Bond of Blood Page 14
"Water and soda are all we have," Grania said dubiously.
"Soda would be delicious," he accepted politely and followed her to the staff lounge. Soda. He shuddered to himself and continued to talk about subjects that cheered her. "The swamps there must have been very different from the deserts you were accustomed to…"
That topic kept them going all the way to the staff lounge and more talk of her research until Grania began eyeing the clock just before midnight.
She jumped when he started a different topic. "Do you have any questions for me, querida?"
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Mierda, he must have used an endearment too quickly. What sort of fools had attended her university for her to be so unaccustomed to cherishing? He backtracked quickly. "Relax, please, doctora. I give endearments only to very special people, not passing fancies. You are a very unique woman," he offered with a slight bow. "I would like to study you, as you would like to study me."
She flushed with embarrassment at being so obvious and twitched.
Maldita sea, she was nervous again. Rafael stayed perfectly still on the other side of the lounge from her, careful not to frighten her.
"How do I know that?" he asked rhetorically. "You saw me last night with the blonde. You have obviously satisfied yourself that she wasn't harmed, querida, or you wouldn't be sitting here so calmly with me. Correct?"
She nodded, stiff as the proverbial poker.
"So, what would you like to ask me, querida?" Rafael prodded gently. "I believe that the lady was content with the encounter last night."
"Yes, it seemed like symbiosis to me," Grania responded slowly, drumming her fingers on her notebook.
"Symbiosis?" Rafael echoed, startled at her description of an erotic event. Just like that, she switches to a scientific discussion? When she herself had an orgasm from watching?
"Exactly. She had an orgasm and you obtained some blood. But it didn't look like what the books say."
Rafael smiled privately. At least she mentioned the word orgasm. Perhaps there is hope. "Oh, most of the books are very wrong, doctora. A few have some elements of truth though."
¡Que jodienda! How can I get through to this female? She's so skittish, I can't push her. But how? Nothing else has worked, so why not try a gamble?
She took another sip of her soda.
"So here you are, interviewing a vampiro," Rafael remarked. "An unexpected event for both of us. I will answer your questions, doctora, as much as I can. It is a pleasure to converse with a beautiful, intelligent woman." He inclined his head to her and toasted her with his execrable drink. "But you must promise me that you will never tell anyone else, in any way, what you have learned tonight."
If she talked, he'd kill her, of course. Something inside him screamed in pain at the thought but he steeled himself. He'd spent five hundred years making sure he would survive at all costs, he and all the others who depended on him. One prosaica would not be allowed to interfere with his responsibilities.
A grin broke across her face and she saluted him in return. "You'll answer my questions? Cool! Let me get a pen and we can talk." She speedily retrieved a pen from her backpack and opened her notebook. She looked up at him more seriously, pen poised over the lined paper. "You have my word, Señor Perez, that I will never disclose my data or my findings without your explicit permission."
Rafael raised an eyebrow, recognizing her formal phrasing. La doctora had taken a scientific oath, the equivalent of a knightly vow. Honoring that, he bowed to her and waited for her first question.
Her eyes lit up and she put him through an interrogation whose relentlessness and thoroughness would have impressed even the Inquisition. She asked only about vampiro reproductive biology, nothing else. Not the wealth he might have acquired in such a long life, nor the friends, nor the power. Not even the Santiago Trust, whose land her employer would be exploring.
And she never, ever fully voiced any question that made her blush or look away from him. Oh, she'd start to say something, then blush, stammer—and change the subject back to something unexceptionable.
She was very focused on her questions, though. Perhaps now she'd allow him to approach closer…
Rafael stood up and stretched. He paced a bit as he answered her questions, occasionally coming close to her and seeing too much. Fair skin, inviting his touch. The faint scent of flowers in her hair. Her fingers curled around her pen as she drove it across the page; would she glide her hand over her lover with the same concentration? The fan of her lashes on her cheeks, the adorable tendrils of hair escaping from those tight braids to sweep over her ears and neck…
She ignored his movements, continuing to focus on her notebook, as she queried him.
