“And what kind of way is that?”
His eyes darken from crimson to garnet. His smile widens, sharpens, exposing the tips of his fangs.
“Demons like a chase. We like to pursue our mates, to catch them, to claim them.”
He leans in, runs those fangs over the tender skin at the side of my throat.
“Maybe someday you’ll let me chase you, let me claim you, but for now I’m more than happy to be right here with you, Seren.”
Goddess, why do I like the sound of that so much? Why do I like the idea of my big, strong, handsome demon mate chasing me through a forest, catching me, maybe sinking those fangs of his into me and—
“What about these?” I run my thumb down his fang, press the pad against the sharp tip.
Not breaking the skin, but almost.
I have to know.
“What about them, star?”
“Are they just for show, or do you—”
“Use them to bite?” Callum presses down, just a little, and a drop of blood wells up.
I gasp.
His eyes go molten.
With a quick dart of his tongue, he licks the drop away, and a deep groan of pleasure rumbles in his chest.
“They’re not just for show.”
That sinful promise, growled against my lips, sends heat flooding through me.
“They’re for marking our partners. For drinking from them and leaving the evidence behind so the entire world will know they’re claimed.”
“Where would you mark me?”
A deep growl sounds in Callum’s chest. “Witch, you should know better than to ask me that.”
He maps a path down my body—lips seeking, fangs rasping against my skin. He doesn’t waste any time pulling my panties off and tossing those aside, too, baring me to him as he settles himself at the juncture of my thighs.
My demon has no patience tonight, no desire to slow down and tease me. His tongue traces up the seam of my pussy, presses inside, slides higher until he finds my clit and gives it a hard flick.
I cry out, clutch his horns, arch my back and press myself into his face, just as greedy as he is. Claws retracted, he presses two fingers deep, strokes forward, stretches me, and demands my pleasure. There’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to retreat even if I wanted to.
The pleasure he stokes in me is merciless. Fast and hard and heavy, he works me with fingers and lips and tongue. He finds the spots that make me moan and writhe against him, and uses every skill in his arsenal to bring me to an abrupt, shattering climax.
Working me through every spasm, he’s all set to keep going, to draw out what would undoubtedly be more pure, unadulterated pleasure, but I groan and tug at him until he gets the hint.
He crawls back up my body until our mouths meet. I can taste myself on him, taste us together, and I almost get lost in the heady, delicious kiss until I remember why I brought him back up here.
“These,” I breathe, barely able to form a coherent sentence as I tug at his clothes. “Off.”
Gratifyingly, he obeys. Rolling off the bed and standing, he strips in full view of where I lay and watch him.
The firelight hits every sculpted muscle. Every dusting of coarse, dark hair. Every powerful curve of his wings.
I can’t take my eyes off him.
