“Kiss me first,” she says against my mouth, dragging her lips across mine. “Show my mouth what your cock would do to it.”
Hearing her speak like that makes me wild. I shove up from my chair, and she jerks back, a little startled, looking up at me with a question visible in her eyes. She’s wondering if she made a mistake. Even if I couldn’t see it, a thin tendril of fear reaches my nose.
“I would never hurt you,” I whisper, cradling her face in my hands. “Not like that. Only if you want pain will I ever deliver it.”
Her blue eyes search mine. “I know.”
A thread of trust. One I cling to as I kiss her, claiming her mouth, using my tongue to give her what she wanted moments before. If it were my cock, I would bury it deep, so I kiss her deep, plundering her mouth, but always relenting to ease the assault.
She opens for me, too, her teeth trying to catch my lip. I finally give in and let her take the reins. Like a hungry little vixen, she drags her teeth across my bottom lip, then flicks that delicious, pink tongue over the tip of my fang, staring into my eyes.
She likes the threat of my mouth, the danger so close, and though I try to be careful, as our kiss turns rougher, I nick her plump flesh.
A gasp flutters between us, and I pull back to examine the wound, holding her chin between my fingers. A shimmering, red bead sits on her lower lip.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” A strange sensation pinches my gut. Guilt. Especially given that I just promised to never do this, not unless she wanted it. But at the same time, at the scent of her blood, desire kicks in my veins. It’s wholly conflicting.
She looks a little surprised yet pleased as she sweeps her tongue out and tastes the swollen drop, wetting her lips with a tempting red sheen. “Don’t be sorry. I asked you to not be gentle. I like a little pain.”
Well, fuck.
More blood blooms from the wound, another red pearl teetering on her lip. The beast in me howls with need, and my cock swells.
“I’m a wolf, Nephele. We like blood, and I can heal that little hurt. I still very much want to kiss you. If you want that too.”
She gives no answer, save for offering a provocative arch of her brow as she tugs me back to her mouth.
The moment the metallic bite hits my tongue, I feel ravenous. I can fuck her here, pressed against the window. Bent over this table, her breast clutched in my hand. Standing up, pistoning into her. I don’t care. All I know is I want her in every way I can have her, until she’s weeping with pleasure.
I pinch her little nipples as I suck and lick and taste her mouth, until we’re both gasping. I try to slow down, focusing on licking away the bleeding slit caused by my fang, my saliva taking far too long to seal the wound. But with every pass, I get to taste her. With every pass, a new yet smaller pearl forms for me. So I take it.
And she lets me.
I’m so enthralled with her mouth and her body I almost miss the soft knock at the door. Nephele jerks back though, and I hear the second one, registering the first one at the same time.
I yank her skirts down, and she tugs the ruched fabric of her bodice over her breasts. We don’t fully disengage before the door cracks open and Mari peeks inside.
She gasps at the sight of us. Nephele still on the table. Me standing between her spread legs with my hands on her thighs. I’m certain we look as guilty as we are.
Mari’s eyes go wide, and she blushes ten shades of red. “I am so sorry to interrupt. It’s just that… Zahira told me to find you.”
Nephele and I finally separate, though it’s the last thing I want to do. She slips off the table, but I take a seat to hide the evidence of our passion. No need to not make matters worse for the girl at the door.
“Is something wrong?” Nephele asks.
Mari gives an emphatic nod and gestures for Nephele to follow her. They hurry out the door. A moment later, I get up and trail close behind, adjusting my cock as we walk down the front hall that leads to the foyer. The door to the vestibule is open, letting in the damp air.
The others are standing outside, staring toward the road that leads into the city. We head out into the wet day to join them, rain pouring off the eaves in rivers. Everyone parts for us when we arrive, eyes wide, faces painted with worry and shock as we push through to see what’s happening.
We stop between Zahira and Callan, and in truth, it takes several moments to grasp what we’re seeing. There’s a dark, hulking figure in the blurring rain, walking with long, labored strides. But as he nears, all becomes clear.
Un Drallag stalks up the gravel and sand path that leads to the main house, past the guards who stand under a shed, enduring the weather to keep watch. His black hair is lacquered to his head, his black clothes soaked through and clinging to his body, his face a brutal mask of cruel satisfaction.
Because he’s dragging two bodies through the front gate.
21
NEPHELE