A half hour later, he'd retreated to the far side of the lounge, where he would be less tempted to grab her and kiss the pulse beating in her neck. Grania was curled up on the lumpy sofa, studying his answer to the last sentence as she nibbled the tip of one fingernail, while he leaned against the wall.
He eyed her with pure irritation and frustrated lust. ¡Coño, despite five hundred years of experience in seducing women, he was still sitting on the opposite side of the room from her, as if there was a dueña on guard!
He fought the urge to crumple his can and hurl it through a window.
They were alone in a building at night, in a small, quiet room. Yet she still didn't feel comfortable enough to relax with him.
Somehow he needed to build a feeling of intimacy between them. Perhaps if he coaxed her to ask him that secret question, she might feel a bond between them. Perhaps she'd ask about another aspect of vampiro reproduction, such as the population size needed to nurse a cachorro through La Lujuria. Or the heightened senses, a subject she hadn't touched on, although she'd obviously done a great deal of research. Or…
He deepened his voice and slowed it to a social pace, escaping the scientific atmosphere.
"I've never before discussed vampiros with anyone who wasn't a vampiro or considering becoming one. Talking to you has been very enlightening for me."
Grania preened, sitting tall and smiling at him. She even closed her damn notebook. He considered taking another sip of the appalling pap in the can as a sign of fellowship, reconsidered, and simply swirled the stuff.
"But you still have one particular question for me, doctora. It has been burning your tongue all evening as you start to voice it, then quickly change your words. Do you believe now that I will be truthful with you? Come, ask your question."
She hesitated, her finger tapping the notebook. But she didn't immediately refuse.
He was too experienced a hunter to push her. He took a sip of the execrable, lukewarm sugar water, his eyes never leaving hers.
She swallowed hard. "Do you masturbate?"
His jaw dropped and he choked. Trust la doctora to bring up that topic in a scientific manner—and knock him off his feet!
She blushed and started to say something more.
But he closed his eyes and chuckled. She fell silent.
He opened his eyes, still laughing at his own idiocies, and crossed the room to her. He dropped to his knees in front of her, politely ignoring how she gaped at him. He bent his head and kissed her hand.
"You are truly the most incredible woman. So intelligent and so attractive." He kissed her hand again more slowly this time, exploring every delicate bone and tendon under the fine skin. ¡Ay, the slight tremors that ran up her arm into her heart!
He lightly rubbed his cheek against her hand, enjoying how his beard stubble made her shiver. What he wouldn't give to explore her between her legs the same way… "Sí, I masturbate but very rarely. I am seldom without sexual companions, as you have undoubtedly guessed. But sometimes, querida, I fantasize when I am alone and bring myself to a climax."
She trembled under his touch, a delicate flush of heat racing through her. She reached out, very tentatively, and pushed a strand of hair back from his forehead. He closed his eyes a
nd tilted his head into her palm, savoring her touch. Finally, she was touching him of her own volition.
He'd widen this opening in her defenses as far as he could. She liked to observe, as he knew from the time in the park. So he'd offer her a performance to answer her doctoral "scientific curiosity"—and start building the links he needed.
"Would you like to watch me, Grania?" Rafael asked, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet room.
She swallowed hard, hunger and indecision written across her face.
"I think it would bring you pleasure if you watched," he murmured.
She nodded, her tongue touching her lip. Ah, si, you do so like to watch, doctora.
"But I would like to ask a favor of you in return."
She stiffened, eyeing him suspiciously.
"If watching me excites you, may I have a drop of your blood afterward? That would allow me a taste of your emotion, which is what I truly desire, Grania. I swear to you that you would be in no danger." Just a little thing, nothing too dangerous. Open the door for me, querida . . .
