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  • Home > Jacquelyn Frank > Nightwalkers > Damien (Page 25)     
    Damien(Nightwalkers #4) by Jacquelyn Frank

    His work at her breast bordered on savage. She felt the telltale scrape of super-sharp fangs, the swirl of his tongue teasing her against the exposed canines in an astoundingly sensual stroke. She cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders as she moved in wild response.

    Hmm, someone's a little on the kinky side.

    The thought flitting through her mind in his deep, speculative voice made her laugh in blind joy.

    "Damien," she uttered hoarsely. "Forgive me. Please…"

    Damien closed his eyes briefly, then kissed her breastbone up to the little hollow in her throat. He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. They were a combination of great passion and great anxiety. He could smell the adrenaline on her, the scent heady under the lavender.

    "And if I do not forgive you, Syreena?"

    "Then just make love to me," she whispered, half in pain, half in pleading. "Even if it will ever be just this once. I don't care anymore. I just know what I want, and I want you."

    "What part of me, sweetling?" he asked as he shifted forward against her, pushing so that he slid hot and hard through the slippery moisture just outside of the sanctuary that so impatiently awaited him. "This part?"

    "Damien!" she gasped, the upward arch of her questing body returning his naughty caress measure for measure.

    Damien clenched his teeth shut on a deep groan that shuddered violently out of him. He braced a hand on the floor, grasped her thigh firmly, and did the complete opposite of his intentions.

    He meant to settle her down away from him, to give himself the space to hear the answers she still had not clarified for him. But he found that he could not do so. He could not leave her or remain outside of her any longer. He surged forward suddenly, sliding through a torrent of moisture and heat, pushing into devastating tightness of muscle made tighter by the unexpectedness of his breach of her body as she reacted to him. Syreena's neck arched wildly, her shoulders half lifting from the floor as he made his remarkable invasion. She realized how little she had known or imagined about the reality of this moment. There was no describing such a thing, now or ever.

    For a man with no true circulation, it was amazing how he seemed to pulse inside her. He was crafted as if to suit her needs, making their fit together a stunning lesson in the truth of fate and being two halves of a perfect whole.

    "Sweet Goddess, I must have been mad," she gasped as she writhed beneath him in blatantly honest pleasure.

    Damien smiled at that, understanding the sentiment perfectly. She was precious and perfect for him, and nothing he did or felt would ever succeed in changing that.

    He pushed a bit deeper into her, thrilling in both the way she felt and the way she reacted. The joining of their bodies was a bliss of perfection, and he almost could not bear to change it from exactly what it was.


    He covered her mouth, kissing her deeply and catching all the startled sounds she made as he moved in a full stroke within her. The honesty in the clutch of her hands and eager body was almost unbearable.


    Damien lost his sense of everything around him, save her and her wild little body squirming with very vocal pleasure beneath the magic he made within her. He slowly searched her for what would pleasure her the most, shifting a little higher on her when he realized it touched her just right that way.

    In the beat of just three strokes, she went from unbelievable pleasure to utter ecstasy. What he was doing to her was nothing short of mysticism. Here, she thought numbly, was a true user of magic. Only he was not evil or an enemy. It was the magic of fairy stories and angels, good and sweet and clean.

    And all the stronger for its purity.

    Damien watched as her eyes closed and her face became a map of beautiful reaction to his every action. As his entire being locked off in cell after cell of blinding need, he knew he was about to have an experience unmeasured in his lifetime.

    He loved her.

    He loved her madly, and it made all the difference in the universe.

    "Syreena," he rasped hoarsely, suddenly needing to say her name. "Sweet Syreena."

    The deeper he moved into her, the more he felt like he was becoming a part of her. If someone could truly possess another person, she was doing so to him. Everything about her was blending into him, especially the unchecked squeaks and gasps of delight that came faster and faster from her. She was heading for an astonishing crescendo that he thought he could not even begin to understand. He would find out within moments that he was absolutely wrong in that assumption. They became like a single consciousness, feeling the mixture of their fervent bodies from all sides and all emotions.

