Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [161]
He did two quick thrusts that left me breathless, then he raised up on his hands like he was trying to do a bad push-up with his groin pressed tight against mine. His smile faded, and he frowned. “You’re bleeding, luv.”
I’d forgotten about my wrist again. I followed his glance and found that blood was seeping out from it. There was blood spattered across my blue top.
“Some gauze, please,” he said.
I think it took both Nathaniel and me a second to realize who he was talking about, and why. Nathaniel fumbled a package open and handed it to him. It was acutely uncomfortable to be trapped under the body of a strange man while Nathaniel knelt beside us. It was more embarrassing than having Richard watch with Damian. It just felt worse, as if I should apologize.
I think I would have done just that, but Byron pressed the gauze to my wounded wrist, pinning it to the floor. It hurt, sharp and immediate, and I was left gasping and staring up at his face. He pinned my other wrist, so that he was pressed above me, and I was very, very pinned.
I might have complained, but Jean-Claude roared through my head. “Ma petite, I need to feed. You are not moving fast enough with Byron.”
“You’re a big vampire, feed yourself,” I said, and that was out loud.
“Do you understand what you’re giving permission for, ma petite?”
“Tonight, yes, help me, Jean-Claude. Feed, for God’s sake, feed.”
Byron hesitated, poised above me. “Something wrong?”
“We’re not moving fast enough for him, apparently.”
A nearly evil grin crossed Byron’s face. “Oh, we can fix that, luver, we can fix that.” And he fixed it. He moved himself in and out of me in long writhing waves of his body. It was as if the thrust started at his shoulders and danced its way down his body until he thrust himself inside me. Once inside me, he did something with his hips that seemed almost to make him roll inside me. It was as if that writhing dancelike movement went all the way down his body and inside mine. It wasn’t fast, as in speed, but it was fast in other ways.
My breathing had sped up, and my body had figured out at what point in his writhing that he plunged inside me, so that my hips thrust upward to meet him. It began to be like a dance, except we were both flat on the floor, but when he realized that I wanted to move, he changed how his lower body pinned me, so that mostly only him sliding in and out of me pinned my lower body, and the rest of me was left to rise and fall against his body.
He kept my wrists pinned, and I kept thinking I should say something about that, but I kept forgetting, and I finally realized I didn’t want to say anything.
Another British voice came from behind us. “Jean-Claude said I was needed in here, but it looks like you’ve got a queue.”
I said his name, “Requiem,” just that and nothing more, but he came to me. He knelt in a fall of black-hooded cloak. He pushed the hood back to reveal hair as straight and black as the cloak itself. His eyes were a deep, rich blue like startled cornflowers in the white skin and black hair of his face. The thin mustache and Vandyke beard were as raven dark as his hair and the eyebrows that framed those startling blue eyes. He’d once told me that Belle had wanted to buy him from his old master. She’d wanted a third blue-eyed lover. Asher had the palest blue, Jean-Claude the darkest, and Requiem had the brightest. His master had refused, and they had fled France.
He knelt by my head, kneeling over us on his knees like some dark angel in the cloak he would not give up for any modern coat. “What would you have of me, my lady?”
My voice came breathy, but clear. Good for me. “If you take blood at the same time I feed