“Hey. Hey. ” Jessica’s sharp tone jerked his attention back down to her. With a worried expression, she placed one hand on his jaw, her fingers stroking through the long strands of hair at his temple. She attempted an annoyed look. “Haven’t you heard of pajamas? Sweat-pants, flannel boxers, anything?”

Staring down at her, he realized she was leaning against him, and his own body, heedless of his nightmare, was beginning to react to that. He should send her away, but he didn’t want to yet.

“That’s okay.” She managed a nervous smile. “I’ll trust that you can control your mindless lust if I stay. I won’t vouch for controlling mine, though.”

He closed his eyes. Allah, he hadn’t shut down the communication between their minds, and his thoughts were still leaking over into her head. “I’m sorry, Jessica.”

“For what?” Her voice was soft, and he opened his eyes again to see concerned gray eyes, a kissable mouth.

“I would think that’s obvious.”

“No, not really.” Her brow furrowed. “It’s okay for you to soothe my nightmares, but not for me to return the favor? You’re a vampire, Mason. Not Superman. And even Superman had his weaknesses.”

“Obviously, since Doomsday killed him.”

Her eyes widened, and a sparkle went through them. “You’ve read ‘The Death of Superman’?”

“Of course not. I perhaps heard something about it.”

Her mouth spread into a smile that brought light into his soul, driving back the hunched, vicious shadows lurking there. “You liar.

You have read it.”

“I have a friend who enjoys comic books,” he allowed. “I might have spent some time reading one while visiting him.” Her hand was still on his jaw, her fingers moving in his hair, stroking in a reassuring and yet tempting way, making him want to press his face into the slim, feminine palm, brush his lips over it. And then go further, for all she wore was a thin cotton sleep shirt, falling off one smooth shoulder. She smelled like jasmine. But then he noticed her other hand, the one gingerly curled on his chest.

He enclosed the hand gently in his. “I hurt your knuckles.”

“I’m sure they will heal in no time.” She shook her head. “Don’t get that look. You’re about to get all aggravated because I rushed in here with no thought for my well-being, and you could have broken me like a doll, or gone after me with fangs—”

“All of which is true.”

“But you didn’t,” she pointed out.

“Jessica, I have these nightmares. Amara and Enrique have learned to wait them out.”

“This was different. You co-opted mine. I wasn’t going to let you feel that, in addition to what I could tell you were already feeling.” She shrugged irritably. “Mason, do you honestly think there’s anything you can do to hurt me that would be worse than what I’ve already experienced?”

Jessica had hoped to ease his concern with that bald statement, but something stilled in those amber depths so that it stilled her as well, her fingers resting on his bare shoulder now. The male was a wall of hard, aroused muscle, and all she wanted was to stay right here against him.

He’d obviously received that thought loud and clear, if the convulsive jerk of the organ pressed against her belly was any indication.

“Yes, I could. I could betray your trust. You fear that above anything else right now. If that turned out to be true, I could destroy you.” When she would have protested, he shook his head. “I’m in your mind, Jessica. I know it’s the truth.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t trust you at all. No further than I could throw you. So there.” She didn’t care if he knew it was a lie. When she tilted her head and fired a defiant look at him, she was pleased by the hint of a smile on his firm mouth. “But I’m no longer confused about one thing. I know all the synapses aren’t firing right in my brain, but you’re not Raithe. I promise I know that, Mason. I wish you’d believe me. I need you to believe it.”

Taking a breath, Jessica took her hand to his mouth, traced his lips. Mason froze, that magnificent, muscular body going still as she outlined the sensual shape. He was right. She’d never thought about this benefit of a third mark, of having a vampire in her mind.

So, in elaborate detail, she could imagine how that mouth felt on hers, on her body. How she wanted to touch him.

She shifted. With him leaning against the wall, he had one leg braced out long and straight, the other bent. Now she put her hip into that bent one, which brushed her abdomen against the part of him again that was most interested in her proximity. She knew it was easy to feel her nipples through the cotton shirt. Her thin panties didn’t shield her at all from the heat building in his groin, and she wondered if he felt the responsive heat in her own. Since his breath drew in on a near growl, she assumed he did.

For once, she was more than willing to use her knowledge of vampires for her own pleasure. Knowing what got their engines running on all cylinders, she teased his bottom lip, tracing wet heat with her fingertip, and grazed a fang with her knuckle, letting the tip score her skin, enough to produce blood.