    Damien could no longer hold any part of himself in check. He made love to her with an untamed passion that bordered on brutality. She only encouraged him further, thrilling in the beautiful form of abuse they both needed with a zeal beyond reason and well beyond three-dimensional sanity.

    Damien reached an unimaginable summit, the sudden theft of his sense and equilibrium leaving him without center or focus as he detonated into a powerful, pulsing climax. He was dimly aware of vocalizing ferociously, and of her matching exclamation as she imploded with ecstasy. She seemed to be a vortex, a Vampire in and of herself, drinking from him this time with her hungry, sucking body. He was her prey, and delightfully so. She could drain him dry for all he cared. Now and in the future. He had hardly known her when he knew he would lay down his life for her.

    Damien finally fell against her with a disbelieving groan. Her power over him was complete. If he had not been lost before, he certainly was now. She panted hard and heavy beneath him, still floating somewhere between completion and consciousness. That familiar limpness wended up through her arms, and he felt her touch fall away as her overtaxed body swirled into a half-conscious state.

    He recalled that he had no way of knowing what other ramifications there would be, so he took the opportunity to draw them both up from the floor. He smiled as she lolled against him with a sound of postcoital delight. He tucked her into his bed, sliding in after her immediately. He could not remember ever being this warm in all of his life, and he did not want to shed any of the heat too soon.

    Damien turned her so her back was to him, and then drew her securely to his chest. He wrapped a tight, possessive arm across her waist. Not that he thought she would, but just in case, she would not be able to go anywhere without him knowing about it.

    Chapter 10

    Damien woke with a start, surprised to realize he had fallen asleep.

    The first thing he noticed was that Syreena was no longer in his arms.

    She was sprawled across him, and, to his amusement, had somehow managed to turn completely upside down in the bed so her foot was nestled snugly in the vicinity of his neck. He raised his head slightly to look at her, getting a rather stimulating view of her bare bottom, and realizing his feet and ankles were sheeted in her brown and gray hair. Somewhere between her back and his thighs, they were twisted up into the bedspread, tied together like an odd pair of Siamese twins.

    Feeling extremely happy just because she was there, he turned his head and kissed the bottom of her nearby foot.

    She jerked in her sleep, sliding against him for a moment, and then settled down into deep, even breaths again.

    "Oh, you must be kidding," he whispered to the silent room, biting his lip hard to keep from laughing out loud.

    He instantly reached for the same foot and drew a quick finger up the instep.

    Damien had to dodge to keep from getting kicked in the head.

    Syreena, heir to the Lycanthrope throne, was ticklish.

    Unable to resist, he reached for her again.

    "Touch my foot again and I will take your head off," came the sudden mumbled threat through the muffling of bedclothes.

    "Too good to be tickled, Princess?" he teased, ignoring her warning and attacking her foot in earnest.

    Syreena yelped, trying to kick him again, rolling over in her sudden wakefulness.

    "I'm warning you!" she shouted. Her threat came out as a squeal, however, stealing its intended punch.

    To escape him, she slithered right off the bed and onto the floor. Damien dared to look over the edge of the bed in search of her.

    "Come now, pouting does not become a Princess."

    "A black eye doesn't become a Prince," she countered tartly, tossing back her hair as she sat up. "You are not a very considerate bed partner," she accused.

    "I heard no complaints last night," he mused, giving her the cocky combination of half a smile and a lifted eyebrow.

    "Perhaps that is because you were snoring too loud to hear them." She laughed when his expression immediately altered to a frown. "What? Too good to snore, Prince?"

    "Why is it that when you say Prince like that, I feel like a German shepherd?"

    "If the breed fits…"

    She got to her feet and shook her hair back into place with a primp worthy of her royal status. Then she settled back onto the bed, sitting to face him and studying his amused expression.

    "You know, I never actually considered it before…" She trailed off as if contemplating her thoughts. Damien was not fooled. He knew a setup when he saw one.

    He indulged her, however.

    "Considered what?"

