Lover Arisen (Black Dagger Brotherhood #20)(84)

Click.

As she hit the switch and things got dimmer, she looked through her open door to the stairwell. In an instant, she was back in that dream, hearing noises, going downstairs… seeing that shadow behind her in the mirror—

A huge shape stepped into her field of vision, and she started to yell. But Balthazar’s voice cut through the panic.

“Erika! What’s wrong?”

She was so relieved it was him that she reached out and grabbed his forearms. Then, before she looked like a fool, she pulled herself together.

“Sorry. Sorry—I’m sorry…” Babble, babble. “I don’t know what my problem is.”

“Oh really?” he said softly. “Then I’ve got a helluva list to show you.”

She laughed a little. And then she wasn’t smiling, although not because her mind was trying to scare itself.

Balthazar had traded his sheet for one of her towels, which considering his size made it seem like she’d hung her rods with handkerchiefs. He smelled like Dial soap and her own shampoo… and he was so beautiful, his body all cuts and hard angles, veins and muscle.

“Kiss me,” she said.

She didn’t have to ask twice. His mouth was on hers and oh, God, it was even better than it had been downstairs. He was raw hunger and urgency—and he was right. He was the best she’d ever had and they hadn’t even gone horizontal yet.

She could fix that.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him back into her bedroom, to her bed.

“Erika…” he said. “I want you.”

“Me, too.” She shook her head to clear it. “I mean, I want—well, you—you know what, I’m not very good at this.”

He cupped her face in his broad hands. “You could have fooled me. I think you’re perfect.”

Lowering his head again, they went back to the kissing, and the next thing she knew they were lying down and he was on top of her. His body was so heavy, but the mattress was soft—not that she would have cared if she’d been on a brick walkway. Splitting her legs, he settled right between them—and flannel boxers were no real barrier to his stiff erection.

Every time those hips of his moved, he stroked her with that hot, thick length. And she couldn’t wait for more, for all of him.

As they kissed more deeply, she ran her hands down his ribs to the top of the towel. Her brazenness surprised her. But in a way, she wanted this right here and now because then it meant he was real, this was all real—

He broke off the kiss and eased back.

“Don’t stop.” She rolled her own pelvis into him, as if to remind him what they were doing. “I know you don’t want to end this.”

Balthazar’s eyes traveled around her face and then a hand smoothed her hair back. When he hesitated, she had a thought that he was maybe going to turn away from her.

Even though she could feel exactly how much he wanted this—

From out of nowhere, she thought of the brunette from back in the bookshop. Talk about buzzkills. That… demon… was the last thing she wanted to welcome into this sacred space. But the exchange she’d witnessed between the two of them begged all kinds of conclusions that made Erika sick to her stomach—and she had a feeling that was where he’d gone in his own head.

“I’m not her,” she heard herself say. “She’s not here.”

“Isn’t she, though,” he answered in a hoarse voice.

“No.” Erika stroked his shoulder. “This is just you and me.”

After a moment, the tension that had come into him eased some. “I’ve wanted this since the moment I first saw you.”

“You did?” A flush hit her face. “Was that before or after I put a gun on you?”

“During.” He smiled a little. Then smiled a lot. “You’re hot when you’re all ordering me around and grrrrrrr.”

“You like that?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well, then kiss me again. Right now.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Even though Balthazar clearly had other things in the back of his mind, he returned to the mouth-to-mouth, and it was so good for them both, the way he dominated her, penetrating her with his tongue, pushing those hips against her. Under his body, she was alive in ways she hadn’t ever been—alive in a good sense, as opposed to the twitchy, paranoid awareness she usually operated out of.

When his lips eventually left hers once more, it was not because he was rethinking anything anymore. It was so he could go down to her throat with soft brushes that made her feet arch into points and her thighs tremble—and she could have sworn she felt a sharp point dragging over her skin. The idea it might be his fang—and come on, did she think he’d packed a pocketknife in between his eyeteeth or something?—made her arch into him, and as her breasts came up against his hard pecs, he groaned.

What a sound. The kind of thing she felt inside her own body.

Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, her hands slipped back down to the towel, and man, that thing came off like it had been hanging by a thread. Balthazar took care of tossing it to the floor—and oh, God, the heat in that erection of his.

He was so damned big.

Things got hotter and hotter, their bodies moving together in a wave pattern, surging and retreating, a preamble to what was going to come. And it was so good. So good—