“Ouch,” she whispered, turning the digit so it was in his mouth, dallying with the curl of his tongue. He tasted her, the amber eyes brilliantly intense on her face as he soothed the cut. Mason’s fingers flexed on her back, above the band of her panties, bunching the cloth of the shirt in his fist.

“Will you hurt me, Mason?” She asked it in a voice she was surprised to hear quaver. Maybe this was one of her crazy moments; she didn’t know. All she knew was, as much as she didn’t want to go back to her room to the lingering vibrations of her nightmares, she didn’t want to leave him here with his. She didn’t want to think about those screams, what they meant. Sometime soon, she would want to know, but not right now.

“Only if you beg me to,” he responded in a dangerous voice, thrilling her with the matching flash in his gaze, the strength of that arm cinching in so she was pressed hard against him. She closed her eyes, a shudder running through her body. His other hand moved down and gripped her buttock, winning a soft mewl of desire from her lips. Lifting her body, he rubbed her against his cock in a way that slid her clit against it, the sensation heightened by the friction of the clothes between them. When he groaned, she gasped herself, the bolt of sensation startling her. She desperately wanted him, needed him, inside of her now. Her panties were already soaked, and she knew he could feel it, sense it, smell it.

Her body couldn’t care less about the folly, the complexity and the irony of her attraction to a vampire. Every time she was in proximity to him this started to happen. Starved for his touch, the rest didn’t matter, past, present or future. She didn’t want a self-pleasuring, or Amara’s mouth, or even Mason’s provocative thoughts. She wanted his strong hands, his heavy cock, the weight of his body demanding everything from her. Total surrender of thought or choice, whether madness or not.

He had her by the wrist now, her fingers free of his mouth, but he was . . . oh, God. He was kissing her wrist, one fang sliding down her frantically beating pulse, the long, slick side of the enamel, not the sharpened point, teasing her. Turning his gaze back to her, he reached out to the wall beside him, where a pair of crossed daggers was mounted. He pulled one free of the scabbard without even glancing at it. Before she could get apprehensive about his intentions, he took the blade to his throat and pricked the artery there.

His other hand cupped her face.

“It will help your fingers heal more quickly.” His molten gaze held hers. “No argument, habiba. I burn to feel your mouth on me.” Rising on her tiptoes, since he’d lowered her back to her feet to pull the blade, she found she couldn’t quite get there. Giving him a disparaging look, she raised a brow. “A boost would be helpful.”

Never mind her voice was a bit breathless. A spark of humor went through his gaze, but it was lost in the fires of lust that weakened her knees, making her need the assistance even more. The hold of his arm increased, his knee pressing between her legs, compelling them to open. As he slid her up the hard column of his thigh, she cried out. Oh, God. That flexing muscle between her legs, the spasms that rocketed through her clit. She curled her arm behind his neck, undamaged fingers digging into his shoulder, and brought her mouth to the cut.

At the first touch of her lips, he tightened everywhere, muscles rippling along chest and arm, cock convulsing where it was trapped beneath her hip bone. To a third-mark, the smell of blood was appetizing . . . but only the blood of the Master. She licked at the dagger mark, feeling him harden further against her as his mouth brushed her ear.

Take me to bed, Mason. I want you inside me.

Giving orders, habiba ? He nipped her sharply and electricity strummed through her.

Please, Mason. I need you.

You need many things, love. But I’m not sure if that’s one of them.

She bit and he growled, swinging her over to the bed and taking her down on her back, pinning her with his body as he cupped her head, holding her to his neck until he deemed she’d had enough. It felt glorious, the length of him stretched out on her. Lifting her legs, she tangled them over his hips, those bare buttocks, so taut. Straining up so her damp center rubbed against his cock, a swatch of thin cloth separating them, she willed him to tear her panties away, to simply take her.

“You can feel how wet I am for you,” she gasped. “Do it.”

But she could already see it happening, that thing that had happened every time they reached this point, and she wanted to howl, wanted to have his strength so she could force him forward. The doubt collecting in his eyes, the decision swinging another way, despite what it was obvious both of their bodies wanted. He caught her face in both hands, held her still.

“Goddamn you,” she snarled. “You want to. I can feel it. Get over yourself. It’s not that big a deal. Just fu—” Stop it.

“I’m not her,” she shouted in his face, not caring that temper flared in his eyes. “I’m not your precious, never-say-a-foul-word, submissive Farida. I’m not perfect and beautiful, trapped in your memory like some freaking zoo animal. You’re the one who keeps drawing away.”