Blood Kiss

His hands were now up on her hips and he squeezed the bones, liking how they felt against his palms. And then for a moment, he lost his train of thought because he was struck by a powerful urge to mount her.

That would be a no, though.

Subtly, she began to pull him in and he went at her speed, working her with his lips, getting her ready for what was coming. And then he was at those panties. Looking up, he couldn’t see her properly with the robe all bunched around her waist, so he freed the tie and spread the halves. She had on a little, tight muscle shirt that was white and no bra—so her hard nipples threw shadows even in the low lighting.

Groaning, he breathed in and put his lips on her core, sucking in the cotton, getting it wetter.

Her hands ripped at his hair—gone the timid touch, now a demand, and that meant it was time for a position change. Moving fast, exploding up from the floor, he made sure that the door was locked with his mind and then he swept her legs up on the bed, parted her thighs, and went back to what he was doing, kissing her, pushing her knees higher and wider so he could do her better.

Panting. She was panting and working herself against his face, her hands pulling him in tight, her body giving itself to him with an abandon that was a shock and a serious fucking turn-on. With a growl, he shoved the muscle shirt up and thumbed her spectacular breasts—and as she arched on the mattress, he was so ready to get those panties out of the fucking way.

But first, a little more teasing.

Staring up at her, he could feel the memories being etched in his head, the sounds and smells, the gasps and moans, the sheer beauty of her.

Paradise.

It was so much more than she expected.

As Paradise’s hands dug even harder into Craeg’s hair, she was riding a wave of high-octane pleasure that took her out of her body and grounded her in her flesh at the same time. The sensation of the rubbing, the friction, the heat at her core was unlike anything she’d ever known—and she still technically had her—

Nope.

With a vicious jerking motion, he ripped one side and then the other—and her panties were no more.

And then the sensations were slick and hot, nothing separating his lips and his tongue and her sex.

Thanks to what they had done the night before, she knew what was coming, so when the orgasm hit she gave herself up to it, welcoming the pumping pleasure, jerking up against the mattress, knocking the pillows off to the floor.

When she finally came back from the soaring, shimmering heights of the release, she saw him rising up between her legs.

“Take me,” she ordered him. “Do it.”

Grabbing hold of her muscle shirt, she ripped it off over her head so that she lay naked and stretched out in front of his enormous body, his incredible erection, his barely leashed power. And yet he hesitated, even though the hunger on his face made him look like a demon.

“Craeg…” Reaching up to her breasts, she caressed herself and arched up again, the burn already back in her sex, the desperation, the sweet suffocation returning tenfold.

All he did was sit back on his heels, put his hands on his thighs, and bow his head.

“Craeg?”

“No…” he groaned. “I can’t.”

“What…?”

“I’m not going to have sex with you.”

Wait, huh? she thought.

When he didn’t say anything else, she propped herself up on her elbows and pulled her shirt over to cover her breasts. “Why not?”

“It’s … not going to happen.”

“What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“Oh, fuck, it’s … no, you’re too good, you’re…”

“Craeg, you gotta stop that.”

Enough, she thought, reaching out to him. As she ran her hands up his arms, she felt his corded muscles, knew the struggle he was forcing himself into.

“Take this off,” she said, tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

She expected him to fight with her. He didn’t. His arms went lax and he let her remove the undershirt, and then … God, he was beautiful, his smooth, hairless skin stretched over such power—and when she went to run her hands over his flesh, he let her, his head falling back, his neck and shoulder muscles straining.

And then he shocked her.

“Take my vein,” he said in a rough voice. “If I can’t have you … take from me…”

Just like with the oral sex, it happened oh, so fast, her fangs descending, her eyes locking on his jugular with a dead-serious that she’d never felt before.

With a hiss, she lunged up and struck, sinking deep, nailing him with a greed that he submitted to completely. Hauling him to the side, she laid him out beneath her and straddled his abdomen as if he were her prey, sucking at him, his taste roaring its way down to her gut, filling her up from the inside out in a way that food and rest could not do.

She was dimly aware of him stretching his arms out and gripping the headboard, bending his torso toward her, moaning as his hips pumped and thighs jerked. He was orgasming and then so was she and everything got super-crazy, super-quick, as she moved her pelvis and felt that hard ridge right where she wanted it.

But when she tried to get to his erection, when she attempted to take his pants off, he held her hands away and kept them in an iron grip. And when she protested, when she fought him, the world spun and she was on her back again.

Blood ran down his neck and his chest from where she’d penetrated him, but he didn’t care.