then he was sliding inside of her—thick, and long, and gloriously hard.

“Turo.”

He swept her hair off of her neck and bit her suddenly, a piercingly sweet pleasure, and she cried out as he pulled, and she came, contracting hard and fast around him.

A moment later, he was gone, pulled out of her, and she was holding on to the bedpost for dear life, gasping for breath.

“What are you doing?”

“Lift your foot.”

She did and he removed her boots and socks, one after the other, then pulled off her remaining clothes. He undressed himself and a moment later, he was sweeping her into his arms, laying her down on the narrow bottom bunk, bumping his head against the top as he followed her onto the small, cramped space.

He let out some kind of Italian swearword, then rolled his eyes at himself, making her giggle.

Laughter lit his eyes. “How I love that sound, tesoro mio.”

Grinning at him, watching him with incredible tenderness, Quinn parted her knees, and he settled himself between them, finding her, entering her again, with one smooth, perfect stroke.

Quinn cried out, arching into him, holding him close as he nuzzled her neck, then sunk his fangs, drawing her blood on a thrill of ecstasy. That quickly, her body began a second spiral up. But he pulled his fangs from her neck, instead brushing his warm nose against her cheek and laying more kisses on her cheek and jaw as he drove into her.

“Harder, Turo, harder.”

He complied, his harsh breath in her ear as he drove her up, seeking his own release.

“Bella,” he groaned, his body tightening in that way she was coming to recognize, that way that meant he was close.

He pressed his cheek to hers, and she held him tight as they climbed higher than she’d ever gone, up to the sun, bathing in the warmth, the heat. A heat that flowed through her, filling her with light, with life.

She came in an explosion of color, her world fracturing and knitting back together different than it had been before. She felt different. Reborn.

Arturo collapsed, his face against her neck, his lips pressed to her shoulder. For a long time, they stayed like that. She didn’t want to let him go, and he showed no sign of wanting to leave.

Eventually, he moved, though only to nuzzle her neck. “If you could live without food,” he said quietly, “I would beg you to create a bubble for us alone. All I would ever need is you.”

She kissed his temple. “I will miss you.” And she’d never meant anything more in her life.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out of her, then rolled to his side and took her with him. “Sleep, Quinn. I would hold you one last night.”

Nestling against his warmth, Quinn’s eyes grew heavy, and she gave in to the sweet exhaustion that tried to pull her under.

Her last thought as she fell asleep: When she left Vamp City, she would be leaving a piece of her heart behind.

Quinn woke to the feel of cool lips brushing against hers. Opening her eyes, she found Arturo bending over her, fully dressed.

“Awaken, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a small smile, warmth and something deeper in his eyes. Affection.

“Is it morning?” she asked groggily. How was she supposed to tell in this place?

“It is. And I must go.”

She struggled to clear her mind, struggled to sit up. “It’s the equinox.”

“Yes. And Cristoff has gone off the rails and is demanding my appearance. Plus Grant and Sheridan Blackstone refuse to accompany you to the Focus.”

“What?”

“They sent you a book.” He lifted an eyebrow. “One they claim will tell you all you need to know, but it looks identical to the one Grant gave me for you before.”

She smiled ruefully, understanding. “A History of Witchcraft in America.”

“Yes.” He looked at her curiously.

“I can use it to communicate with them. It actually might work.” By writing across the pages with the tip of her finger, she would be able to communicate long-distance with a sorcerer on the other end. A writing that none but another sorcerer could see. Sorcerer’s text, Grant had called it. Sheridan could feed her the ritual that way.

“Do you have to go to Cristoff?”