“You had angry baby horns.”
“Put it down.”I smile and set it back.
The smile fades when I see his bed.Large with dark sheets.
A place where last night lives in memory, even though last night happened in mine.His mark on my shoulder pulses softly beneath my sweater, as if reminding me that desire is not the enemy.
Knox stands by the door.“We can go back.”
“No.”
His eyes search my face.“Briana.”
I turn to him.“I am scared.I am tired.I am probably going to be strange for a long time.”
“I know.”
“But I want to be strange here.”
The words hit him hard.I feel it through the bond.
He crosses the room slowly.“Then here is yours.”
I walk to him and lift my hands to his chest, and he lets me.Of course he does.“I don’t want the vampires to be the last thing I feel tonight.”
A low sound moves through him.“Tell me what you want.”
I close my eyes and listen to my body.For once, it answers without screaming.
“You,” I whisper, voice rough with longing.“I need your darkness, not your pity.Break me open, make me ache for you.Show me I belong to you.Every ruined, desperate part of me.”
His forehead presses to mine, a shadow passing through his eyes.“I’ve wanted to devour you.To worship you in every way you’ll let me.”
“I know.”
His hands claim my face, fingers digging in just enough to let me feel the threat and the promise in his grip.I lean into him before fear can touch me, his touch burns, rough and hungry.I shudder at how right it feels.
I am his.I want to be his.I crush my mouth to his, desperate, tasting the edge of his restraint.He groans, low and dangerous, hands tangling in my hair as if he can’t help himself.
That matters.
The kiss starts as a plea, a demand for proof I’m alive, and he answers with teeth and tongue, claiming me with abandon.His restraint is a thread, fraying with every gasp I give him.Wanting him now feels like survival, like worship.It feels like proof I did.
He waits for my command, eyes feral with desire, and only when I nod does he lift me.There’s a savage hunger in his touch as he peels the clothes from my body—slow at first, then rough, greedy hands everywhere.The sounds I make are shameless, and I see the way they shatter his restraint.
He lays me out, not gentle but hungry and worshipful, as if I’m both a feast and a goddess.His hands roam, memorizing every inch, and I arch up, desperate for more.
“Fuck, Briana.Look at you.So fucking perfect.You have no idea what you do to me.”His voice is wrecked, desperate, as he drags his mouth down my body.
He kisses his mark on my shoulder, tongue flicking over it, then bites just hard enough to make me gasp.
“Every mark on you is mine,” he growls, his breath hot against my skin.“You’re so beautiful it hurts.”His mouth travels lower, teeth scraping, lips claiming, and I can feel how badly he wants to lose control.
“You are everything.You survived.You’re fucking perfect.”His mouth is everywhere, over my breasts, my stomach, down between my thighs.“You’re so wet for me, sweetheart...Gods, I need to taste you.Let me hear you.I want every sound you make.”
His hands hover, trembling, until I guide him lower.The power is mine, but he worships it, and me, with every filthy, reverent word.When his mouth finds my center, I cry out, shameless, and he moans against my skin.
“That’s it, love.Give it to me.Let me ruin you.”
