Drako Lanzoni du Sang - Part 3

Date: October, 2006
      The next day was a repeat of the former one, except Susan found food in the fridge, the coffee pot directions tucked beside the pot, and the toaster. She had breakfast of bacon, eggs, juice and coffee. A fresh box of crackers was in the cupboard, and fresh block of cheese was in the fridge.
      After a hot shower, she dressed in another not-thick enough fleece set and pulled on the big sweater she had worn yesterday. There were new slipper-socks too. She wondered how he did that. How did he know what she needed? How did he know what she liked?
      Feeling a little guilty, she put the clean dishes away and loaded up her own used ones from her breakfast.
      She settled with another book after setting up the fire, took note of the added wood drying in the niche, and the added candles scattered about the room. These were unused, new, and some still wrapped in cello, and the matches were as she had left them.
      It was a little eerie. He had gone room to room to provide her with everything she would need for another day without him. Outside, the relentless snow was still falling, not as thick, and the flakes were not as thick and heavy. Drifts were piled up at the bases of trees, and branches drooped low, the leaden weight of the packed wet clinging snow pulling down branches. Tree limbs littered the ground.
      But she made herself ignore al this and settle, ignored the howling outside, and climbed between the pages of another romance. The blanket had been left on the sofa neatly folded and she was cuddled back into it.
      Lunch was easy. A loaf of whole grain bread, deli slices of meat, chicken, pastrami, and ham, along with slices of Swiss cheese, a little mustard, a pickle, and she was very pleased. There were cookies in a bag, the expensive high-calorie kind. She had one. Chocolate was hard to resist.
      There was, in response to her musings yesterday, a six-pack of diet soda in the fridge. Ice cubes were in the freezer, which held very little else. It had made her pause for a moment. Hadn't Drako said he had other food in there? Where did it go?
   She resisted the desire to check out the basement. Somehow, he would not be there, but she could not be certain he would be.
      As before, he showed up at dinnertime, right after the sun went down. Dressed in his signature black jeans, black sweater, Deerskin slippers, and every hair in place. He smelled good, fresh and clean.
      She had been expecting him this time and had stayed out of the kitchen for the last hour. No more sneaking up behind her and grabbing her waist. If he did that again, she would kiss him. And not with some chaste salute either. Just looking at him had her blood boiling.
      "I cook now," he announced. He flashed that sexy grin, that flash of white teeth, and then became all business, focused on the task at hand. That grin was lethal, and was some comment on what he said. It was a direct as words. He was saying, this was the way it was and so it will stay. Why argue? It was almost a shrug. He found this whole situation amusing evidently. She wished she could.
      She just smiled at him, settled on the barstool at the counter, where he seemed to prefer to eat, rather than the elegant dining room. Weren't most households operated just that way? A simple table in the kitchen, the formal dining room ignored except for holidays. She remembered that. The plastic covers on the living room furniture. Company was allowed to actually sit on the fabric.
      Dinner was easy this evening. Drako grilled steaks. He tossed salad. He poured wine. He had a new loaf of bread. French. Sweet French bread. Still no garlic. But he had fried onions and mushrooms to dress the steak which was about as tender as you could ever want.
     He served everything, setting the table, serving the food, pouring wine, with ease and skill. A five-star reasturant could not have done better.
      It was delicious. He was delicious.
      In companionable silence, she helped him clean up, handed him things, washed off the counter, polished the stove top. They worked as a team, making the kitchen as sterile as it had been before he started.
      They went into the fire as usual, glasses of wine in hand.
      Guess he knows I shouldn't drink strong stuff, she thought, glad it was wine on a full stomach and aware that she had been circumspect in her wine consumption at dinner. She had noted he always had two glasses. Always. The wine different than her own, darker, thicker. His face showed her he was no heavy imbiber of heavy spirits. The brandy then was for company. Everything out of character was, she decided, for company. Even the tea bags she had discovered late this afternoon.
      They sat together on the white rug in front of the crackling fire, listening to the weak wind. He was close, still in black, and looking like some sleek panther.
      She sipped and watched the flames, and wasn't even aware when his arm had gone around her shoulders, when she had leaned into him. It was that easy to let herself just relax, enjoy the touch, and inhale his scent. Her blood pounded in her ears. She wanted more, so much more.
      He tipped her head back and kissed her, gently. She blinked up at him. Waited. He kissed her again, turning so he could press her close to him, full length. This kiss was a little more demanding, not a chaste salute. His tongue whipped over the seam of her lips and she parted them.
      Her blood began pounding harder, her core vibrated, and her lower body let her know she was ready, oh yes. Whatever this man wanted to do, she would not fight him. Susan let her free arm climb up to encircle his neck. His lips were gentle. Just a brush. Then again. He was teasing her mouth. Her pulse settled between her legs and she opened her mouth to him. He kissed her, open mouthed, a soul searing kiss.
