Chapter Twenty-Five

Marissa had never wanted tohave sex with a man so much in her life. Three months of dating studmuffin Dev Nichita, and she hadn't had any action beyond a few kisses here and there. Why? was the question strobing in bright lights across the front of her brain. She'd run the gamut of confused, hurt, insecure, and angry, and still hadn't come up with an answer. Because it didn't make sense. Not to be conceited about it, but she was hot. So fricking hot that she'd never had trouble getting a guy. Keeping him was a different matter, but getting him had always been a breeze. Not that the why of it mattered anymore. No, come hell or high water, she was getting laid before the end of their date tonight—or in the middle of it, either way—and stuff Dev's lame excuses.

She was prepped for a do-or-die campaign. In the corner of her room she'd set up a small round table with a pristine white tablecloth, china plates, silver service, and long-stemmed wine goblets, the crystal reflecting the light of two burning votives. Her outfit was also designed to entice. A while back the cheerleader getup she'd danced around in for that football game had driven Dev insane, so tonight she was wearing a modified version of that: a pleated miniskirt that showed off her long, tanned legs, plus a blouse with a low, scooped neckline and a hem that barely reached the waistband of the skirt, the style highlighting both her small waist and some seriously plumped-up cleavage. If she wasn't able to take him down with this, then she didn't know what.

A knock.

Aha! She crossed her room and opened the door. "Hey!" She smiled at Dev, secretly squeezing the doorknob until her palm hurt to keep from flinging herself at him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms encircling his strong neck. The mere sight of him, as usual, was sending her belly into a crazy Roaring '20's shimmy. He was dressed simply in button-fly jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a pair of brown suede boots, but he was such a ridiculously good-looking and well-built son of a gun, it was all she could do not to perform an old-fashioned Victorian-age swoon.

"Come on in," she said.

Dev stood frozen on her doorstep, a bottle of wine clutched in his hands. His eyes roamed over her body, and his silver irises heated to sterling.

Was he picturing her naked? God, she hoped so.

"What…here?" he asked. "In your bedroom?"

"Sure, why not?" She had to fight the temptation to bat her eyelashes innocently. "It's a nice place for a romantic dinner." And I plan to use the bed around dessert time. She gestured toward her cozy setup. "See?"

A panicky look flickered across his face. "Um…why don't we get a drink at Garwald's first?"

She felt her smile narrowing at the corners. What's your fricking problem, Dev?! "You might want to take a whiff of dinner before you say that." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder into her bedroom. "There's some tasty food in here."

He still made no move to enter, standing like a chunk of stone, his eyes tight at the edges.

She fought down the urge to bare her teeth at him. This wasn't insulting at all, nuh uh. "Not hungry?" she asked tartly. "That's a first."

"Um, no. Sorry," he murmured, crossing into her room. "You just look so beautiful tonight, and I'm…it's making an idiot out of me."

That brought back her smile. Oh, well, in that case…forgiven and forgotten.

"Here." He handed her the bottle of wine he'd brought.

"Oh, great." It was a very nice C?tes de France Bordeaux. "I already have something breathing, though, so we can have this later, okay?"

"That's fine."

She set Dev's bottle on the wet bar, then picked up the one she'd already opened. "Are you familiar with the Italian Amarone?"

His expression brightened. "It's one of my favorite reds." He settled himself at the table.

She moved to the back of his chair and studied him, lazily running her eyes over the brush of dark hair against his collar, a tiny razor nick at the place where his cheek met his jaw, the artful shape of his ear. She recognized what this fascination with the smallest parts of him meant. She was completely infatuated with this man. Three months of dating bliss had established roots out of the seeds of connection they'd planted the day of the rock-wall climb. Their time together had been the greatest; everywhere they went, they enjoyed themselves. They talked effortlessly and laughed with even more ease. The only thing she could find to grumble about was the lack of sex. And the complaint wasn't even about missing out on a "fun lay," the category she'd originally assigned for Dev. Now getting together with him was about far more than getting her orgasm on; from the foundation they'd built, she ached to deepen the intimacy between them.

Inhaling a deep sigh, she leaned over him, reaching for his wine glass with a languorous movement that brushed her breast against his arm.

He stiffened as if she'd just shoved an icy thermometer up his ass.

She turned her head toward him, her lips next to his ear, caressing him with her breath as she said, "I made Osso Bucco for—"

He crashed to his feet.

She yelped as his hard shoulder knocked the wine bottle out of her hand. It flew and flipped, then hit the floor on its side and spun, spraying red wine around her room sprinkler-style.

"Dammit, Devid!" She balled her hands into fists and glared at him through a sudden sheen of tears. "What's your problem?!"

"Nothing. I…" He jerked away from the table. "I just think maybe we should go to Garwald's for a—"

"Oh, I know, you forgot to take your vitamins this morning, didn't you?" Swallowing back her tears, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and heated her glare to boiling.

He released a fractured breath. "I'm…not sure what…?"

"Or maybe you put on the wrong pair of underwear."

His eyebrows crashed together. "What are you talking about?"

She flung out an arm. "I'm just trying to figure out what excuse you're going to use tonight not to sleep with me."

