Now his tongue was inside her, and one of his fingers was worming into her ass. She’d never been interested in assplay—the idea had always grossed her out—but the sensation of his long finger sliding up inside her while his tongue darted and stabbed and licked her cunt made her throb. She had no control over her reflexes, she simply started to thrust her hips at his face. Her muffled groans (for her teeth were tightly clenched) bounced off the bathroom tile.

He rose, water dripping down his marble-white skin, and grinned at her. He pulled her up to him and growled, “Now you’ll kiss me.”

She did, without hesitation. He sucked her tongue into his mouth as he pushed her thighs wide, as he took himself in hand and rubbed his cock against her sopping cunt. She moaned into his mouth and strained toward him. He tore his mouth from hers, sought her neck, and she felt him bite her just as his cock thrust inside her. The combination of sensations—slight pain, swamping pleasure—made her come so hard she bucked against him, and another gallon of water sloshed over the side of the tub.

“Ummmm,” he said against her throat. “Oh, that’s very good. I could do this all day.”

“Better…not…” she managed. “It’ll kill me.”

He laughed and leaned back. She was still spread up against the sloping end of the tub; they were connected only by his cock. He ran his hands over her soapy breasts, smiling as she groaned again. “Oh, you are going to marry me,” he said huskily. “Believe it.”

“Why don’t you…stop talking…and finish fucking?”

He grinned, flashing fangs, and obliged. When he finished, she was indecently satisfied, and there were only a few inches of water left in the tub.

Later, he brought a second breakfast. “After that half an hour,” he explained, “even I could eat a few more eggs.”

“Not bad for a dead guy,” she said casually, pretending she wasn’t still throbbing. The man had a fiendish touch between the sheets—or in the tub—and that was a fact. “I’m sure the ladies like you all right, when you’re not being such a jerkoff.”

He didn’t answer, but just sat down across from her and watched her eat. After a few minutes, he started drumming his fingers on the table.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna get annoying. The kidnapping and the fucking I can take, but not the nervous tics. Cut it out.”

“Why only twice?”

“What?”

He was nibbling thoughtfully on his lower lip and watching her. “Why was last night only your second time? You’re in your thirties. You should have had hundreds of experiences by now. It can’t be a dislike for the act itself—you’re sexy, responsive, and open to new experiences. So what’s the explanation?”