Dawn of Eve Page 8

  Breathing was already a challenge with his half-naked body wrapped around me. He was just so beautiful. Seductive, preternatural, he-can’t-be-real kind of beautiful. Glossy black hair and dense fringes of black lashes were a striking contrast to his complexion. How was his skin so pristine and luminous? There were no creases around his eyes or blemishes or freckles, as if he’d never seen the sun, never labored in harsh weather. Did he wear a wide-brimmed hat, long-sleeves, and live under a rock?

  He must’ve worked out regularly in a sunless cave for all the muscle he flexed against me. Bulging biceps, powerful shoulders, every ridge and valley sharply cut beneath satiny flesh. I lifted a hand to his chest and stroked a solid pectoral, awestruck by his radiating warmth.

  He stared down at me with lids half-mast, his grin stretching across his face with devilish arrogance. “You’ve thought about having sex with me.”

  My veins hummed, but I refused to feed his ego. “Not as much as you think about having sex with yourself.”

  His fangs peeked out, pressing against his lip as he glanced around the room. “Since we’re sorely lacking privacy, you’ll have a front row seat. You ever watched a man stroke one off?”

  Never, but living among virile soldiers, I’d heard the late-night grunts, the smacking sounds of beating meat on nearby bedrolls. I might’ve been a virgin, but I wasn’t sheltered.

  “Do what you have to do.” I tried to sound indifferent. “Just don’t look me in the eye when you do it. That would be weird.”

  “I’d rather watch your hand.” He shifted closer and touched his forehead to mine. “While you’re fingering your wet pussy.”

  I grasped for a retort, but his hulking presence zapped my brain cells. The way his fingers glided to my neck, holding me in place. The feel of his cock swelling against my hip. The acceleration of his breaths fanning my face. He was an intoxicating high, a tranquilizer for doubt, his demeanor potent and his almighty size crowding in and taking up space.

  “This room is too small.” I clutched his biceps, pushing him away, pulling him closer—I couldn’t decide.

  “We can make it work.” His mouth floated over mine, near enough to feel the zing of fleeting contact.

  “You’re going to kiss me.”

  “You’re not going to stop me.”

  As if his voice held divine authority and his words were a magical incantation, I parted my lips. The movement brushed our mouths together, sending an electric shock across my skin. He held that moment in suspension, staring at me. I stared right back.

  This wasn’t witchcraft or glamour. It was simple, raw, carnal desire, a natural attraction between a man and woman, necessary for the survival of my species. Except my lips were on fire. I was on fire. The world was on fire, and I was in a new kind of hell.

  “Salem…” I stretched up on tiptoes, seeking relief.

  With a deep growl, he lifted me up the wall, wrapped my legs around his hips, and seized my mouth. There was no tender exploration or coy nips and pecks. The moment I surrendered, he claimed me with bruising aggression. His tongue chased mine, his lips firm and combative. It was primitive and frenzied, vibrating with all the components of a first kiss—the distrust, the nervousness, the reckless hunger.

  I followed his lead, my tongue riding with his and my thighs clenching around his waist. Heads slanted, fingers grabbing, we rocked together in a tousle of limbs and tongues and teeth…

  Fangs. The razored tips grazed my lips, but I didn’t taste blood, didn’t feel so much as a prick. His mouth glided along mine, his tongue furiously lashing and rolling, but somehow he kept his teeth sheathed.

  He didn’t show the same restraint with the rest of his body. Grabbing my hair at the scalp, he wrenched my head back and deepened the kiss. His other hand palmed my ass, his fingers working into my butt crack, dipping downward, and pressing roughly against the seam of my shorts—the only thing stopping him from penetrating my pussy. Grinding against my front, he thrust his erection between my legs like he was trying to rut a hole through our clothes.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. I didn’t know him, couldn’t trust him. But strangers had sex all the time, and dammit, I wanted this. Him. I wasn’t bold enough to reach into his pants and take it, but I refused to shove him away and sabotage the one pleasurable thing in this hopeless situation.