    "I never thought you might actually be fun. Here I was thinking sex was going to be my only entertainment."

    "I see. I guess you have to consider yourself fortunate then. I, however…"

    Syreena smirked as he teased her with her own verbal trick. "However?" she prompted dutifully.

    "I think I am the more fortunate one."

    The answer was surprisingly serious, taking her a little off guard.

    "How do you see that?" she asked, looking away from him to smooth absent fingers over the sheet beneath her.

    "Because no one has ever been in the position to tell me that I snore before, and I find I am quite delighted to hear it."

    Syreena looked immediately taken aback by the comment. "How is that possible?"

    "Because I have never been in the habit of sleeping in the presence of others. Call it a Vampiric trust issue."

    Syreena felt the impact of the remark quite keenly. In an instant, it rewrote over a dozen suppositions she had made that were in error. "I never thought about that before."

    "I always have to think about it. I find I like my head securely attached to my shoulders. I would have lost it long ago if I were easily able to trust."

    "But Jasmine…?"

    "Jasmine?" He chuckled. "Jasmine would rather run naked in daylight than sleep near the likes of me. She is much smarter than you are."

    "I am getting that impression." She leaned forward, lying over his chest until they were practically bumping noses. "Can I ask you something without you getting bent out of shape?"

    "You practically accused me of carnal intentions with another woman less than a minute ago. If that does not disturb me, I do not see what can."

    "Can I have it back?"

    Damien blinked questioningly for a second, and then came that slow smile of comprehension. "I did not think you had noticed."

    She laughed at him and held out her hand.

    He slid his hand beneath his pillow and then reached to give her what she wanted.

    Gold and moonstones fell into a glittering pile in her upturned palm.

    Jasmine was sitting in the main parlor with one leg slung over the arm of the sofa, the other braced on a coffee table, as she slowly leafed through a slightly mildewed volume that was wider than her lap and thicker than the width of both her hands laid end to end.

    She leafed through the pages slowly, reading with interest.

    "Is that from the Library?"

    Jasmine looked up when Syreena addressed her, giving the Princess a long, disapproving appraisal. The Lycanthrope female was wearing one of Damien's silk shirts, the extra fabric hanging to her knees. She was not very big, Jasmine thought. She could not see how Syreena could ever prevail in a fight, yet she was supposed to be some kind of an expert at Lycanthrope battle techniques.

    Jasmine was unimpressed. Considering the fact that the Lycanthropes had been on the losing side the entire three hundred years of war with the Demons, it was not saying very much.

    The female Vampire had been aware of Syreena's presence in the house immediately upon her return from her most recent foray into the Nightwalker Library. Judging by the clothing she wore and the loud laughter coming from the vicinity of Damien's bedroom earlier, she imagined that they had found a way to reconcile. This was also unimpressive. Jasmine was glad Damien was happy now, but the memory of his despair was too keen to be easily forgiven.

    "Yes, it is. Your sister assigned a librarian a couple of days ago so we might begin to take selective volumes with us. It is easier to study in familiar surroundings, without so many strangers around."

    "She did? Whom did she choose?"

    "A sexy little thing," Jasmine said with a smile. "Dark and pretty, beauty mark on her neck." Jasmine's smile grew with taunting mischief as she purposely noted the area her kind was notorious for exploiting.

    "Jinaeri," Syreena said absently. "I see."

    "If you do not mind, I was just getting into this."

    Jasmine dismissed her without waiting for a polite response, turning a page in spite of the fact that she had not finished the previous one.

    Syreena was not dense. She knew Jasmine did not like her. Normally, she wouldn't care. Jasmine was important to Damien, however, so she figured she had to care. There would be time to improve the situation later, so she left the other woman to her reading.

    She continued to move through the enormous house that Damien called home. The windows were all tinted so dark they were nearly black, except those in the library and the kitchen, which were stained glass. She understood the kitchen, because they had little to no use for it, so the colored light coming through was weak enough in case someone had to enter the room, yet able to add enough light to add appeal to the otherwise darkened hallways just off it.