Blood on her cheek. Fire in her eyes. The ring glinting gold at her throat.
Mine.
I tear her shirt open the same way she did mine. The fabric gives easily, already weakened from battle. Underneath, just a simple black undergarment and the bandage on her shoulder, spotted with blood.
I should be careful with her. She's wounded. She almost died.
I can't be careful. Not tonight. Not after everything.
I lower my mouth to her throat and bite. Not to feed. Just to mark. Just to taste the salt of her skin, to hear the sound she makes when my fangs graze the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.
She arches into me, her nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood. The pain lights up my nerve endings. I growl against her throat and bite harder.
"Maximus." My name comes out broken. Desperate. "Please."
"Please, what?"
"More. Everything. I don't care, just don't stop."
I drag my mouth down her body. The undergarment disappears. I'm not sure if I unclasped it or tore it. Doesn't matter. My lips find the swell of her breast, the peak of her nipple, and I suck hard enough to make her cry out. Her hands fist in my hair, holding me there, her hips rolling up against mine.
I want to take my time. Want to taste every inch of her, learn every sound she makes, find every spot that makes her shake.
I can't. The need is too sharp. Too many years of loneliness compressed into this single moment, this single woman, and I can't wait another second.
I work my way back up her body, kissing and biting as I go. She's writhing beneath me now, her hands everywhere, tugging at my belt, shoving at my pants, making frustrated sounds when the fabric doesn't cooperate.
I help her. Clothes disappear. And then there's nothingbetween us, just skin against skin, cool against cool, her body pressed along the length of mine.
She wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me closer. The pressure of her against me makes my vision blur.
"Now," she says. "I need you now."
I should ask if she's sure. Should give her one more chance to stop this.
But I look at her face, and I see the same desperation I'm feeling. The same hunger. The same need that goes beyond want into something closer to survival.
I stop thinking.
I push into her in one long stroke, and the world whites out.
She's tight. Perfect. Her body grips me like she was made for this, made for me. I don't care about anything except the way she feels around me, the sounds she's making, the way her nails dig crescents into my shoulders as I start to move.
"God." The word tears out of her. "Maximus."
I set a brutal pace. Can't help it. Can't slow down. Every thrust drives us both higher, the headboard slamming against the wall, the bed groaning beneath us. She meets me stroke for stroke, her hips rising to take me deeper, her teeth finding my shoulder and biting down hard enough to break skin.
The pain mixes with pleasure until I can't separate them. Don't want to separate them. This is what I needed. This is what I've been denying myself. Not just sex but this. This rawness. This loss of control. This feeling of being consumed and consuming in equal measure.
"Harder," she gasps. "I won't break."
I grab her thigh, hitch it higher on my hip, and drive into her with everything I have. The new angle makes her scream. Her walls clench around me, and I feel her getting close, feel the tension building in her body.
My control is slipping. I can feel it fraying with every thrust, every sound she makes, every drag of her nails down my back. My fangs have extended fully, aching with a hunger that has nothing to do with sustenance. My gaze keeps dropping to her throat, to the pulse point where her blood would flow if she still had a heartbeat.
I want to taste her. Need to taste her. The urge is primal, overwhelming, tangled up with the pleasure until I can't separate them.
"Celeste." Her name comes out rough, strained. I drag my fangs along the curve of her neck, feeling her shiver beneath me. "I need… Can I?"