She considered the proposed bargain long and hard before agreeing. He waited patiently, truly not knowing what she'd choose. But that was the charm and the challenge of la doctora, the most unusual woman he'd met since becoming a vampiro.
"St, Rafael, you may have a sample of my blood. I put my faith in your honor."
Shock swept over Rafael. She agreed—but by relying on his honor? When she thought he was a supernatural monster? He felt exalted, lifted up and ennobled, as if he'd just been knighted.
For Grania, who knew so little of masculine cherishing, he would give the best show he could. He'd dance for her, for only the joy of the moment and the hope of seducing her into pleasure as well. But which style of dance? He'd learned so many in his lifetime.
He kissed her hand, bowing low in acknowledgment of the honor she'd done him, and stood up. He backed away, so she could see him clearly, and began to warm up, still wondering which dance would tempt her the most. Flamenco, perhaps?
He automatically planted his feet firmly on the floor, as far apart as his hips, and relaxed his knees. His back straight and his head erect, he rolled his neck. Only once or twice, to buy himself some time to decide. If the move startled her, he could always make a joke of it.
Instead, she leaned forward, watching him intently. ¡Ay, so he'd caught the doctoraos attention!
He did a few more neck rolls. She was definitely fascinated. He executed some arm and leg rolls, while still relaxed and smiling at her. He rolled his hips, just a little, not enough to move his shoulders or anything else. Grania put down her lab notebook to watch him. Her lab notebook, which she'd wielded like a shield the entire evening.
But the dance style that best suited these exercises was one he hadn't performed in five hundred years, not since he'd escaped his captivity in the eastern courts. Still, he'd been able to occasionally lose himself in it back then, one of the few relaxations he'd been permitted. Perhaps it would not be too bad to dance it once again, since it was the first thing that had cracked la doctora's shell.
He hesitated, remembering so many old humiliations—and ecstasies. Surely he could manage it one more time.
He swayed a bit, trying to remember some of the music. He'd always loved dancing to the tablah, the hand drum, its strong, eternally changing beat underlying everything else. He swayed again, remembering how the reed pipe had woven its song of joy and yearning, into the tablah's beat. He shook out his hair, letting it tease his neck.
Grania's tongue darted out over her lips.
Encouraged, Rafael strutted to the old rhythms and threw out his chest, drawing the dance from his center, deep in his belly. His arms twisted over his head, displaying his strength and ferocity. His lungs swelled, as his skin heated. He stroked his chest through the cloth and his heart started to beat faster at her wide-eyed fascination.
Her fingers started to drum on the arm of her chair, matching the rhythm of his hips and feet. His heartbeat speeded up even more.
Grania swallowed hard, her breasts rising and falling rapidly under her T-shirt.
Then he kicked himself. This was moving too far and too fast for his own self-control. If she looked at him like that much longer, he might be the one begging for a kiss. He stretched, rolling his arms up over his head and back down again, to close the first dance.
Then he sat down in the chair beside her and took his boots off. Grania stared at him and he chuckled. "Boots are easier appreciated at other times, querida, when they don't come between a man and what he wants."
She blushed and he tossed his head back, grinning at his sally's success.
He took his socks off and rubbed his feet, accustoming her to the sight of his skin. She reddened further, her eyes flashing away only to return. Her breasts swelled and tightened under her thin T-shirt.
Still, this was a very promising start to her seduction.
Rafael stood up again and let the old music, with its sensual melodies and unpredictable rhythms, ripple all the way up his body. When it burned its way to his bones, he began to dance again.
Hips swaying and shoulders high, he flaunted his masculinity—yet he never allowed her to look at him directly. He shook his head, rippling his hair over his skin—and exulted privately when lust leaped in her eyes.
He circled his hips, showing off his strong ass, and twisted to display his muscles for her. He caressed himself through his clothes—and saw her clench her fists.
Bien. Now la doctora was finally feeling the sting of frustrated lust.
