Cliff’s Descent by Dianne Duvall

Chapter Fifteen

Amber light flared to life in Cliff’s eyes as he brushed her lips with his. Once. Twice. Then deepened the contact.

Desire shot through Emma when his arms tightened around her and his tongue stroked hers. She could feel Cliff’s erection trapped beneath her, but that wasn’t where she wanted it. Dropping her hands to his shoulders, she rose onto her knees, slung a leg over his, and straddled him.

As soon as she sank onto his lap, Cliff gripped her ass in both hands and tugged her tight against him. Yes. His hard cock, still constrained by the fabric of his pants, rubbed her clit. Moaning, she rocked against him as his kisses grew more feverish, his hands more bold.

Cool air wafted across her back as he drew her zipper down. Emma abandoned his lips long enough for him to yank her dress over her head and toss it on the floor. Then she kissed him again, loving his taste, the fervent exploration of his hands.

His thumbs skimmed the lace that covered her breasts. Fire shot through her as he teased the hard tips.

“Cliff,” she breathed. “I want you.” She fisted his shirt, dragged the hem up out of his pants, and drew it over his head.

He was so damn hot. Broad shoulders. Bulging biceps. A muscled chest that bore dark hair that tempted her. She loved hairy chests. Curling her fingers in it, she gave it a tug.

His eyes flashed bright amber. He unfastened her bra with deft fingers and flung it aside. Then, bending her back over his arm, he closed his lips around the stiff, sensitive peak of one breast.

Emma moaned. Arching against him, she gripped his hair. Every touch and brush of his lips set her on fire. She had never in her life wanted a man more.

Slipping a hand between them, Cliff tore her panties off. “I’ll replace them,” he murmured before delivering a love bite to her breast.

She jerked against him. “I don’t care. Just take your pants off. I don’t want to come until you’re inside me, and I’m already close.”

He growled against her breast.

“Yes. More, Cliff. Please.”

He didn’t take the time to pull off his pants, clearly impatient to be inside her. Or maybe she just didn’t give him time to. As soon as he unfastened them and freed his erection, Emma curled her fingers around his long hard length and began to stroke him.

He hissed in a breath as she drew her thumb over and around the crown. “Emma,” he groaned.

Rising to her knees, she guided him to her slick entrance and sank down, taking him deep inside her, loving the way he stretched her.

His arms tightened around her as he groaned. “You feel so good,” he uttered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Then both began to move, urgency driving them, hands stroking, mouths tasting, the passion building and building until she cried out as ecstasy crashed through her. Her body clamped down around him, squeezing his hard length in rhythmic pulses that drew her name from his lips as he came hard.

Her heart battering her ribs, Emma sank against him. Little aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through her as she nuzzled his neck and felt his pulse race beneath his warm skin.

Cliff wrapped his arms around her and snuggled her close. He pressed a kiss to her hair before he rested his cheek atop her head.

She smiled. Cliff was a cuddler. She loved that about him. Or perhaps he was just starved for physical contact. He had been at the network for almost three years now and certainly hadn’t had any other girlfriends in that time.

Some of the glow from their lovemaking faded.

Three years. Melanie said most vampires would’ve succumbed to the madness by now.

“How are the voices?” she asked softly, needing to know despite her reluctance to spoil the mood.

“Gone.” Leaning back, he cupped her face in his big hands and smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. His eyes still bore an amber glow as he smiled at her, then touched his lips to hers in a kiss so tender it made her heart melt. “You silence them, Emma.”

If only she could silence them permanently so he could be free.

She forced a smile. “Maybe they heard the birds and squirrels talking and are afraid I’m going to sing.”

He laughed. “Maybe so.”

Once their breathing calmed, they opted to shower together. Hot water sluiced down around them as steam turned the glass door opaque. As the two of them lathered each other up, Emma began to sing a playful tune.

Cliff grinned. “Wow. You weren’t kidding. You really can’t sing. I can’t even tell what song that is.”

Laughing, she punished him by singing louder until he silenced her with his lips, lifted her into his arms, and took her against the wall.

