Rediscovering just how marvelous it felt to be buried inside her—how could he have forgotten in such a short while? Yet every encounter with a leman was fresh, volcanic, tearing away the sharp numbness of age, teaching the wonder of the world and sanguinant senses anew.
Lukas found himself loath to halt the kiss, but the tang of his own claret was unmistakable—he’d sliced his lip on a fangtip, a minor miscalculation. He broke free, gasping, and nuzzled at her throat.
CHAPTER 15
The monster bit, and Bea had no breath to scream.
A silly move, trying to hold him off with a poker; he’d twisted the metal bar into a pretzel and tossed it casually away. Then another of those curious time-skips and he was on her, the bed giving with a heavy sigh and his arm suddenly under her left knee. She had never been pinned like this, opened and ruthlessly invaded—her college fumblings, though expected and sort-of-heady in the beginning stages, had been sweaty, alcohol-laced, and ended up deeply unsatisfactory.
Her back arched, her right sock-heel finding the slightly surface of the jacquarded duvet and digging in hard enough to burn, a fuzzy thumping filling her ears—heartbeat, she thought hazily, that’s mine—as narcotic heat dilated from the fangs buried in her throat.
How in the hell...? Useless to wonder just how she’d ended up naked, he had indeed ripped the clothes right off her. Bea’s body didn’t care about that, it simply thrashed—so far as it could, he was simply too goddamn strong.
Worst of all, a familiar hazy, anticipatory pressure bloomed between her legs. The monster growled, just like in the elevator, and Bea’s fingers were claws, nails skipping along the hard smooth curves of his shoulders, muscle flickering against her palms. He thrust again, impossibly deep, tender tissues stretching, a subterranean thrill through her entire shaking, riven body.
Something else rubbed between them, an unerring pressure like a wicked, knowing fingertip against her clitoris. Lightning soared. A moan died at the back of her mouth, her lips slack and open; again and again he rocked, stabbing for her core.
OhGod ohGod ohGod...Was she saying it aloud? Black flowers bloomed behind her eyelids, sealed tight. She was being fucked by a monster, and the hell of it was that he was very good. Slick-wet, bent nearly in half, every nerve exploding, colors strobe-flickering between the black flowers, she had never, never understood it could be like this, even with her own hand during the usual teenage exploration of just how to jill herself correctly.
Even worse, it didn’t take long at all before a quasi-familiar stillness swallowed her whole. It was inevitable, just a matter of friction in the right spot, orgasm teasing its own inevitability.
The monster’s growl deepened, tempo slowing into hard deep thrusts, each accompanied by that insistent probing at her clit. She struggled to avoid release, aware of futility, helpless to stop resistance or the explosion.
Long and low, the pulses tore through her. Clenching and releasing around a hot, plundering stranger, her head flung back, sweat sliding between her skin and the strange matte texture of his, a half-strangled cry she recognized as her own stuttering to a stop.
Alive. She was still alive, heartbeat pounding in her wrists, her ankles, her chest, even in her hair. The cessation of agonizing fear was its own reward, even as she shuddered with aftershock. The cock buried in her throbbed, jerking spasmodically, and she couldn’t even worry about unprotected monster sex again.
It felt too goddamn good to simply be unafraid for a few moments.
He stilled, and for the first time she was aware of his breathing in deep ragged gulps as well. Had she imagined the fangs? Kisses printed on her throat, working up past her jaw, and his mouth found hers. Tongue, lips, teeth all human again, and he took his time, exploring her response, kissing like a starving man.
Guess he’s had time to practice. The crashing realization of what he’d just done hovered somewhere outside a glass bubble, a snowglobe of shock. There was an odd sweet taste to him, slightly metallic, which somehow managed to soothe the dry thirst-pain.
Blood. Probably mine. Jesus.
Though he had obviously gotten what he wanted, the monster remained buried in her, cock twitch-throbbing. At least his weight wasn’t crushing—very considerate of him to let her breathe. Hard to think with his mouth doing that—pursuing, demanding attention, taking.
Finally, the kiss turned shallower. He pecked at the corner of her lips, pressed more light caresses to her damp, feverish cheek, and finally exhaled close to her ear, hot breath stirring sweat-soaked hair. The sigh turned into words.
“Beatrice.” Playing with her name, tasting each syllable. He made it sound absolutely indecent, and Bea had to now deal with the fact that she was spread and nailed under a monster.
And that she had enjoyed it enough to come.
“Say something,” he whispered, the sibilants a torrid purr as his cock moved inside her again. “Tell me what you like.”
Oh, my God, what the fuck are you doing? More squares on some insane internal bingo card she’d never even dreamed of checking off—fucked by a monster in an elevator, and now this. “Get off of me,” she managed, in a breathy, high-pitched little voice.
“Not yet.” A faint rasp of stubble as his cheek moved against hers—did monsters shave? “Won’t let me. See?”
Another movement, a dragging as his hips rocked, and Bea gasped at the flood of sensation. Postcoital sensitivity meant the smallest shift was magnified, electricity zapping all through her. A curious feeling, the swelling, almost as if the shape of his cock had changed.
“Barbed, after release,” he continued. “Rendering me vulnerable for a short while until the swelling retreats. I cannot leave you, little leman.”
Barbed was concerning. Vulnerable was interesting. Her cheeks were scarlet-hot, a drenching flood of embarrassment—maybe even shame, she couldn’t tell yet. And to top off the entire impossible situation, her brain-mouth filters were failing again. “What is it with you and lemons?” She didn’t add do you have a fruit fixation only by an effort of will.
“Leman,” he corrected. How could a monster sound pedantic after fucking the life out of her? “It means beloved one. There are other terms—imprima, deva, sangdolce. Aima-glyza.”
Uh. “Please get off of me.” She tried to move, to slither away, achieved exactly nothing.
