Read Online Undead and Unwary by MaryJanice Davidson - Free Book Online
Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
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both shaking like we were enduring malaria relapses. And sometimes we didn’t.
He slid into me with a sigh and I could actually feel my eyes roll into the back of my head, which, for reasons unknown to me, my husband found intensely erotic.
Oh yes. Oh yes, ah, Elizabeth . . .
Mm-mm. I wanna drive.
?????
I gripped him with my thighs and rolled us over until I was on top, which was fun on a superking and a potential for broken bones on a twin. Then I was grinning down at him while his hands slid down my back until resting just above my ass. He shifted beneath me and grinned back.
Go on, then.
You bet.
I rocked against him, slowly at first, adjusting to the intensity, then leaned forward to grip the headboard and sped up. He’d thrown his head back, unconsciously (or not?) baring his throat, my bite already healing and his neck covered with drying blood. I ran a finger through the blood trail and he shuddered and flashed his fangs. I pressed one with the ball of my thumb and it pierced like a needle, that fast and that sharp. When he sucked, I felt it between my legs.
And speaking of between my legs, terrific things were happening there. Sinclair was quite tall, with big hands and big feet, and yep, that cliché, at least, was true. The former farm boy was built . This will sound hokey beyond belief, but it was like he was built just for me, only for me, and me for him and only for him, and no one and nothing else would ever be that suited to us.
He was gripping my hips hard enough to bruise and thrusting up, forcing a gasping moan out of me. I leaned forward far enough for his tongue to flick across my nipple, then jerked back.
Wanton tease.
Was that wanton, or wonton? Are you craving Japanese food?
Chinese food, my lovely idiotic darling—ow!
More where that came from.
Oh, please yes.
I smiled. “Now who’s wanton?”
“It seems—it must—be me.” Every pause was punctuated by a thrust and it was like feeling his cock in the middle of my chest. Which probably sounds awful but was pretty swell. I could feel my orgasm start to sneak up on me. With Sinclair, I often had stealth orgasms. It would feel far away, like I had to work a lot harder to reach it, and then all of a sudden . . . surprise! There it was.
“My God, my God, don’t stop. Ah, God, Elizabeth. Look at you.” Sinclair lived to break the third commandment, now that he could without feeling like he was gargling hydrochloric acid. “Look at you.”
I ignored that; I could be doing him wearing a Hefty bag and a baseball cap and he would find it insanely hot. Instead I focused on my stealth ninja orgasm, which was still pretending it was waaaay off in the distance. It reminded me of that scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail , when Lancelot is running to the castle to kill pretty much everyone inside, and the guards watch him run and run, and he always seems far away, and then all of a sudden he and his sword are right there . Yep, I’m comparing my orgasms to a goddamned Monty Python movie. It makes sense that I’m dead. I deserve to be dead, what with all that going on in my head while having incredible sex with a sexy vampire king.
Speaking of the king, he was giving me a somewhat incredulous look, no doubt picking up on the Python weirdness going on in my brain.
Are you—?
Never ask me. Never.
He shrugged in my head (yep, that’s a thing) and tightened his grip on my hips, which was fine with me. I leaned in again, let his mouth barely brush my nipple, and when I jerked back it pulled a groan from both of us. When I heard the creaking, I realized I was holding on to the headboard so hard I was tearing it loose. I didn’t care, and Sinclair didn’t care, and the headboard definitely didn’t care, but it was a distraction. Let go or let loose?
I let loose—yanked the thing free and tossed it to the left. Probably should have thought that through a little more, since it took out the bedside lamp and the side table
He slid into me with a sigh and I could actually feel my eyes roll into the back of my head, which, for reasons unknown to me, my husband found intensely erotic.
Oh yes. Oh yes, ah, Elizabeth . . .
Mm-mm. I wanna drive.
?????
I gripped him with my thighs and rolled us over until I was on top, which was fun on a superking and a potential for broken bones on a twin. Then I was grinning down at him while his hands slid down my back until resting just above my ass. He shifted beneath me and grinned back.
Go on, then.
You bet.
I rocked against him, slowly at first, adjusting to the intensity, then leaned forward to grip the headboard and sped up. He’d thrown his head back, unconsciously (or not?) baring his throat, my bite already healing and his neck covered with drying blood. I ran a finger through the blood trail and he shuddered and flashed his fangs. I pressed one with the ball of my thumb and it pierced like a needle, that fast and that sharp. When he sucked, I felt it between my legs.
And speaking of between my legs, terrific things were happening there. Sinclair was quite tall, with big hands and big feet, and yep, that cliché, at least, was true. The former farm boy was built . This will sound hokey beyond belief, but it was like he was built just for me, only for me, and me for him and only for him, and no one and nothing else would ever be that suited to us.
He was gripping my hips hard enough to bruise and thrusting up, forcing a gasping moan out of me. I leaned forward far enough for his tongue to flick across my nipple, then jerked back.
Wanton tease.
Was that wanton, or wonton? Are you craving Japanese food?
Chinese food, my lovely idiotic darling—ow!
More where that came from.
Oh, please yes.
I smiled. “Now who’s wanton?”
“It seems—it must—be me.” Every pause was punctuated by a thrust and it was like feeling his cock in the middle of my chest. Which probably sounds awful but was pretty swell. I could feel my orgasm start to sneak up on me. With Sinclair, I often had stealth orgasms. It would feel far away, like I had to work a lot harder to reach it, and then all of a sudden . . . surprise! There it was.
“My God, my God, don’t stop. Ah, God, Elizabeth. Look at you.” Sinclair lived to break the third commandment, now that he could without feeling like he was gargling hydrochloric acid. “Look at you.”
I ignored that; I could be doing him wearing a Hefty bag and a baseball cap and he would find it insanely hot. Instead I focused on my stealth ninja orgasm, which was still pretending it was waaaay off in the distance. It reminded me of that scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail , when Lancelot is running to the castle to kill pretty much everyone inside, and the guards watch him run and run, and he always seems far away, and then all of a sudden he and his sword are right there . Yep, I’m comparing my orgasms to a goddamned Monty Python movie. It makes sense that I’m dead. I deserve to be dead, what with all that going on in my head while having incredible sex with a sexy vampire king.
Speaking of the king, he was giving me a somewhat incredulous look, no doubt picking up on the Python weirdness going on in my brain.
Are you—?
Never ask me. Never.
He shrugged in my head (yep, that’s a thing) and tightened his grip on my hips, which was fine with me. I leaned in again, let his mouth barely brush my nipple, and when I jerked back it pulled a groan from both of us. When I heard the creaking, I realized I was holding on to the headboard so hard I was tearing it loose. I didn’t care, and Sinclair didn’t care, and the headboard definitely didn’t care, but it was a distraction. Let go or let loose?
I let loose—yanked the thing free and tossed it to the left. Probably should have thought that through a little more, since it took out the bedside lamp and the side table
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