It was the first time she’d ever had shower sex. And she vowed it wouldn’t be the last.

Once dry, they stumbled into the bedroom and tumbled onto the bed where he took her again, swiftly driving her to a third, then fourth, climax. Emma was so exhausted afterward that she had to fight to keep from falling asleep when he rolled them to their sides and spooned up behind her.

“I wish every night could be like this,” he murmured, his breath teasing her hair as he tightened his hold.

Reaching back, she curled a hand around the nape of his neck. “Then every night will be, Cliff.”

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

After Cliff left, fatigue hit Emma like a sledgehammer.

Having worked the day shift for the past year or so, she had—of necessity—had to maintain an early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule. So her body didn’t appreciate the sudden late nights.

Shuffling into the bedroom, she tumbled face-first onto the covers and drew the pillow that carried Cliff’s scent to her chest. “Totally worth it,” she mumbled as she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

An explosion of sound jerked her awake.

Jackknifing up in bed, heart slamming against her ribs, she glanced around with wide eyes. What the hell? It reminded her of the time golf-ball-sized hail had fallen when she was a little girl. The noise had been deafening and had utterly terrified her.

It did the same now. Especially since there had been no rain in the five-day forecast, let alone hail.

Racing to her window, she speared the blinds with her fingers and yanked them apart so she could peer out at… a tranquil backyard just beginning to lighten with dawn.

What?

She didn’t realize until then that the sound was concentrated at the front of the house.

Quiet fell.

She held her breath.

The thunderous racket began anew.

Swearing, she glanced down at the tank top and pajama shorts she’d donned to see Cliff to the door. In record time, she tugged on yoga pants and a hoodie. Grabbing her cell and the 9mm, she headed into the living room.

A shadow passed across one of the front windows.

Sucking in a breath, she ducked back into the hallway and waited.

When no one busted in the window, she crept over to the back door. A peek out the curtained window showed her the same tranquil meadow she’d seen from her bedroom window. Turning the lock, she eased the door open and slipped outside.

Another of those quiet pauses struck. Then the noise resumed.

Try though she might, Emma could not identify what hell was making it… until she headed for the side of the house, eased along it, and peered around the front corner.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped.

No longer attempting stealth, she strode onto her front lawn. The dew-covered grass cooled her bare feet as she stopped and stared.

Tarps covered her lawn and shrubs as a large black form moved up and down and side to side on a ladder so quickly that he blurred. On the left side of the ladder, every millimeter of flaky paint had been removed. On the right, it still looked like crap.

“What the hell are you doing?” she called.

The form solidified and spun to face her with a snarl, eyes glowing bright amber.

Fear sliced through her, driving her to back away a couple of steps and grip the gun tighter.

As soon as the man saw her, his features smoothed out and his eyes stopped glowing. “Oh. Sorry about that,” he said with a British accent as he offered her a chagrined smile. “You startled me. I didn’t hear your approach over the noise.”

“Uh-huh.” Was this Bastien? “What the hell are you doing?”

Leaping down from the ladder, he motioned to the house behind him with a scraper tool. “Melanie mentioned you were scraping old paint off the siding when she arrived. So I thought I would”—he shifted his weight, looking for all intents and purposes like a precocious child who’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t—“swing by and, uh… help?”

Amusement trickled through her, easing some of the tension in her muscles. Oh yeah. She could definitely see this man using the phrase vagina doctor. “I take it you’re Sebastien Newcombe?”

Nodding, he strode toward her. “Apologies. Yes, I’m Bastien.” He wiped his dusty, paint-flecked hand on his pants, then offered it to her.

Emma transferred the 9mm she held to her left hand and shook. “I’m Emma.”

“Good to meet you, Emma.”

She motioned to the house. “I know what you’re doing. I just don’t know why. And aren’t you supposed to be sleeping right now? The sun’s up.” Fortunately for him, it would take the sun a couple more hours to climb high enough to top the oak trees that shaded the front of her home.

He shrugged. “I’m immortal. I don’t need as much sleep as a human or a vampire. I also came early enough to get the work done while your house was still in the shade. And I’m doing it because…” He shrugged. “I love Cliff like a brother. I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been the past two nights after spending time with you. So I wanted to thank you.”

