Sam awoke to the silken glide of Petroff's tongue lightly stroking her own. He continued to kiss her expertly, stroking erotically, his hands reaching up to cup her breasts, his thumbs and forefinger plucking at her nipples. Sighing, she arched toward him, feeling his long, hard arousal alongside her thigh. His size had her pulling back and yanking down the sheets and blankets that covered them.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice heavy with lust as he stared down at her. The bedside lamp glowed softly, revealing his handsome features, taut with desire. He didn't want to ask, but felt obligated to make sure that sex was truly what Sam wanted.
Pulling the sheets past his hips, Sam glanced down at his erection; huge, hard, enormous. Gulping loudly, she blurted, "Wow, Peter. I can see you were certainly appropriately named."
Then she giggled, surprising him. Women did many things in his bed, but laughter was usually not one of those activities.
"Peter the Great. How true!"
Taking in what Sam was staring at, Petroff began to chuckle. This woman was a breath of fresh air blowing through the cobwebs of his jaded past. "It's just the luck of the draw."
She snorted.
Gazing down at her, he tweaked her nipples, loving their responsivity. He said, "I like your style, Samantha Hammett."
Before he could say more, Sam slid her fingers down his stomach and grasped him. She began a slow gliding motion up and down, which reduced his chuckles to harsh breathing.
"Now, who's had the last laugh?" she taunted smugly. But upon those challenging words, Sam was flipped on her back, and Petroff pinned her.
Again he took her mouth in a passionate assault, his caresses scorching her skin. His strong fingers slipped through the pale curls between her thighs, playing in the dampness he discovered there. He groaned. She trembled.
He kissed her neck, nipped it. She pulled back, warning, "No biting. No drinking!" No matter how in heat she was, Sam wasn't going to be anybody's after hours snack. Nor would she be their main course.
His eyelids were heavy, his features taut with arousal. At first he seemed confused by her words, but then he nodded abruptly and returned to torturing her nipples with his mouth, and his fingers played havoc between her thighs.
With the expertise of many long years and numberless conquests, Pete found the hidden spot now plump and tingling between her thighs. Skillfully he plucked and played until her head was thrashing from side to side, and her release built and built.
A rainbow of sensation took Sam, shooting her skyward as his hand worked and he bit down gently on her nipple. Screaming, she came apart, soaring to the stars in a burst of purple-white light. Petroff growled with pleasure at her passionate nature and hoarse cry of ecstasy, and quickly slipped on a condom.
Running her fingers over the powerful muscles in his back, she urged the Prince over her. He widened her legs, placing his heated flesh to her own, nudging the entrance to her wet, hot haven.
Feelings of primal desire urged him on. He wanted to mate with her over and over, to imprint his hold on her, to mark her as his territory. The thought brought him up short. He wasn't possessive of females and never had been; yet suddenly he knew that he didn't want Sam to be with anyone else. He didn't like the idea of another living or undead soul to know the spicy, hot splendor of her welcome.
Sam felt him move into her and winced slightly since he was so big. For a moment it was close, but he thrust gently, easing into her bit by bit. Lustily she sighed at the way his hugeness filled her in a way she had never been completed before. They were like two pieces of an apple that had been cut apart and were now placed back together, fitting perfectly. He was tender yet strong, and the look in his eyes told her that she was the only woman for him. He made love to her with a skill unsurpassed.
Suddenly she felt him slow, almost halt his wonderful thrusting. Moaning at the delay, Sam reached up and nipped his neck, and her hands massaged his taut buttocks.
Whatever control he had been practicing shattered. With a roar, he thrust hard, taking her breath away, stunning her. He felt so good inside her, so right. "Oh, more Pete. More." This man was the man of her dreams—even if he wasn't really a man but a vampire. She could fall in love with his charm, his haughty arrogance, his dry wit, his intelligence… and his great big peter. Not to mention the way he used it so skillfully, making her feel bliss—a word she had always known but hadn't really experienced before tonight.
He would have corrected her use of his name had he been saner, but all Petroff wanted at the moment was to ride Sam until they both expired of exhaustion. With a powerful rhythm he stroked in and out, in and out, thrusting deep and hard. Sometimes he kissed her, other times he nipped her neck. Sometimes he sucked on her nipples until she was screaming in pleasure.
At one long, deep thrust, her climax finally hit her like a freight train. She arched up, bucking, her head thrashing, and thoughts fleeing as she came apart; her body went limp from exertion and relief.
Feeling her inner muscles tighten repeatedly, Petroff let himself go too, his seed spurting, his climax powerful, shaking him. He felt weak as a newborn. Samantha Hammett was an incredible lover for such a devious female, and so giving for a woman wrapped in deceit; passionate, wild and so very, very hot. She was his kind of woman in many ways, but not the ways that counted for long term relationship. Which made him angry with himself and her. He wanted more than one night. He wanted many, many nights with her, but that was impossible since she was who she was.
His shout at the end sent Sam over the top again. Another climax hit her so hard that she bit her lips to keep from crying tears of joy and something more—a certain something Sam was afraid to put a name to. She wanted this promiscuous playboy vampire, in spite of her good sense and knowing that the challenge to keep him monogamous would be endless and hard-won. She would be challenged by some of the most beautiful women in the world for his attention. Yet, in spite of the difficulties he presented, she wanted him, even knowing that someday he would walk away and take her heart with him. It was stupid, foolish and downright scary. The Prince had hit her hard, fast and below the belt. But sighing blissfully, she hoped he would do it again.
Rolling off her, Petroff closed his eyes. Making love to Sam was an experience he wouldn't soon forget, if ever. He almost felt guilty. But then he forced himself to recall who she was: the spoils of war.
She rolled with him, ending up resting her head against his chest, all silken skin and hair. He raised his hand to touch her face, then stopped himself, fighting the urge to kiss her tenderly on the forehead. There would be no postcoital fondling, not with Sam.
Running her fingers through the dark hair on his chest, she remarked softly, "No wonder women chase you to ground. If you could be bottled and sold there wouldn't be an unhappy female in America."
He accepted her accolades, although he felt faintly uncomfortable at the soft glow in her eyes. Leaning over, he kissed her tenderly, but he remained quiet as guilt began an insidious crawl into his mind, his heart just now slowing down from the workout. "I think I just might be dead," he remarked.
"There's no might about it," she replied.
He laughed in spite of trying to distance himself from her.
"And I really appreciate you not drinking my blood while we were making love. I know vampires are big on that sort of thing."
The guilt Petroff was fighting suddenly struck him hard. He grunted. "Things aren't always what they seem. Don't you Americans have a saying, never judge a book by its cover?"
Sam ignored his words and his tone, because she was too busy examining his partially flaccid penis. Curiosity getting the better of her, she wondered if it would fit in her mouth.
Yes, but barely. She sucked and he grew hard instantly.
"What are you doing?" he managed to gasp.
She grinned up at him, lying between his thighs. "Come on. You're the expert. You tell me."
Petroff arched a brow, his guilt forgotten. "Round two for old times' sake?"
She licked him once, then added, "No—for Pete's peter's sake." Then she laughed as he lifted her above him and settled her tightly upon him. His last sane thought, as she rode him hard and without mercy, was that maybe her little Americanisms weren't so bad after all.