Undead and Unappreciated

I paused outside Sinclair's bedroom. The sun would be up soon, and just thinking about the night's events (not to mention living through them) made me tired. But now what? I'd told Sinclair the truth... told myself the truth. I knew he shared my feelings. We were engaged. We lived together. We were apparently in love. So did we share a bedroom? Did we wait until our wedding night?



My unholy lust for Sinclair's delicious bad self aside, I wanted to share a bed with him. I wanted to make up for using him earlier, and I wanted to hear his deep voice in the dark. And in my head.



On the other hand, after what I'd done to him earlier, what right did I have to expect us to literally kiss and make up? If our situations had been reversed, I'd have held a grudge for at least a year. Maybe I should give him time.



On the other other hand, he had come to Scratch specifically to... what? Regardless, he'd saved my ass yet again. Maybe it was silly to be all "you can have space, big guy."



Oh boy, was I pooped. Screw it. I'd worry about it tomorrow night.



I turned away and plodded down the hall to my room. One thing-well, another thing-to worry about; I had the master bedroom, which in a place like this was really saying something. After we got married, Sinclair would probably want to share it with me. That could be a problem; he was as picky about his suits as I was about my shoes. There was room in my heart for Sinclair, but was there room in my closet?



I opened my door and gaped. Sinclair was in my bed, shirtless (at least!), blankets up to his waist, poring over all kind of dusty books. He looked up. "Oh, there you are. Ready for bed?"



I clutched the knob. Uh, the doorknob. "Don't you think this is a little presumptuous?"



"No."



"I debated outside your door and decided to give you space!"



"How sweet. Please strip now."



I snorted, torn between irritation, arousal, and plain old happiness. One thing about Eric Sinclair: he didn't dither. "Okay," I said, shutting the door. "But don't think it will be this easy every night."



"I'm counting on it, actually. Do you know, you're the only woman who has ever refused me?"



"No wonder you're such a pain."



"Tina had the same theory," he said thoughtfully. "But I dismissed it."



I pulled my T-shirt over my head, struggled out of my jeans, then stripped off my bra and panties. I shoved a few smelly books out of the way, ignoring his wince, and wriggled under the covers.



"Sushi socks?" he asked.



"What is it with you and Japanese cuisine? You don't like my sushi jammies, you don't like my socks..."



He smirked. "It's possible they're hurting the mood."



"Hey, it's chilly in here."



"If I warm you up," he said, pulling me against his chest, "will you take them off?"



"Done and done," I said, and opened my mouth against his. His hands circled my rib cage and then moved up, and it was all very fine. Whatever had happened between us, this moment seemed exactly right.



I reached down and felt him beneath my hand, already hard, and had a second to wonder-How did vampires get it up? Then I forgot about it as his hands cupped my bottom and pulled me closer, so close you couldn't have slipped a piece of Saran Wrap between us. He broke the kiss and pressed his lips to the hollow of my throat.



Oh Elizabeth, Elizabeth, at last, at last.



I nearly sighed with relief. I could hear him in my head again! I definitely wasn't evil anymore. Not that I had worried too much about it, but I had missed the intimacy of it.



"I love you," I said.



Elizabeth, oh my Elizabeth. His grip tightened, and after a long moment he murmured against my neck, "I love you, too. I've always loved you." Always. Always.



"You can bite me if you wa-" And then his teeth were in me, his tongue was pressed firmly against my throat, and we shuddered together. Only when Eric bit me did I feel like everything was wonderful. Only with Eric did I not mind being dead. In fact, being with Eric was the opposite of being dead.



"Oh, G-oh, thath good."



He stopped drinking so he could laugh, and I leaned down and tickled his balls. "Don't thtart or I'll thing a hymn."



"Anything but that, darling. You should practice more, get used to the scent."



"I only like doing that with you," I said, and he bit me again, on the other side.



And I you, you are sweet, you are like wine, you are... everything.



"Ummm..." I was shivering like I had a fever; God, I wanted him so much. "Come inside me now. I've waited long enough. Don't start about it being my own fault."



He laughed again and eased into me; I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt him slide all the way home. And oh, it was sweet, it was like wine, it was everything. I licked his throat and bit him, yes, it was like wine.



"Elizabeth," he groaned, thrusting hard. He grabbed my thighs, spread them apart for him, clamped down. Shoved, pushed, penetrated. And oh, it was good, it was so good. Elizabeth, I love you, there's no one. No one.



"Oh, boy," I gasped. That was it. That did it. I had thought my orgasm was way off, but it was just around the corner and when he said my name, when he thought my name, I could feel myself opening beneath his hands, his cock, his mouth, opening and coming, and it was more than fine, it was like coming home.



"Listen," he said, and his voice-it was trembling. I was shocked, even in the depths of my pleasure... I'd never heard him sound like that before. "Elizabeth. Listen to me. Don't do that again. Run off like that. Scare me again. Do you promise?"



Well, I didn't exactly run off, I was just trying to take charge of things, and I certainly didn't set out to scare him, but-



"Do you promise?"



"Yes, yes, I promise. I didn't mean to scare you."



You are the only one who can scare me. "All right," he said, and his voice sounded normal again, thank goodness. He reached down and gently thumbed my clit, and this time when I shuddered, he did, too.



It took a long time for me to move, and I just sort of wriggled out from beneath him and flopped over like a fish. He groaned when I punched his shoulder to get him to give me a little room.



"Well, that was..." Orgasmic? Too obvious. Earth-shaking? Too cliched. Fantastically amazingly wonderful? Too needy.



He picked up my hand and kissed the knuckles. "Sublime."



"Ah! Luh mot just."



He laughed. "Close enough."



I hesitated. It was obvious to me, and had been from the beginning, that he didn't know I could pick up his thoughts when we were having sex (when I wasn't evil). And I had never been able to figure out a way to tell him. He was so controlled, so cool and calm, I didn't know how to say it without freaking him out or making him mad. Hell, I could hardly explain it to myself; I'd never been able to read minds before, and I couldn't read anyone else's.



But now was the time. Things had never been better between us, more comfortable, more natural. In fact, I had never been happier, felt more loved, so safe. I would tell him, and he wouldn't freak out, and everything would still be nice between us.



"Good night, sweetheart," he said, and the sun slipped up in the sky-I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. I spun down and down into sleep.



And the moment passed.