  I stabbed my hands in his hair and pulled, holding him to me as I dipped my tongue and bit his lips. He groaned and drove his hips faster, harder, his fingers digging between my thighs, punishing my swollen flesh.

  I cracked open my eyes and found his shut tight. His inky brows pinched together, his expression taut with pain, as if he were losing his footing. I loved that. I needed him on my level—shaky, off-balanced, and diving straight toward undone.

  Liquid heat coursed through my body, melting my insides and chilling my skin. Sweet mother, I’d never been this hot and itchy and so incredibly turned on. I squirmed against him, panting, needing more, cursing our clothes, and aching for his fingers on my nipples, my inner thighs, and deep inside my pussy.

  “Dawn.” He pulled back to meet my eyes. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

  I choked on a breathless gasp. “You’re giving me a choice?”

  “I’m giving you time.” He cupped my face. “I’ll work up to it and break you in slowly. Or…” He touched his mouth to mine, his voice thick with arousal. “I’ll pull down your pants right now and fuck you.”

  As his words sank in, I lowered my feet to the floor and rested my head against the wall. “You said slowly, not gently.”

  “I won’t be gentle.” He stroked a finger across my swollen lips. “Was that your first kiss?”

  “Yeah.” My voice croaked, and I cleared it. “How’d I do?”

  “You were a little overzealous with your teeth.”

  “What?” Embarrassment tightened my jaw.

  “I can teach you how to control that drooling problem.”

  Oh my fuck. Seriously?

  His gaze glimmered with laughter.

  I punched him in the abs. “You’re such a dick.”

  His amusement faded, and his pupils darkened, the silver of his eyes sharpening. “You’re exquisite.” He traced a finger around the corners of my mouth. “If that kiss was any indication, I’m not sure I’ll survive your sweet ginger cunt.”

  Damn his filthy mouth. I liked it way more than I should have. “We may not survive this prison.”

  His arm fell, along with his expression as his gaze flicked to the door.

  Way to ruin the mood. I reached for his hand and squeezed. “Food’s getting cold.”

  “Yeah.” He stepped away, dragged the tray to the pallet of bedding, and sat with his back against the wall.

  We ate in silence, but as we chewed each bite, we shared a curious, exploratory conversation without words. Every stolen glance had its own language. Each brush of our fingers communicated interest. Slowly, our bodies shifted closer, drawn together by mutual attraction and the simple need for affection.

  Eventually, he reached over and pulled me across his lap. I reclined in the cradle of his thighs, my back against his chest, with his arm around my waist. Supported by his strength and the choice he’d given me, I felt safe, all things considered.

  Strange how a kiss had taken me from cagey and suspicious to cautiously friendly. Was I letting my guard fall too quickly? I hadn’t given him an answer about sex. But rather than fall on me like a hybrid, he absently caressed my hair, his cock softening and tucked away in his pants.

  That was good. It would give me time to think. And agonize over those thoughts.

  Swallowing the last oyster, I shifted to lay my cheek on his chest. “When I woke earlier, I could hear your blood pumping.”

  “You were sleeping on me.” He slid the empty tray away and wrapped his arms around my hips, pulling me closer in the V of his legs.

  “I can hear your heartbeat now, but this was louder, sharper.” I drew a squiggly line down his ne
ck with a finger. “I heard the circulation of your blood in my head. It was like a megaphone or…I don’t know, like I was inside of you.”

  His hand clenched and relaxed in my hair. “You don’t hear it now?”

  “No. I think the appearance of your veins, the sound, is linked to whoever is bringing our food.” I sat up, shivering against a chill of excitement. “What if we unlocked a latent ability? If I can sense hybrids, that would be…” I blew out a breath. “Too unreal.”

  “Unreal?” He touched my chin, tilting my gaze to his. “Your mother sensed aphids, right?”

  “Yeah, but that was different.” I touched my midsection. “She felt them here. When she became pregnant with me—”

  “She wiped them out. You were the source of that power.” He dropped his hand, his expression unreadable. “Or so they say.”