“By scraping old paint off my siding?”

His lips quirked up in a smile. “Well, I’m not really a flowers-and-chocolates kind of guy.”

She grinned. “That’s okay. I actually appreciate this a lot more. That shit is tedious.”

He laughed. “Especially when done at mortal speeds?”

“Absolutely. But next time knock first and let me know it’s you. You scared the bejeebers out of me.” Her eyes widened. “Not that there will be a next time. You really don’t have to do this. Loving Cliff is its own reward. I don’t need any others.”

His hard features softened. “That almost makes me wish I were of the freely-distributes-hugs sort.”

Her responding laugh transmogrified into a yawn, catching her unawares. “Sorry about that.”

He swore. “I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

He grimaced. “I forgot that humans who work the day shift often like to sleep in on weekends.”

She waved away his concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You look tired.”

“Um. Thank you?”

“Damn it. I’m not supposed to mention things like that, am I?”

She smiled. “No.”

“Apparently I’m about as adept at social interaction as Roland Warbrook is.”

She nearly laughed at the comparison. Roland was notoriously antisocial. And Bastien was often described as having a bit of a fuck-you attitude.

“I didn’t mean to be impolite,” he said, his deep voice full of contrition. “It just occurred to me that Cliff’s late-night visits might adversely affect your health. Don’t humans need eight hours of sleep?”

“Ideally yes. But we can get by on less when we have to. I think most adults do get by on less. I got way less than eight hours when I was in college. So don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

“Not if Cliff keeps you up late seven nights a week.”

If Emma were a morning person and had gotten more sleep the previous night, she most likely would’ve reacted better to the innocuous statement. But crankiness and the fact that her relationship with Cliff was entirely dependent upon other people letting them see each other sparked anger and resentment. “Well, don’t even think about limiting the nights Cliff can see me, Bastien. As long as no one wakes me up at the crack of dawn, I can catch up on my rest on weekends. And if that isn’t enough—”

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, one still gripping the scraper. “I wouldn’t do that, Emma. Cliff loves you. And I can see you love him, too. I was simply worried that not getting enough sleep would eventually wear you down and make you ill. Cliff wouldn’t want that. And I wouldn’t either. That’s all.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really a morning person.”

“Nor am I,” he said with a smile. “I’d let Cliff have his roaming time and come here before we hunt together so you could go to bed earlier, but…” He hesitated a moment, expression sobering. “He needs the hunts to alleviate the aggression that grips him.”

Her stomach sank. Swallowing hard, she nodded. “I appreciate your being frank with me about that.”

“I will always be so when it comes to Cliff,” he vowed, voice softening. “You quiet the voices.”

“I do.”

“But he needs to hunt to eradicate the violent impulses that constantly build within him. And I think it best that he do that before he comes to see you. If Cliff ever hurt you—”

“He won’t.”

“But if he did, it would kill him.”

“He won’t hurt me, Bastien. I’m sure of it. And I can sleep late on weekends. If I get too tired during the week, I can always nap after I get home from work.” She shrugged. “And even if I couldn’t do either of those things, I’d still be okay because I’m a gifted one.”

His eyebrows flew up. “You are?”

She nodded. “According to the network, I’m the descendent of a healer, so I never get sick. Ever. I’ve never even caught a cold.” She also had a photographic memory that enabled her to remember with crystal clarity everything she’d ever read.

He stared at her, an almost comical look of horror dawning on his handsome features. “You aren’t a descendent of Roland Warbrook, are you?”

Emma grinned. “No.”

Relaxing, he pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “Whew. That was a close one.” He grinned. “For a moment there I thought I was going to have to start playing nice with the surly bastard.”

She laughed.

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’d better get back to work. I want to finish the whole house before the sun tops the trees.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I want to.” He smiled. “I’ll come back on a weekday to sand it and paint it so I won’t keep you from sleeping in again. Just leave the paint on your back porch.”

Without another word, Bastien turned and strode toward the ladder.