Heat danced under his skin, lanced through his veins, every time he saw her gulp or lick her lips. His cock swelled and rose, straining against the tight jeans. He panted, gathering energy. Pulses began to build in his spine, to be used for his dance and his climax. Come gathered in his balls, begging for release.
All the while, he watched his beautiful audience, matching his every move to what most excited her. He could have danced like this for hours without ejaculating; por Dios, he'd learned how in the worst of schools. He'd avoided doing so since, disliking the memories. But la doctora, biting her lip as she fought not to show her excitement, was unschooled and irresistible.
All too soon, it was time to push her a little more. Make his nipples more prominent, perhaps. Or show off his ass more; Grania seemed to particularly enjoy that portion of his anatomy.
He plucked his nipples hard through his T-shirt, enjoying the little sting of pain. He circled his hips and squeezed his rear, thrusting his chest toward her in a show of dominance.
She gasped for breath and moaned softly, her hands clenching and unclenching.
Bien. He arched his head back and peeled off his T-shirt slowly. Slowly he slid it from side to side over his shoulders, teasing her more.
She hissed sharply, shuddered, and closed her eyes.
He froze. ¡Coño, he'd forgotten his scars! Would she make him stop? Por Dios, he didn't want to, not now, not with his cock weeping pre-come.
Grania's eyes opened slowly, the dark blue of the stormy North Sea. They fixed on his hand where it rested on his belt buckle. She gulped and swallowed, licked her lips.
His cock jerked and throbbed. ¡Sí!
He slipped his thumbs into his jeans' waistband and circled his hips, emphasizing the movement by keeping her attention on his belt buckle—and the bulge underneath his fly. He varied the tempo, remembering the taqsim's ancient improvisations. He stroked himself lasciviously, slowly, fanned his fingers over himself. Then, still keeping his thumbs in his waistband, he rolled his hips again.
She whimpered, the merest hint of sound. She was almost quivering as she sat still, adorable in her desperate attempts to retain self-control. Beautiful beyond belief.
He ached for this moment to last so he took the longest possible time handling himself, before he unzipped his jeans. Her reaction was everything he could have wished when his cock bobbed free: a throaty gasp, followed by her low moan of desire.
His hand closed around his cock and he turned away from her, presenting his profile to emphasize the size of his erection. He enjoyed the sound of her protesting growls as she watched him. He played longer, teasing himself inside his jeans. Toying with his balls then pressing on his perineum to delay orgasm.
She cursed viciously under her breath and sat up straight.
He sniffed delicately. Ah, she was definitely creaming very well indeed. It was time to hasten matters.
He faced her again, stomping his feet and tossing his head. He slipped his hand inside his jeans and cupped his balls, lifting up his cock so it would look even larger than it was.
Grania stared at the subtle movements, riveted in place.
Ah, so she liked to be teased, not to have the answer flaunted in front of her, did she? Well, she was a scientist, who'd spent years studying and exploring. Her attitude appealed to him, given his long lifetime and fight against boredom. It was also frustrating, when every nerve in his body demanded immediate fulfillment.
Growling softly, he played with himself a little longer. Then he pushed his jeans slowly, oh so slowly, down his legs with little wiggles of his hips. He threw his head back and arched his chest, flaunting himself.
She whimpered again. The sofa squeaked, as she moved impatiently, before she settled back down.
Excelente. Pleasure for both of them looked closer and closer. But he needed to heat her veins further, until she ached as much as he did. If not, he'd shoot come across the floor.
He teased her by turning so she first saw his buttocks, then his hips and legs, and finally his jutting cock. She gripped the sofa arm hard, moaning softly.
¡Gracias a Dios, she finally sounded truly desperate!
Rafael stroked his cock firmly, the tablah's beat echoing in his hips and the reed pipe's song running through his veins. He twisted his hand over his cock head when the tablah beat faster and heard her gasp. He shimmied, tilting his pelvis forward so he could cup his balls, so very sensitive now as they ached to unload themselves. Lust speared upward, tightening his nipples further.