Black Fallen (Dark Ink Chronicles #4)

Black Fallen (Dark Ink Chronicles #4) Page 30

“Right,” I answer, and begin the climb. The staircase is lit with muted amber lamps that cause shadows to dance on the walls as we pass. It’s drafty, cool, and eerily quiet. We’re almost to the landing to the second floor when I go out.

Like a light. Bam.

I vaguely remember arms around me, my body lifting up and seemingly floating down the corridor. Then all is still. I’m in darkness.

For a while.

When my eyes open next, the room is engulfed in heavy shadows. I’m being held, suspended in air in a pair of strong arms. Confusion webs through my mind as I focus on the person carrying me. Well-known. Closeness. Yet . . . not. A man. His features are obscured by darkness. But other things make me want to stay; the feel of him seems . . . familiar. At least I think so. I’m unsure. I pin him with a hot stare and a frown I can only hope he sees in the dark. “Let. Me. Go.”

Moonlight shifts into the room, and only a shade of his features is revealed. Something flashes in his darkened eyes briefly, and then it disappears, replaced by raw, male desire. Just seeing it makes the uncomfortable ache inside of me grow. He lowers his head, his lips touching mine. “Don’t leave. Please.” He sets me down on the floor, his body crowding me close to the wall. I try to push past him, but again he begs me. Pleads. “Don’t go.”

Releasing my hands, he drags a forefinger across my forehead, down the bridge of my nose, traces my jaw. His eyes follow his finger, as though amazed with each place he touches, and as though he’s never done the like before. Then he holds my jaw and tilts my head.

And his mouth descends.

As soon as his tongue touches mine, I lose control. I have no explanation; no reasoning. Only a strong sense of familiarity that makes this feel unstoppable. It’s Eli. As soon as I shove my fingers into his hair and pull him closer, this man, this . . . shadow Eli man loses control.

More than passion fuels his movements—I can feel it. It seems more like starvation, a primal, uncontrolled drive to satisfy basic needs, to mark what is his and to make sure no other dare try to take it away. That’s what it feels like.

My lips are soft, pliable, and desperately seeking. They all but consume him. The urgency in my touch surprises me; the scrape of my nails through his shirt nearly drives him mad. He grabs the hem of my shirt and lifts it above my head, flinging it to the floor, his hands replacing the soft cotton as he moves them slowly down my arms, my ribs. “I want to feel your skin against mine,” he whispers. Feather light, his fingertips trace the dragons trailing down both of my arms. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and I find I don’t have the strength to answer him back. Sensations overwhelm me, every nerve ending is on fire, and there’s a place deep inside of me that is dying to be satisfied.

I watch him watching me in the darkness, and without thinking, I lift a hand and stroke his jaw, his lips. I feel his body shudder beneath my touch. He allows me to unbutton his shirt and push it off his broad shoulders. Taut skin is found beneath my seeking fingers, as are corded muscle and prominent, healthy veins. Large hands. Strong biceps. I still see nothing more than a silhouette, yet I want him so badly it hurts. It literally aches inside of me. I understand none of it. Neither can I stop myself. This is Eli. But why can’t I make out his features? Why?

As he peels the clothes from my body, I can hear his heart hammering against his chest. His hardness pushes at his groin and against my hip. With nimble fingers he unlatches the small metal front clasp of my bra and pushes the silky material to the side. His breath hitches in his throat as he stares at me. Then he turns me around. He says nothing, but his hands grasp either side of my ribs, then slowly begin to explore the intricate markings of my inked dragon. Callused hands slip around my stomach as his mouth finds my shoulder, kisses then my neck, then ear. “You’re the most exquisite creature I’ve ever encountered,” he whispers, and pulls my lobe into his mouth. I shudder, and he turns me to face him. With his eyes fastened to mine, he sweeps me up in his arms and carries me to a bed, where he follows me down.

Moonlight streaks in through the window in a single beam, and that beam casts just enough illumination for me to see the outline of his features. He’s . . . not Eli. He’s breathtaking. I don’t know him. Yet . . . the familiarity of him stuns me, urges me to touch him, return his kisses, and arch into his embrace. I can’t stop. Is this Eli? My heart tells me it is. Yet my eyes reveal differently. The moonlight bathes his skin, making it strangely luminescent in the small hours of the night. He’s stretched over me. Somewhere we both lost our clothes and are nothing but skin against skin. I arch into him and reach for him, my hands slipping over his muscular chest, then around his corded neck. It makes my skin tingle, my nerve endings sizzle. Blood pounds through my veins and rushes to my groin as his fingers trail my stomach, smoothing the feminine muscles there, tracing my ribs.

