The Sinner

“You are beautiful,” he said in an alien voice.

“This is not… something I do.” She motioned between them. “You know… randomly. You’re different.”

“No,” he said softly. “We’re the same. That’s why this is different.”

When he held out his hands, she came to him like a blessing from above, all warmth and mystery, a goddess in the flesh appearing before him from out of a dream. And soon enough, she would disappear on him, as all dreams did, but for now…

As she straddled him once more, Syn pressed his lips to the skin of her shoulders and ran his palms over her hips, down onto her thighs… then up through to the core of her, to the sweetness and the heat, to the heart of everything that made her female.

“Syn,” she groaned.

The feel of her slick sex made him close his eyes, especially as his body went live wire, his cock pounding with its own heartbeat. Still, he knew better than to believe any of that promise as it related to his own release.

Not that he mattered in this. She was the only thing on his mind. In his heart.

“Come for me,” he breathed into her mouth.

Penetrating her with his fingers, he stroked the top of her sex with his thumb, and a split second later, she stiffened and jerked against him. With care, he rode out her orgasm, giving her body every chance to fully enjoy the sensations—and meanwhile, he enjoyed the view of her.

Syn watched it all. And with greed, he memorized everything about her in the moment, from the undulations of her bare breasts, to the flush on her face, to the flicker of her jugular from her pounding heart. He breathed in deep, loving her scent, and he ran his eyes down the length of her naked body, from the cradle of her hips and the quiver of her thighs to the flex of her toes. He couldn’t see the cleft of her sex because his hand was there.

His hand never wanted to leave there.

When she finally stilled, he didn’t want to break their connection. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to be a normal, fully functioning male who could use what had just happened to her as a preamble for what would become something shared. But that was not possible. That would have to be part of another dream, a different one that would never be lived, at least not for him.

And he was okay with his reality. As long as he had this moment with her, nothing else mattered.

As he retracted his fingers, Jo’s heavy-lidded eyes lifted to his.

She didn’t speak. She moved.

Tilting her head, she kissed him deep, her hair flowing over him—and greedy for more contact, his hands skated up the back of her thighs and tightened on her backside, kneading the flesh there. Distracted by the feel of her, he at first didn’t notice where her own hands went.

They were between their bodies, at the front of his fly.

He should tell her no.

God… he should tell her to stop. But then he realized that was just to keep himself from the physical pain that would come later, and that was bullshit. She could ride him and he could feel her—

The first touch of her hands on his bare cock made him thrust up with his hips.

But then she was cursing. “Condom. I need a—do you have one?”

He shook his head. “I can’t give you anything. I don’t carry viruses or diseases of any sort.”

Because he was a vampire.

Jo frowned. “Aren’t you afraid I might have something?”

“No, because you don’t.”

“How do you know.”

“Do you?” When she shook her head, he shrugged. “So I’m right.”

And he would have explained it all, but he couldn’t. The problem was, she might just linger in the almost-there of transitioning. Half-breeds were known to do that, the change never truly arriving, the hormones going dormant after they tried to surge all the way but could not complete the transformation.

He didn’t like to think about that outcome.

He didn’t want them on opposite sides of the species divide.

“We can just stop here,” he said. “It’s okay.”

There was a hesitation. “I’m on the pill. For regulating my periods.”

“You’re not ovulating now, but it wouldn’t matter if you were. I won’t… I can’t get you pregnant.”

There was an awkward pause. Like she wanted more information on that one. “Oh.”

“It’s okay,” he said as he reached up and stroked her face. “We can stop.”

“But I don’t want to.”

Without hesitation, she stood him up and sat herself down upon him, joining them properly, his erection buried deep in her tight, tight hold. In response, he jacked his head back and squeezed her thighs, his arousal kicking inside of her.

Before he could move, she moved for him, her hips rolling in a wave, her hands holding on to his shoulders, her breasts coming up and receding back, the nipples brushing his pecs as her head fell loose on the top of her spine. Without thought, he echoed her rhythm, thrusting hard, grabbing her waist and working her up and down on his shaft. Gritting his teeth, he felt urgency to the point of pain, the sensitivity of his cock so great, he shook from it.

And then she orgasmed.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he held himself still so he could memorize the tightening of her core against his shaft. The sensations were so incredible that he felt as though he was gaining on the cliff of release himself, the lip edge so close, he braced his awareness for the final part of the sex act to culminate after all these years.

Only with her, he thought. It made sense somehow that it was her—

Jo slowed.

Then she stopped.

As she collapsed onto his chest and breathed heavily, he began to pant. Surely it would happen… now…

His hips jerked. His cock spasmed. His hands tightened so much they dug into her pelvic bones.

But no.

Syn remained on the verge, and the pleasure soon soured into pain, until the smallest move she made was like a dagger into his cock, the icy hot agony stabbing his sac.

His female lifted her head. And there was a smile on her face that, under different circumstances, he would have taken great satisfaction in.

The smile didn’t last. As she moved, he winced and hissed.

“Are you okay?” she said.

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 



Jo might have been enjoying an amazing post-best-sex-of-her-life glow, but she wasn’t completely out to lunch. Then again, it was so obvious that something was seriously wrong with Syn that she’d have to be knocked out cold not to notice. Underneath her body, he was sitting stone still on the couch, sweat beading his forehead and his upper lip, his chest pumping in short bursts, the veins running down his biceps and into his forearms standing out in sharp relief.

Oh, God, were they going to end up on an episode of Sex Sent Me to the ER?

“What can I do?” she asked.

“Get… off… me…” he gritted.

Pushing up from her knees, she felt his rock-hard erection slip out of her, and as the length bounced on his lower belly, he hissed again and flared his fingers out straight from his hands like they were channeling the pain he was in. And then he just sat there.

“Do you want me to help you–”

“Don’t touch it.” Syn’s eyes were squeezed shut so hard, his whole face wrinkled, his lips pulling off his—