"E-excuse?" His Adam's apple moved up and down. "Why would I do that, Marissa? I've just been, you know…"

"Oh, gimme a break," she snapped back. "From that original groin injury, you've gone from ‘I feel like I'm catching a cold' to ‘I'm kind of tired tonight' and ‘I have to get up early tomorrow,' onto incredibly drool-brain stuff like ‘I think we should get to know each other better first'—ha!—and ‘I want you to be sure that I respect you.' Respect!" she spat the word. "Gee, thanks, Dev, but if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to have my knees pinned back to my ears and my ankles swinging while you pound me into the headboard rather than your non-orgasm-inspiring respect!" Which wasn't entirely true, but she'd had it.

His mouth fell open with a silent clang.

She marched over to her bed and pointed a rigid finger at it. "You get in this bed right now and have sex with me, Devid, or we're through with this date. I mean it. The only excuse I'll accept this time is that you don't have a penis." She planted her hands on her hips. "Do you have a penis?"

His face turned the shade of a Red Delicious apple.

"Do you!?"

"Yes, Jesus. Of course, I have a…a…" He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I just don't want to."

"Don't want to, what?" Wait. "Have sex?" she qualified in shock.

His face, if possible, stained even redder. "Yeah."

Humiliation rose up to burn in her throat. Tight-lipped, she asked, "Are my boobs too small, is that it?"

"What?" Dumbfounded, he transferred his gaze to the offending mammaries.

Her voice came out small and hurt, she couldn't help it. "Why don't you want me?" God, this was like standing in front of him in her back brace.

His attention shot up to her face, then his shoulders sagged. "Ah, shit," he moaned, pressing his eyelids with thumb and forefinger. "I do, Riss. So much, you have no idea."

"You just said you didn't."

"No. No. I meant… Hell." His stared at the floor. "I just can't."

The realization hit her, bottoming out her stomach. Why hadn't she figured this out before? He didn't have a penis, metaphorically speaking, at least. "Oh, crap," she said in an undertone. "You're impotent."

Anger flared across his expression. "No, dammit," he growled. "Don't say that word. I hate that fucking word. I'm not…that, not in the way you think. I can get it up, I just need certain conditions to be met first."

She paused, blinking. Then she exhaled a chafing breath. Oh, this was so much worse. He was a pervert. "You need me to…to…? Pee on you or something?"

His eyes seemed to bug. "Wh-what?"

Was it worse than that? Was it…? She lowered her voice to a private whisper. "Poo?" Her cheeks flamed. She couldn't do that. No matter how bad she wanted him, she just—

"All right, stop it." He held both hands up, his face grim. "You need to quit saying stuff like that, Marissa, seriously."

She studied his face and worried her bottom lip, her mind helplessly racing over other possibilities. What was this special condition he required in order to bring himself to full salute? "Is it…?" God, she couldn't even say it aloud. She stepped up to him, lifted on tiptoes, and whispered it into his ear.

He yanked back from her, a tic twitching high on his cheek. "That's it. I'm shutting down this pervy shit." He pointed a stern finger at her. "Tomorrow." And with that, he bolted from her room.

* * *

Dev ran like someone hadstuck a firecracker in his ass-crack, his legs pumping furiously, his lungs working, the memory of Marissa's appalled expression pushing him to his fastest speed.

Just great. For three long months, he'd been suppressing every drive he'd had to sleep with that woman, fighting against the pull of her beauty, her smile, her laughter, her scent, his growing love for her. And for what? So she could accuse him of being some kind of sick fuck? How he'd managed not to latch onto her throat—when she'd ordered him into her bed!—and proceed to erase all thoughts of impotence with a little demo of blood-equals-boner, baby, he had no idea. Except for the minor inconvenience that she didn't know he was a Varcolac in possession of a set of fangs. Yeah. Just real fucking great.

Thundering up the Bruns' porch steps, he slammed to a halt and pounded on the door with his fist. Non-stop.

The door swung open, revealing Jacken in the jamb, one black slash of an eyebrow lifted. "What the hell, Dev?"

"Where's Toni?" he gasped out, gulping for air. He couldn't catch his damned breath.

"I'm here." Toni stepped around her husband into the doorway, a glass of white wine in her hand. "Wow, what's going on?"

"I can't do this anymore, Toni." He gestured sharply…or maybe like a nutjob because Jacken held up a hand.

"Hey, calm down," he said.

"Calm down? Calm down?" His voice was rising into ninny-octaves. Shit! He whipped his eyes back and forth between Toni and Jacken. "Do people actually dump and whiz on each other during sex?"

Jacken's brows bunched together.

Toni bowed her head, trying to hide a smile.

It was true, then. Gross! "You have to tell the Dragons the truth, Toni. Marissa thinks I'm a sexual deviant."

"Okay."

"Tomorrow. Please."

She nodded. "First thing, Dev."

"All right, then…all right…" Sucking in a fortifying breath, he plowed an unsteady hand through his sweaty hair. "One more thing." He hesitated, his face flushing with warmth. He felt like a boy asking about his first woody. He swallowed once, then just shoved the question out of his mouth. "What the hell is pony play?"