My own nimble fingers trace the muscles in his back, down his sides, and between us, where his thick hardness pushes heavily against my thigh. I grasp it—soft, hard, velvety—and a low growl emanates from his throat. Lowering his head, he brushes his mouth across mine, tasting with his tongue and holding my jaw still with his hand. His kiss is . . . internal. Exploring. Soulful. I never want it to stop. . . .

He’s wedging hips between my legs, his weight braced on one forearm. The firm peaks of my breasts brush his chest, and he shudders. Staring down, his eyes sadden. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispers, and kisses me. “I’m not . . . Forgive me.”

My body is alive with more sensation than I can handle, and my mind won’t process his words. Not now. All I want is feeling.

All I want is him. “Eli, please,” I whisper.

With anxious fingertips, I trace his spine from his neck to his waist, counting each vertebra, lining each muscle as they tense under my touch. Slowly I lift my legs and pull my heels against his buttocks, hooking them around his hips.

I can feel his heart slam against his ribs, and I know he can take it no more.

Lowering his head, he takes my mouth as though savoring every inch of my lips, tasting with his tongue, and I kiss him back with desperate fervor. Skimming my hips, my stomach, he cups one breast and deepens the kiss, our tongues entwined, and the intensity of the dual contact makes his arousal push hard against me. Inside, my body is wrenching for release.

Again I arch and push against him, then grab his neck and pull his head down to my bare chest. He tastes the soft rise of my breast, dragging his mouth erotically over it, tasting the aroused peak. I think I’ll lose my mind.

My breath catches and I moan—a soft whimper that doesn’t even sound like me. I can’t help it.

With a hard yank, I pull his head to my mouth, where I kiss him, sweeping my tongue across his bottom lip, then gently take it between my teeth. “Now,” I demand on a hoarse whisper. “I want you now, Eli. Please.”

We stare at each for the space of a second, eyes locked. This . . . figment of my imagination shifts his hips and fills me in one slow thrust. I moan out loud as my wet heat envelopes him, holds him, forces his eyes to close, and he shakes with aroused need.

“Christ, Riley,” he mutters against my throat as he starts to move inside me, reaching for a destination singularly his, the wild need to claim it growing with each powerful, primal thrust.

The mounting eruption within him grows at an uncontrollable speed and I can feel it, just as I feel my own, and he drives into me with furious passion.

My own savage response shocks me, and I desperately claw at him, matching his every move, pushing him over the edge until my name tears from his throat as he explodes inside me, over and over as he buries himself deep inside of me, his body seizing, shuddering.

My breath catches again and I hold him tightly as my own climax peaks and consumes, my feminine muscles contracting around him with each pulse of my orgasm. I bite his shoulder as its intensity heightens, little gasps escaping my lips; then slowly, with each breath, my body relaxes.

He rests his forehead against mine as our ragged breathing returns to normal. My arms go around him and pull him close. It’s not right. I can’t stop. Can’t move away.

Pressing his lips to my damp temple, he smoothes back my hair; kisses me long, deep, taking his time to savor my mouth; then moves to my side and gathers me close. “I am never far from you,” he says softly. “Even when you don’t know I’m there, I am. And don’t forget about my invitation. I look forward to seeing you there. Alone.”

“Ri, wake up,” a voice calls to me. A hand caresses my cheek. “Riley?”

Slowly my eyelids drag open. I feel as though I’ve been run over by a truck. I blink several times, and only after a few moments do I realize I’m completely naked. “What the hell?” I say, then turn to the voice awakening me.

“Vic, what’s going on?” All I can now remember is the incredibly erotic dream I’ve had. And especially the fact that I didn’t think it was a dream at all. I thought it was freaking real. I thought it was Eli. Yet . . . now I’m not so sure. I stare at the Romanian vampire. “Tell me you didn’t take my clothes off.” I pull the sheets up to my chin.

Victorian Arcos, in the hazy light of my room, stares down at me with liquid brown eyes. And says nothing.

“Poe, Jesus Christ, when are you gonna—”

Noah bursts into my room and abruptly stops when he sees Victorian. I know he doesn’t like the Romanian and will probably never trust him as I do, but he tolerates him. To a certain degree. Noah turns to me, plops down on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight and making me roll toward him. He thumps me on the forehead. “How long are you gonna sleep, woman? It’s been almost twenty-four hours now.”

I bolt up, barely remembering to take the sheet with me. The last thing I want to do is flash these two pervs. “What? What the hell?” I say. How could I have slept so long? “Move, Noah. Actually, both of you get out of here. I need to dress. Without an audience.”

“Damn,” Noah mumbles, and rises from the bed. “Jake said to let you sleep, that your body probably needed it.”