Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [154]
“For your peace of mind,” he whispered, and his voice trailed down my spine like a tiny drop of water trickling low and lower.
“You want to feed,” I said.
He gave a small nod, moving his cold skin against the warmth of my fingers. In my head, he whispered, “If I am to maintain our control of Primo, I need to feed.”
“You don’t mean blood,” I said.
“No,” he raised his other hand to my bandaged cheek. “Are you hurt?”
“Not much,” I said, and my voice was sounding almost like my own. I realized that he’d pulled back. He was letting me think. He didn’t have to, but he knew me too well. If he didn’t let me think now, I’d be mad later.
“You don’t mean like you did when the council was in town, do you? You’re asking something else.”
His voice in my mind, “Something has happened with your binding of Damian and Nathaniel. More power is everywhere, but also more need. I have denied myself for a very long time, ma petite.” His hands slid along the edge of my jawline, until they cradled my face, and his fingers were buried in the warmth of my hair. I heard him think that he was warming his hands against my hair. So cold, so empty, so needy. I’d never seen him like this, never.
This wasn’t his need. I turned enough so that I could see Nathaniel, who had gone to lean against the wall. He wasn’t close enough to project like this. He gave me innocent lavender eyes. I couldn’t feel him in my head. It was just Jean-Claude and me, but even with only two of us connected, it still felt like Nathaniel’s need, or Damian’s skin hunger.
I looked back into those dark, dark blue eyes and whispered, “You’ve inherited their neediness.”
Aloud, he said, “I fear so.”
“What can we do?” I asked.
“Let me in, ma petite, let me through those wonderful shields. Let me in,” and his voice spilled over my skin as if he’d covered me naked in satin and drawn it along my body.
I shivered, and only the cool touch of his hands kept my knees from buckling. I stared into those eyes, that face, and I whispered, “Yes.”
His face filled my vision, then his lips brushed mine. I expected him to take me in his arms and kiss me with the desperation I felt in his need, but he didn’t. He touched me only with his mouth, and even that was the barest pressure of his lips against mine. I actually pushed agianst him, raised a hand to touch him, and he put a hand on my shoulder and held us apart. A second after he’d done it, I understood why, because it was as if my soul spilled up into my lips, as if the very essence of me was a taste upon my lips. My power, my magic, my heart, my soul, everything was there for the taking in one soft brush of lips. I’d thought we’d fed the ardeur upon each other before, but I’d been wrong. He sipped from my lips, delicate, so much more he wanted. I could feel it. Feel his need. But he held me back with his hands on my shoulders, while I struggled to close that distance. But I knew with his knowledge that bare skin was bare skin, and all of it could drink me down.
It was the most careful kiss I’d ever been given, and one of the most frustrating. I was making small noises deep in my throat, because I wanted more. I wanted so much more.
When he drew back, he held a spot of my lipstick like a crimson stain in the center of his lips. There was the tiniest bit of color to his cheeks. He was like the cold of winter touched by the barest breath of spring, so that warmth was only a promise, not real, not now, but a distant hope. But hope is better than the alternative.
He swallowed convulsively, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, before he straightened and his hands on my shoulders were firm. “That is but a taste of what I need, ma petite.”
“Don’t stop,” I said.
He smiled, but it was sad. “Let the effects wear awhile, then give me an answer about more.”
I shook my head. What was he talking about? Of course, of course he could have more.
“It is my fault, ma petite. I asked you to let me in your shields. I did not mean for you to drop all the defenses in your considerable repertoire. It was nearly overwhelming for