"Davidson,.MaryJanice.-.Betsy.2.-.Dead.Girls.Don't.Dance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

"I think it's safe to say my self-destructive streak is at an end for now," she
said truthfully into his neck. His lovely, taut neck. She could actually see the
blood pressure pumping up his jugular, and jerked back.
"Oh, come on, don't do that," he said coaxingly, grabbing her elbow and pulling
her back into his embrace. Her burned hand stuck out behind him like a crosswalk
sign. "We were kind of having a moment and everything."
"UhЕ DanielЕ it's not that I'm not finding this pleasant, because I truly amЕ"
"Good. Now stop talking and enjoy it."
She growled at him.
"Oh, go ahead and bite, then," he murmured. "I don't care. And I bet it'll make
your hand feel better, huh? The only thing is, if I pass out, you've got to get
me to the car and drive the rest of the way."
"Daniel, you have no fucking idea what you're saying."
"Sure I do. I think you're pretty cool. It's not that I didn't like you in
school; I just didn't bother to get to know you. But nowЕ I think you're a tough
chick handling herself in an unbelievably sucky situation. Also, you've got a
great rack for a dead girl."
"For crying out loud," she said, resting her forehead on his shoulder. "I
suppose you think you're being sweet."
"Awww, you can't resist me, gorgeous."
"Dammit!"
"I couldn't help but notice," he said, running his hands up and down her back as
she snuggled more firmly into his embrace, "that you didn't exactly deny it. You
just swore again. It totally proves me riЧmmph!"
She was kissing him. She couldn't believe she was doing itЕ had gotten up just
the right amount on her tiptoes and mashed her lips to his. Oh, sweet relief.
She'd wanted to do it for eight years. Of course, she'd only remembered wanting
to do it for the last seventy-two hours, but forgetting hadn't made him less of
the boy she'd pined after in college, the boy she'd followed to St. Olaf from
Carleton College, the man she pined for now. She'd left a school to follow a
football player, and had despised herself for it at the time, and ever since.
There was nothing to despise, now. He was good, he was kind, he liked her, he
didn't wince away in horror at what she was. So what if she had a few IQ points
on him? What had that gotten her, exactly? An early grave, that's what.
His tongue eased past her lips and her good hand slid through his short hair,
caressing the fine hairs at the back of his neck. His hand was under her shirt,
stroking her bare back, and then she bit him.
Now he was the one up on his toes, trembling, and as his hot salty essence
flooded her mouth the burning agony in her hand faded, faded, was a slight pain,
was a negligible itch, was gone. She could hear him groaning, could feel him
groping at her, and then her shirt was in shreds, and his was split down the
middle, and they were dancing/ staggering out of the bathroom, toward the bed,
pulling and tugging and biting and drinking and kissing.
Her back hit the bed and she disengaged, threw her head back and groaned at the
ceiling. He leaned down and kissed the blood from her fangs and she nipped him
again, gently, and sucked on his upper lip, and then he was tearing her cotton
shorts down the middle, ripping her panties away, and she got the fly of his
jeans open, got them partway down his hips, burrowed past his Jockeys and got
hold of his cockЧoh, warmth, warmth, hot stiff warmth and he wanted her so badly
he was shaking with it and she could have wept with sheer gratitude, but instead