  That was a rumor I couldn’t refute. I’d given my mother an extraordinary gift. Then I took it away, along with her life, when I drew my first breath. My chest squeezed. I would never look into her eyes, never feel her arms around me, never hear her voice. Instead, I spent the past nineteen years watching my fathers grieve while I hovered on the outskirts without any real sense of the woman they mourned with every breath.

  “Seems to me,” Salem said, “you’ve been hiding a handy power.”

  “Handy for you?” I searched his prismatic eyes. “You’re friends with hybrids.”

  “No, I have friends who happen to be hybrid. I’m impartial to their genetic makeup. Do you trust the humans you encounter simply because they’re human?”

  “Everyone is an enemy until proven otherwise.” I twisted to face him, folding my legs in the space between his. “What are you?”

  “I’m not your enemy.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  “You want to know if I’m human or something else?” A muscle bounced in his jaw. “I don’t know the answer.”

  I touched his hairless face and caressed the tension there. “Do you know why the Drone made Michio bite Elaine?”

  “He wanted to take control of the child in her womb.” He shifted his head and kissed my fingers. “He wanted to control me.”

  I nodded. “But since Michio consumed my mother’s blood, it made his venom ineffective. The Drone wasn’t happy about that and bit Elaine himself, only to discover Michio’s bite had made you immune to the infection.” With a surge of boldness, I touched the sharp tip of Salem’s fang. “Michio would shit a brick if he knew you had these. He always believed Elaine would give birth to a human child.”

  Grooves formed between his brows. “Did the Drone bite other women?”

  “No, and neither did my fathers. Their bite results in infertility—not exactly something they want to spread to our endangered species.” My mind swam through the repercussions. “Your mother was bitten by the Drone and cured by the blood of Eve. That made her a rarity. Like Michio.”

  “Wouldn’t that mean I have the same genetic…whatever as Michio?”

  “Maybe? When Michio bit Jesse and Roark, he passed on his unusual traits to them. It would make sense that he passed the same to you through your mother.” I gripped the medallion that hung from my neck, tracing the embedded treasures—Jesse’s turquoise stone, Roark’s rosary bead, Michio’s fang. “My fathers are human. They just happen to have hybrid speed, healing, and…” I waved a hand at Salem’s mouth.

  He flashed his fangs. “There’s your answer.”

  “Does that make us siblings?”

  He squinted at me darkly. “Fuck no.”

  Laughter bubbled past my lips. “I’m kidding.” I desperately wanted him to be like my fathers, because the alternative meant I’d just shared my first kiss with a genetic unknown. “But I’ve never seen veins glow beneath my fathers’ skin. Why is it happening now? Is it a timing thing or a you thing?”

  He shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

  “Now I’m dying to know if it extends to others. If I can see veins in my soldiers, I could keep one of my men—”

  Fingers dug into my hip.

  “—at my side and use him as radar when hybrids approach.”

  A growl erupted in Salem’s chest.

  “What?” I arched an eyebrow.

  He grabbed my neck with a possessive hand, his expression tight. “If you want those men to live, you will not talk about keeping them anywhere near you.”

  “You’re jealous.” I narrowed my eyes.

  He stood abruptly, taking me with him. “I’m tired.”

  Setting me on my feet, he strode into the bathroom and around the corner. The trickling sound of him peeing produced a pinch in my bladder. I’d been ignoring my own need to pee for hours.

  As I listened, my mind took a salacious detour filled with images of his pants pushed down around his thighs, his balls hanging freely, and his cock in his hand. A curl of heat spread through me, descending, throbbing…

  Stop it, you hussy. He’s peeing!

  When he stepped into view and turned on the shower, his back was to me—his stark-naked, glorious backside. I stifled a moan and bit the inside of my cheek.

  Salem wasn’t just handsome. He was built like a primordial god of darkness. Standing over six feet, he raised his arms to wet his hair, the black strands turning impossibly blacker, so shiny and thick between the rake of his fingers.

  His broad back tapered into a narrow waist, muscled ass, and long powerful legs. The pallor of his skin should’ve given him a sickly appearance, but in the name of all that was holy, the man couldn’t look sick if he tried.