      When Drako pulled back, her eyes fluttered, and she looked into his. He was not smiling. He was serious. He studied her, until she thought she would scream in frustration. After a few moments of suspended breathing on her part, he bent back to plundering her mouth. She was passive for a moment, then plundered his back. When he put his tongue into her mouth, she sucked on it, and felt his reaction. She also felt her own. She was on fire and he was her salvation. Everything else in her life faded and all she could think or feel was the need to be with him, to join him, to have him between her legs.
      They kissed several more times, coming up for air. His hands however made no move to claim her, which was frustrating her. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted.
      He was not tempted. He did trail kisses down her jaw, and down her neck. His hands roamed up and down her arms and no amount of wriggling would put them anywhere else. He had a firm grip, and a firmer determination. But his breathing was becoming as ragged as her own.
      When next they stopped for air, she struggled out of the borrowed black turtleneck. It was way too hot to be wearing a wool sweater, sip wine and sit so close to the fire. Not doing what they were doing. Not going where she fervently hoped they were going.
      Drako took his black sweater off as well. He wore nothing beneath it. Smooth skin glistened over rippling muscles in the flickering firelight. If she hadn't been mesmerized by him before, she was now. She wanted to run her hands all over that body.
      He laid her back on the white rug and spent the next several minutes holding her, kissing her, and nuzzling her neck.
      But his hands did not touch her, not the way her body was demanding. He left her alone, never leaving her neckline. Her breasts complained and her hips pushed into him, with a mind of their own. She was ready to lay naked and open, dare him to resist.
      Susan was just not that brazen. She never let a man she hardly know stir her like this. She never let them get near enough to touch her, never mind drain her soul with an open-mouthed salute. But this incredibly sexy man was playing house with her. If you were going to cook, clean and share a home, sit by a fire in companionable silence, there was only one step left to take.
      She wanted to take that step.
      His kisses were something else. Open-mouthed, soul-draining kisses had her trembling in his arms. Her fingers and palms stroked his naked back as his tongue tasted her mouth. When he sucked at her neck, she shivered. She felt a frisson of sensation skitter down her spine.
      No words had been spoken between them, just a slow build of rampant desire. But he suddenly stopped, held himself up to watch her, his eyes dark in the shadows.
      Deciding something, she knew not what, he pulled her to her feet, and slowly, gently drew her to the bedroom.
      Her bedroom. Her bed.
      This time he came into her room, held her close, and gently helped her disrobe. When she was out of the fleece, he handed her a new set of pajamas. Also a man's set. More of his. His scent lingered on them.
      She stopped to look up at him, confused, saw something flicker in his eyes as he looked at her, standing there naked before him. He touched her face and turned and left the room.
      Susan was tempted to throw something.
      She put on the pajamas and climbed into bed.
      Damn!
      Her door, however, had not been shut, not tightly, and a moment later, Drako came back into the room with wine glasses, hers, and one for him. He came to the bed, sat down on the edge. He had put his sweater back on.
      "I cannot," was all he said as he handed her her glass. "Forgive me."
      She did not know what to say.
      "Perhaps we should set some rules," she started. "I don't like being teased. If you can't, or don't want to, that's fine. But don't heat me up and then stop. That is particularly unfair. " She sounded petulant.
      "Oh, I want to," he purred. "That you can be sure of. I want to very much."
      "But?"
      "But, it is not right. You are a guest. And you did not choose to be a guest."
      "How would I have not chosen? There was no place else to go." She sipped.
      His grin flashed. "That is what I meant. You had no choice. You must chose to be with me."
      "I chose," she whispered.
      "No. You must be able to leave if you wish. There must be someplace for you before you can say yes."
      She would have cried but fought not to. What did it take to let him know how much she wanted him right this minute? She throbbed. She ached. She wanted to throw him down on the bed and rip his clothes off.
      "I do want you," she whispered, angry at the trembling in her voice.
      "I want you, cara bella," he murmured, "I do. You touch me."
      It was pointless to keep asking, to keep begging him. It was demeaning. She sat up, sipped her wine, and shut up.
      "I do," he persisted. "Trust me."
      "I am sleepy now. Wine makes me sleepy." And petulant, And sulky. And oh so disappointed.
      He gently took her glass from nerveless fingers.
      "I know." He practically whispered.
      He leaned over and kissed her again, softly, his hand holding the nape of her neck so he could plunder her mouth with skill but with less intensity than the fire they had built between them before. When she was reduced back to a trembling mass, he let his lips settle over one breast, and rubbed his teeth across the aching nipple.
      She nearly jolted off the bed.
      He repeated this with her other breast, and she arched up to press into him. He kissed her lips once more. She wanted to reach up and hold him to her. Her arms moved, but closed on empty air.
      Drako was faster. He pulled away and simply glided out the door, closing it softly behind him.
      The wine was the only thing that let her find relief in sleep.

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