Page 77 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

“Likewise,” she said. “I’ll never see rain again without thinking of you.”

He was studying . . . okay, playing . . . with her breasts with his one free hand (the other arm now being braced by the elbow beside her head), but was able to talk at the same time, multi-tasker that he was. “That would be interesting . . . if rain is now a sexual trigger for you. Really, Regina, think about the possibilities. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself from seeking me out every time a storm comes.”

She smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “That’s not what I meant.”

When he pressed his lips to hers, he murmured, “You taste like hunger.”

“Does hunger have a taste?” she asked, licking one of his fangs.

He saw stars, figuratively speaking. Fangs had to be the most erotic of the erogenous zones on a vangel body. “Yours does,” he squeaked out.

His sense of hearing was also especially tuned now. In fact, he could hear distant conversations, even through the half dozen walls separating them. And the burbling of the coffeemaker in the kitchen. The rustle of the sheets. And Regina’s softest sigh.

“Are you ready?” he asked then.

“I was ready ten minutes ago.”

Snark, snark, snark. He swore to himself then that he was going to love the snark out of her. Not love-love, he was quick to amend. Making love-love, as in screwing. Whew! That was a close call. He might have said that aloud.

He proceeded to examine and worship her body, every inch of it, from her forehead to her pretty, long toes, and all the interesting places in between. The curve of her neck. The muscles in her upper arms. Her breasts which were gorgeous, simply gorgeous. The sweetest navel he’d ever seen, tiny and inverted. Her pubic curls that were soft as a baby duck’s down. The delineation of muscle and sinew in her thighs and calves.

Then he rolled her over and did the same to her back, from nape to heels and all the interesting places in between. Her shoulders, which did indeed have swirls of a blue haze rising from the bumps. The small of her back. The swell of her buttocks. The dimple at the top of the crack. The crease behind her knees.

When he put her on her back again, he thought she would berate him for wasting time, but instead, she said, “Have you put a spell on me?”

“You’re the witch, Regina. You’re the master of spells and curses. I’m equally ensorcelled, you know.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “In fact, remember what you said before about bicycles?”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, confused by his question.

“It’s true.” He rubbed his erection along her thankfully slick channel. “A guy never forgets how.”

“To ride a bike?”

“No.” And he used a graphic word to explain what he meant.

“Then why are we talking?”

“Sweet snark,” he growled, then lifted her hips and entered her with one long thrust. All the way to heaven, or so it seemed.

She welcomed him with rhythmic grasps, all along his length. Inside her tight sheath lined with warm honey, her inner muscles shifted and moved to accommodate his size.

It had been a long, long time since Zeb had been inside a woman, but it had never been like this. And it wasn’t just years and years of celibacy that made him think so. He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but he recognized that this wasn’t just sex.

He got down to the serious business of love play then. With both elbows now braced on either side of her head, he was able to kiss her at the same time that he began his long strokes. In, deep, deep, deep, slow, slow, slow, then out almost completely. In again, a little faster, but still slow and deep, but not so deep. Over and over, he completed his strokes until he was pummeling her with short, hard thrusts.

He tried to mimic the sex act with his tongue, but lost his rhythm when she began to suck on him. He gazed down at her, and was further stimulated when he saw the fierce arousal on her face. I did that, he thought with inordinate pleasure. She is excited by me.

He wasn’t sure if he would be able to come to orgasm this time. He felt like it, but he couldn’t be sure. He would be embarrassed if he had any sense left at all, which he didn’t. Two weeks ago, if someone had predicted he would be having hot sex with a vangel witch, he would have said they were crazy.

Regina grabbed his head. He thought she wanted to play with his bald head. It seemed to fascinate her. And, frankly, he was discovering that the stupid hairless pate had some of its own erogenous zones.

But, no. Sly wench . . . uh, witch . . . uh, woman . . . that she was, Regina not only had his head in her hands, but was tilting it to the side. Then she did what vangels did instinctively. She fanged him, and sucked softly on his neck.

Every one of the heightened senses in his body exploded. He might have hollered. Leastways, he knew for sure he groaned, real loud. It was the most intimate thing any woman had ever done to him. It was especially stimulating because he was buried in her to the hilt. And then . . . miracle of miracles . . . he was ejaculating like he hadn’t in at least three hundred years.