  The Resistance soldiers were dark-skinned, tanned, or freckled and sunburned. They bore numerous scars, their bodies weathered by hardship, tattooed with ink and death, and covered in hair. In comparison, Salem looked like a timeless Adonic statue, carved to perfection, immaculately refined, far surpassing handsome and ascending directly toward angelic. A dark angel, made of brawn and nocturnal beauty.

  He didn’t glance back at me as he lathered soap down his chest. I knew the water was frigid, but he seemed completely unaffected by it, his hands moving over relaxed muscles and flawless skin. He was so delicious to look at my entire body ignited. Should I stop gawking and turn around? Would he offer me the same courtesy?

  I wobbled on a tightrope of indecision. I could make an issue out of our nudity. I could shower when he slept, demand he face the other way, dance around with my hands covering all the vulnerable parts. But why? I didn’t behave that way with my soldiers.

  Because this was Salem. Our mutual attraction was blatant. Sex was inevitable.

  Even more reason to shed this irrational modesty.

  With a steeling breath, I reached behind me and untied the bandana that supported my breasts. Keeping my gaze glued to the back of his head, I pushed down my shorts. The chilly air prickled my naked skin. Hyper-aware of every scar, freckle, and imperfection on my body, I stepped toward the bathroom and stopped.

  Tension flexed across his shoulders, but he continued washing as if I weren’t standing there with my nipples as hard as pine nuts. He hadn’t turned around, but the fucker knew.

  I clenched and unclenched my hands and strode into the bathroom.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Salem didn’t acknowledge my naked walk into the tiny concrete room. He didn’t turn his head or utter a sound when I used the toilet and cautiously approached his beautiful backside. Pressing my nails into my palms, I sucked in a fortifying breath.

  A mist of icy droplets stung my skin and tightened my nipples. Keeping his back to me, he lowered his arms, then his head, and a skitter of goosebumps rose along his spine.

  “Are you finished with the soap?” My teeth chattered, and I hadn’t even stepped beneath the spray yet.

  “I’m going to turn around.” His deep timbre warmed my prickly flesh. “Don’t run.”

  I laughed nervously. “Where am I going to go?”

  He grunted a noise that sounded like a chuckle, and slowly, tauntingly, pivote
d to face me.

  His gaze landed on mine. “Feeling brave?”

  “Feeling dirty.” I choked on the unintended innuendo. “I mean grimy. It’s been a few days since I’ve bathed.”

  Eeesh. Now I just sounded gross.

  A smile sparkled in his eyes, but his expression was tight and severe, the cords in his neck straining, like he was fighting the urge to look down. Anticipation slammed my heart against my ribs. I wanted him to look, to take his eyeful and get this over with—whatever this was.

  We stood in a gridlock of eye contact. As the seconds dripped by, I vacillated between hot flashes and cold chills, my entire body pulsing with awareness and swaying toward him. He must’ve noticed, because his nostrils flared and his gaze broke away, traveling downward.

  I stared at the sharp lines of his face as he leisurely examined me from tits to toes. On his second pass, he lingered on the juncture between my legs. My inner muscles spasmed. His jaw set. My breath picked up, and so did his. I flexed my hands.

  A smirk sneaked over his lips. “Bright red.”

  What did he expect? The hair on my head was as red as a ladybug’s wings.

  I followed his gaze to my pubic hair, but my focus landed on the trim black patch of his. My lungs buckled. Had I imagined him hairless down there? Yeah, maybe. If there was hair anywhere else below his neck, I couldn’t see it. Not that I was looking at anything but the massive erection pointed at me. We stood so close, if I released the clench of my abs, the flared head of his cock would bump my stomach.

  I’d seen every shade and size of human and hybrid genitalia. Most of the older ones, the human men born in the old world, were circumcised—such a barbaric thing to do for a supposed civilized society. But the males in my generation were uncut. Like Salem.

  Pale skin stretched tightly over engorged steel that looked too heavy and swollen to stand up. But there it was, growing thicker and jerking upward as I stared with wide eyes. While I’d never seen a dick this close up, I knew with certainty his would forever be my benchmark to which others were compared.