I slid my hands over his back, feeling each ridge of his spine. His muscles rippled underneath my palms like waves beneath moonlight. He was mine in this moment—his heartbeat against my chest, his breath warm on my skin. All mine. He deserved to be loved like this.
His hot mouth closed around my nipple, his tongue circling the sensitive peak. I arched my back against the comforter, allowing him to draw more of my flesh between his lips, my fingers threading through his thick, dark hair. Electric tingles radiated from my breast through my entire body, pooling like liquid fire between my thighs. A primal hunger overtook me—dual cravings impossible to separate. My fangs lengthened. I wanted him buried deep inside me. Wanted the metallic sweetness of his blood on my tongue.
The words came out as a desperate plea. “I want you, Rocco. I want to taste you.” My voice was hoarse, strained with desire that had built for hours.
He lifted his head from my breast, his dark eyes meeting mine through the dim light. A bead of sweat traced the sharp line of his jaw. “Not yet,” he whispered.
His mouth moved lower, trailing heat across my stomach. When his lips finally found my center, the wet warmth of his tongue against my most sensitive flesh sent electric currents racing through me. My fingers twisted in his hair as he worked me relentlessly, each precise stroke bringing me closer until his name tore from my lips in a broken cry.
He lifted his head, pupils blown wide, and climbed up my writhing body, leaving a trail of heat across my skin. He kissed me fiercely, his tongue insistent against mine as his hips slid between my trembling thighs. He buried himself inside me to the hilt, the sensation both familiar and overwhelming. The rhythm was hard and fierce, each movement sending pleasure spiraling through every nerve in my body, our bodies slick with sweat as we moved together in the half-light.
I turned my head and scraped my elongated fangs against the tender flesh where his neck met his shoulder, feeling his pulse quicken beneath my lips before I sank my teeth in deep. His blood coursed into my mouth—rich and intoxicating with notes of cinnamon and clove that danced across my tongue.
The bond between us blazed white-hot. His blood was more than taste—it was feeling. His desire, his devotion, his fierce need to protect me—all of it flooding into me with every swallow. I moaned against his throat, my eyes burning with tears I couldn’t explain. This was what it meant to be truly bonded. Not just bodies. Not just blood. Everything.
He moved with greater urgency now, his rhythm becoming desperate as he filled me completely. When his own fangs foundthe curve of my shoulder, breaking the skin with surprising force, a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan escaped me as waves of pleasure radiated outward from every point where our bodies connected.
White dots spread across my eyes like stars in a midnight sky as my orgasm radiated through me, electric and all-consuming. I clasped his massive shoulders, holding on tight, as he drove into me, every thrust sending tremors through my body that I couldn’t control.
Rocco’s rhythm faltered, his breath breaking apart against my neck as he shuddered and tensed, his warmth flooding into me with each powerful pulse.
I pressed my lips against his, tasting salt and copper. “I love you, Rocco Palazzo,” I whispered.
“I’ve always loved you. No matter what you’ve done. You’ll always have my heart—the whole broken, stubborn thing.”
He panted, his chest rising and falling beneath my palm, dark eyes searching mine in the half-light. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do,” I said, tracing the sharp edge of his jawline with my fingertip, feeling the slight stubble that had grown since morning.
He rested his forehead against mine, his skin warm and slightly damp with sweat. But I could see it in his eyes—those deep dark eyes—the doubt lingering there like a shadow.
He didn’t believe me. Somehow I would prove that he was everything I claimed, even if it took all night, all year, all of whatever time we had left.
Chapter Thirty
Rocco
I woke to a scream that turned my blood to ice.
Not a shout. Not a cry. An agonizing, guttural scream—the sound of someone who'd just had their world ripped apart. It tore through the walls of our room and jolted me upright, my heart slamming against my ribs before my eyes were fully open.
Selena. My hand shot out, searching for her in the dark. She was there—warm, alive, already stirring beside me, her eyes wide with alarm. Safe. She was safe.
We were a knot of sheets and bare skin, and it took a frantic few seconds to pull ourselves apart.
The scream came again. Down the hall.
I grabbed my jeans and hauled them up. "Stay here."
"No." Already on her feet, already pulling on her shirt.
I didn't have time to argue. I threw open the door and charged into the hallway.
Lucien was thrashing between Valentin and Darius, his face contorted with a rage so raw it barely looked human. They each had one of his arms, their feet planted, muscles straining to holdhim. Lucien was strong—terrifyingly strong—and whatever had broken inside him was fueling a fury that was giving even two vampires a fight.
"Let me go!" He thrashed against them, his eyes wild. "I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him!"
Doors opened along the hallway. Guests peered out in their bathrobes, wide-eyed, staring at the three men struggling in the corridor like they were witnessing a breakdown. Which, from the look of it, they were.
