I have no idea what I look like right now, but I don’t think it matters. Not to him. He sees beyond the surface. Not just the body but the person beneath, the magic woven into every fiber of my being.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, his voice almost reverent. His fingertips brush my lower lip, and I lick the pad of his thumb, tasting salt on his skin. I feel him shudder at the gesture, and his eyes darken further.
He leans closer, lips parting as he draws in my scent. I hold my breath, anticipation coiling in my belly as his mouth hovers over mine. And then his lips capture mine, and the spark between us explodes. Everything ignites – my body, my magic, my soul.
His kiss is deep and claiming, demanding and yet so achingly gentle. It sends tendrils of need coiling through my core, likewhispers of a pleasure I haven’t yet experienced but somehow know I crave.
Our tongues dance, tasting, teasing, exploring. My fingers dig into his shoulders, and I pull him closer, needing more. Needing him. His hands clench against my skin, strong and sure, but his touch is infinitely gentle. My nipples pebble as he circles them, sending waves of sensation straight to my center. My physical reaction to this man is always so immediate. So visceral. Inexplicable.
This is madness.
He draws back slightly, lips trailing across my jaw to the sensitive skin of my throat. I tilt my head back, baring my neck to him, the subtle threat of his fangs sending sparks through me.
“Oh, God,” I murmur, the sound coming from deep in my chest.
In all my life, I’ve never felt something so intense. Marcus’s touch sets off reactions in my body that I didn’t even know were possible. It’s like my skin is alive, every nerve ending a conduit to something deeper, something intrinsically connected to the magic within me.
Our eyes are locked, midnight and emerald, as we explore each other. He traces my jaw, the shell of my ear, my throat. My skin prickles as if thousands of tiny sparks are dancing across my flesh, and I tremble, pressing into his touch.
His hands wander across my back, skimming along the curves of my spine, tracing a path to the indentation of my waist. The pads of his thumbs brush the swells of my hips, his touch lingering there for a moment before he cups my ass, fingers flexing against the soft flesh. His own hips nudge mine, and I gasp as I feel the thickness of his cock pressing against me.
I slide my hands down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the wet fabric of his shirt. My fingers work at thebuttons, trembling slightly as I undo each one. His skin is cool and smooth beneath my touch, a contrast to my heated flesh.
“Your turn,” I whisper, pushing the damp shirt off his shoulders. It falls to the floor, and my breath catches as I take in his bare chest. He’s beautiful – all hard muscle and perfect proportions. Age-old vampire strength wrapped in modern grace. I trace the defined lines of his abs, feeling them tense under my exploring fingers.
His belt is next. The leather is stubborn, but I manage to work it free. Marcus’s hands rest on my hips, his thumbs tracing circles on my skin as I fumble with his zipper. The metal finally gives way under my shaking fingers.
I push his pants down his hips, and he steps out of them, kicking them aside. My eyes drift lower, taking in all of him. Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t look away. I can’t look away.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, amusement coloring his voice.
“You’re worth staring at,” I reply, running my hands up his thighs to his hips and then higher.
His body is taut and lean, like a coiled spring, but speaks of strength and stamina rather than brutality and aggression. This is a warrior’s physique; it is hard-won, with muscles clearly formed over time. I stare in awe as my fingers trace his stomach, then wander to his chest, feeling the smooth sinew beneath the delicate hairs coating his chest.
Scars mark his skin – his chest, his shoulders – some faint, like whispers of a past he’d rather forget, others deep and angry, like jagged maps of battles fought and won. My fingers trace their paths, following their shapes, feeling the raised ridges beneath my touch, and a strange tenderness fills me.
He mirrors my action, his own fingers exploring the delicate landscape of my body, caressing every curve with a touch that both satisfies and awakens. He moves his hands as if he has known every curve of my body for centuries. When he cups mybreast and presses his knee between my thighs, I arch my back, grinding my heat against him, my pussy throbbing with a need I can’t comprehend.
I want more.
My fingers find their way around his shaft, and I touch him with the same awe and reverence, running my fingers up and down the length of his hardened flesh, following the subtle curve up to his head and then bringing my fingertips to his balls, gently squeezing and stroking. He groans at this contact, a low, guttural sound that sends another searing jolt through my body.
“Marcus, please. I need…” I murmur, leaving the invitation hanging. Without a word, he lifts me up against him, his arms like steel around me as he carries me away from the broken glass and the horror of those images.
Our tongues duel as he walks us toward the massive bed. I can feel the muscles in his arms flexing, the hard lines of his chest pressing against my breasts. Everywhere we touch, I feel the heat between us growing.
I need this. Need him.
He lowers me to the bed, his mouth never leaving mine. His hands roam across my back, stroking, caressing, his touch insistent, possessive. I can feel the control he’s trying to exert, but I can also feel the edge of his restraint fraying as his need matches my own. I dig my fingers into his hair, holding him to me as my own need spirals higher.
“Please,” I whisper against his lips, breaking the kiss long enough to speak. “I need you.”
He groans at that, his voice rough and raw. “Say it again.”
“Marcus, please.” My voice shakes with the force of my wanting, and the room seems to shake with it, too. “Please take me.”
Then he’s lowering himself over me, body hard and sure, muscles rippling beneath taut skin. I can feel the centuries inevery inch of him, the confidence that comes from existing for so long. His dark hair falls forward, shadowing his face as he surveys me. The predatory look in his eyes makes me shiver again, and my hands reach to tangle in his hair, guiding him down to me.
