Page 124 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

A sigh fell from her lips and she seemed to come back to herself. She lifted the mug and sipped. He ran his hand up and down her bare calf, keeping the other gripped on her hip. The feel of her ass on his lap was almost too much. Every minute movement created friction against his cock. It was all he could do to keep from taking her hips and grinding her against him.

He’d stopped questioning it, this unexplainable need for her. That she turned him into a mess of desire when no one had for centuries. He wanted to argue it was her blood, nothing more. But even now, with no taste of iron on his tongue, she consumed him completely. This wasn’t about blood anymore—hadn’t been for some time.

Lily set the mug against her thigh. “I’m done. Any more and I’ll have a tummy ache.”

“We cannot have that.” He set the mug on the tray, keeping a tight hold on her. “Kiss me, little flower. I want to feel your mouth.”

Her eyes flared. She turned and pressed their lips together. Something hotter than lust slipped beneath his skin. Something more lasting. He didn’t allow himself to think about it, or what it meant.

He let her lead. Her movements were slow, thoughtful. Perhaps even a little shy—which he found endearing. Her tongue darted out, licking along the seam of his lips. He groaned, blood rushing straight to his cock as she pressed into his mouth. His breaths came faster, because he was breathing unnecessarily, dragging in the scent of her with each inhale. She licked at him, running her tongue along his teeth.

His control began slipping.

When his fangs elongated, she licked and explored them. Her sensitive treatment of them pulled a deep, desperate sound from his throat. He tasted her blood when she clipped her tongue on the point of one.

He surged upward, lifting her to her feet, pressing her backwards, nearly stumbling toward the bed. “Remember what I said, little flower. Remember your control, because I’m going to fucking devour you, and that’s the only thing that will bring an end to it.”

Her panting was his only answer.

He took the hem of her dress and dragged it up her body. The sight of her black lacy panties and bra, all her beautiful skin, made his muscles weak. He dropped to his knees before her. She gasped, reaching for his head, twisting her fingers into his hair. “Yes,” he breathed when she tugged. The feel of it, her fingertips scraping against his scalp, had him pressing his face into her bare skin, groaning.

She shivered in his hold. “Are you cold?”

“No. Just…nervous, I think.”

“You want me to stop?” He looked up along the length of her, between the beautiful planes of her breasts.

There was unfettered desire in her blue gaze. She wanted him. “Don’t stop,” she breathed.

He hesitated only a moment longer, then peppered her skin with kisses, luxuriating in the softness beneath his lips. He hooked his fingers into her panties, sliding them down. The mark was there, the sight constricting his throat. He swallowed against the ache.

He’d done that to her. His choices, his arrogance, his miscalculation had marked her forever. Each time he saw it would be a reminder that she bore the consequences of his failures burned into her very flesh.

He almost stood. Almost fled. He didn’t deserve this—any of it. Her. What she was giving him.

“Laurie, please,” she breathed, watching him fixate on the brand. As if she feared he might stop.

“I…” Words failed. How could he lay claim to her after what he’d done? He didn’t deserve so much as to touch her, to be in her presence, to look at her.

“Laurie…” Her voice cracked. “Please.”

The sound of his nickname on her lips—only her lips, because he’d never allow anyone else to use it—was his undoing. His chest expanded. He would make it right. He would worship her, give her whatever she wanted. He’d crawl on his hands and knees if that’s what she wished.

Her thighs rubbed together, eyes still fixed on him. The only fear in her gaze was a fear that he might stop, a fear that he might leave her aching. The scent of her arousal, unchecked, swept over him. He groaned. His entire body began to change. His control frayed. He separated her thighs, buried his face between them, dragging the scent of her in.

Her sharp inhale turned him wild.

His tongue darted out, tasting. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck.” The salty taste of her sharpened his senses. So much to explore, he couldn’t decide what to do first.

He lifted her leg and braced it over his shoulder, holding her in place. Blood was the farthest thing from his mind as he began lapping at her core, sucking on her clit, sinking his tongue into her entrance. He listened to the little sounds she made, using them to guide him. Her hips bucked, pressing harder against his mouth.

He groaned, trying to ignore the painful ache of his cock pressing against the zipper of his pants. He palmed himself through the fabric, searching for relief.

Lily let out a mewl. He smelled the heightening of her arousal seconds before she came on his tongue, flooding his senses. He nearly came with her. Instead, he ripped his face away and scooped her up. He needed more—so much more.

His selfishness won.

He set her on the bed and began with the buttons of his shirt. Their eyes locked, and he wondered if she could resist looking at the rest of him. He caught the moment she lost the battle, when he ripped his shirt away and tackled the button of his jeans, slipping them down along with his briefs. Her gaze raked over him, landing on his cock.