Read Online Cravings by Laurell K. Hamilton, Eileen Wilks, REBECCA YORK, MaryJanice Davidson - Free Book Online
Tags: Fiction, General, Horror, Fantasy Fiction; American, Vampires, Occult & Supernatural, Horror Tales; American, Anthologies, Werewolves, Anthologies (Multiple Authors)
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and even through the heavy material of his coat I
could feel the solidness of him. It was as if my hands had a mind of their own.
I traced up the line of his arms, found his shoulders, and ended with my hands
on the broadness of those shoulders, with his hair tickling along the back of my
hands. There was something about my hands on his shoulders, or the silk of his
hair on my skin that made me bend towards him. I wanted a kiss. Simple as that.
It seemed wrong to be this near and not touch him.
He bowed his head towards mine. His eyes were like deep green pools, deep
enough to drown in. He whispered, "You have but to tell me stop, and I will
stop."
I didn't say stop. I slid my hands to the smooth pale line of his neck, and
the moment I touched his bare skin with mine, I was calmer. I could think again.
That was his gift to me, as my servant. He helped me be calmer, more in control.
When I was touching him, it was almost impossible for me to lose my temper. He
lowered my blood pressure, helped me think.
I cupped his face between my hands, because I wanted to touch him, but what I
gained from his centuries of controlling his own emotions was that when he put
his lips against mine, I was not lost. Not overwhelmed unless I wanted to be
overwhelmed. It wasn't that I felt nothing, because it wasn't possible to be
enfolded in Damian's arms, pressed against his chest, have his lips caressing
mine, and be unmoved. You'd have had to be made of stone not to melt into that
embrace, just a little. But, as I'd gained calmness from him, he had begun to
gain back the passion that he'd lost over the centuries. A passion not just for
sex, but any strong emotion, because the master that made him tolerated no
strong emotion, save fear. She'd beat everything else out of him over more
centuries than most vampires ever survived.
He drew back enough to see my face. "You're calm. Why are you calm? I feel
crazed, and you give me peaceful eyes!" He grabbed my upper arms, and dug his
fingers in until it hurt, and I still felt calm. "It is cruel fate that makes
you calmer and calmer the more we touch, and drives me more and more wild." He
gave me a small shake, his face was raw with emotion. "I am being punished and I
have done nothing wrong."
"It's not punishment, Damian," and even my voice was low and calm.
"Jean-Claude says that if you wished, you could gain calm only when you
needed it. That you could touch me and enjoy touching me, but not be trapped
behind this mask." His fingers were digging in so hard, I was bruising.
"You're hurting me, Damian." My voice was still calm, but there was an edge
of heat to it, an edge of anger.
"At least you feel something when I touch you."
"Let go of my arms, Damian." And just like that, he released me, let me go as
if my arms had grown hot to the touch, because he could not disobey a direct
order from me. Whatever that order might be.
"Take a step back, Damian, give me some room." I was angry now, even with the
rest of his body touching me. When he did what I told him, and was no longer
touching me at all, the anger filled me up and spilled over my skin like heat.
God, it felt good. I was used to being angry. I liked it. Not the most positive
thing to say, but still true.
I started to rub my arms where he'd squeezed, then stopped. I didn't like
letting anyone know how much they'd hurt me.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, and he was holding his own arms. I
thought for a moment he was feeling my pain, then realized he was hugging
himself to keep from touching me.
"No, you just want to fuck me."
"That's not fair," he said.
He was right, it wasn't fair, but I didn't care. Without him touching me, I
could be as unfair as I wanted to be. I wrapped my anger around myself. I fed it
with every petty impulse I'd fought for days. I should have remembered that one
control is much like another. That if you throw away one kind of control, it
makes other kinds harder
could feel the solidness of him. It was as if my hands had a mind of their own.
I traced up the line of his arms, found his shoulders, and ended with my hands
on the broadness of those shoulders, with his hair tickling along the back of my
hands. There was something about my hands on his shoulders, or the silk of his
hair on my skin that made me bend towards him. I wanted a kiss. Simple as that.
It seemed wrong to be this near and not touch him.
He bowed his head towards mine. His eyes were like deep green pools, deep
enough to drown in. He whispered, "You have but to tell me stop, and I will
stop."
I didn't say stop. I slid my hands to the smooth pale line of his neck, and
the moment I touched his bare skin with mine, I was calmer. I could think again.
That was his gift to me, as my servant. He helped me be calmer, more in control.
When I was touching him, it was almost impossible for me to lose my temper. He
lowered my blood pressure, helped me think.
I cupped his face between my hands, because I wanted to touch him, but what I
gained from his centuries of controlling his own emotions was that when he put
his lips against mine, I was not lost. Not overwhelmed unless I wanted to be
overwhelmed. It wasn't that I felt nothing, because it wasn't possible to be
enfolded in Damian's arms, pressed against his chest, have his lips caressing
mine, and be unmoved. You'd have had to be made of stone not to melt into that
embrace, just a little. But, as I'd gained calmness from him, he had begun to
gain back the passion that he'd lost over the centuries. A passion not just for
sex, but any strong emotion, because the master that made him tolerated no
strong emotion, save fear. She'd beat everything else out of him over more
centuries than most vampires ever survived.
He drew back enough to see my face. "You're calm. Why are you calm? I feel
crazed, and you give me peaceful eyes!" He grabbed my upper arms, and dug his
fingers in until it hurt, and I still felt calm. "It is cruel fate that makes
you calmer and calmer the more we touch, and drives me more and more wild." He
gave me a small shake, his face was raw with emotion. "I am being punished and I
have done nothing wrong."
"It's not punishment, Damian," and even my voice was low and calm.
"Jean-Claude says that if you wished, you could gain calm only when you
needed it. That you could touch me and enjoy touching me, but not be trapped
behind this mask." His fingers were digging in so hard, I was bruising.
"You're hurting me, Damian." My voice was still calm, but there was an edge
of heat to it, an edge of anger.
"At least you feel something when I touch you."
"Let go of my arms, Damian." And just like that, he released me, let me go as
if my arms had grown hot to the touch, because he could not disobey a direct
order from me. Whatever that order might be.
"Take a step back, Damian, give me some room." I was angry now, even with the
rest of his body touching me. When he did what I told him, and was no longer
touching me at all, the anger filled me up and spilled over my skin like heat.
God, it felt good. I was used to being angry. I liked it. Not the most positive
thing to say, but still true.
I started to rub my arms where he'd squeezed, then stopped. I didn't like
letting anyone know how much they'd hurt me.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, and he was holding his own arms. I
thought for a moment he was feeling my pain, then realized he was hugging
himself to keep from touching me.
"No, you just want to fuck me."
"That's not fair," he said.
He was right, it wasn't fair, but I didn't care. Without him touching me, I
could be as unfair as I wanted to be. I wrapped my anger around myself. I fed it
with every petty impulse I'd fought for days. I should have remembered that one
control is much like another. That if you throw away one kind of control, it
makes other kinds harder
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