He gave a harsh shake of his head. “I’m here.”
Lifting her chin on the edge of his hand, he lowered his head and kissed her. Need erupted inside him, but he kept his mouth gentle on hers, unwilling to mistreat her the way he had the last time he’d gotten close enough to kiss her.
She moaned as he moved his hands to her delicate shoulders.
No, it wasn’t a moan. Not one of pleasure, that is.
Hearing her sharp little intake of breath, he realized she was in pain.
He pulled back at once, releasing her. “You’re injured.”
“No. It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
Taking the hem of her black shirt in his hands, he carefully lifted it over her head. His gaze lit on the purple bruise in the shape of four large fingers and he ground out a low curse, recalling how the Rogue at the theater had grabbed Phaedra as she was trying to get away.
The edges of his vision burned amber with rage.
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “Micah, I’m okay.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the dark outline of the Rogue’s fingers. It was impossible for him to ignore how her blood was gathered there, just beneath the creamy velvet of her skin. Being Breed, his hearing was acute enough to detect the flutter of her pulse, which sped to an even stronger tempo under his hungered stare.
He hadn’t fed in days. Too long, especially considering he was little more than a week out from serious injuries of his own.
But what he felt as he watched Phaedra’s heartbeat throb in the graceful curve of her neck and shoulder, he wasn’t thinking about satisfying his need for nourishment or healing.
His thirst was something more than that.
The thirst to claim her.
To make her his alone, for as long as he lived.
Reining in all of the needs he felt when he looked at her, he lowered his head and lightly kissed the unmarked skin around her bruise. She would heal soon enough, and while he knew his beautiful Phaedra could withstand far greater pain than what the Rogue’s punishing grasp had inflicted, Micah wanted to take away every hurt she suffered. Now and in the future.
Forever, if he had his way.
He lifted his face to hers, blown away by the affection shining in her eyes.
And the desire.
Holy hell, her desire sparked a fire in his blood now. It ignited all of the need he’d been fighting since he brought her into the room.
Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her toward him and brushed his lips over hers. Her soft gasp against his mouth was raw with invitation. Drawing her closer, he slid his tongue inside her heated kiss, then gently nipped his way along her jaw line. She said his name on a broken whisper. He answered with a deep growl that unfurled from somewhere deep within him.
“Christ, I’ve needed to kiss you again,” he murmured, his breath harsh and heavy. “I’ve needed to touch you again.”
Her shuddering little moan spurred his desire. He reached between them to caress her breasts, his fingers searching out the front closure of her bra and snapping it open. He groaned against her mouth as he stroked and kneaded the soft, buoyant swells and the pearled peaks of her nipples.
Breaking their kiss, he bent so he could bring one of the cherry-red buds up to his mouth. Her head fell back as he suckled her, taking care not to abrade her tender skin with the sharp points of his fangs. The temptation to bite down and pierce the soft flesh—to claim her by blood—was nearly overwhelming.
On a snarl, he pulled back. “You look so fucking hot dressed in combat gear. I’ve been hard all night just from seeing you like this. Now, all I want to do is strip you out of it.”
She gave him a saucy smile, her lovely face flushed with arousal. “I want you naked too.”
They moved with urgent, determined fingers, unfastening buttons and buckles and laces, tugging at fabric and zippers. When the last of their clothing and boots lay on the floor, their hands found each other.
Questing fingers on bare skin.
