Page 36 of Blood Moon Bound

He was snarling, his gaze locked on what I was doing.

I licked my lips and slid my hand down my body, over my belly.

“Yes,” he growled.

I wasn’t sure what was happening, not entirely, but I wanted to do it. I wanted to feel good, and I wanted Constantine to feel good as well. I rubbed the sensitive nub that made my legs go weak, and sparks of pleasure shot through my body. I was already sensitive from Constantine’s mouth and was at the brink within minutes. I leaned in, needing the wall for support, my forehead against the glass as well. His mouth was so close but completely out of reach.

“Now, Delphine,” he growled.

I knew what he wanted. Somehow, I knew, and I came for him, unable to do anything but obey his command, crying out, barely holding myself upright. He roared, the sound echoing in the smaller space, and pumped his hand faster as a creamy fluid spurted from him onto the tiled floor and washed down the drain.

I panted as we stared at each other through the glass.

Then, finally, he straightened, turned off the shower and opened the door. He quickly ran a towel over himself, then scooped me into his arms and carried me back to bed.

“Constantine?”

“Shhh,” he said.

“But—”

“No questions. Sleep.”

I wanted to argue, but the tone of his voice, though gentle, brooked no argument. He got into bed beside me, and this time he didn’t bother with pants, like he did every other time I was with him, and pulled me close against his body. His warmth soaked through me, and I was instantly drowsy.

I wanted to ask him why he’d never shared that with me before, why he was hiding it from me while he thought I slept. I opened my mouth to do just that.

“Sleep, Delphine,” he said before I could get a word out.

So I did as he said. I snuggled back into him and closed my eyes.

* * *

The next time I woke, morning sun was peeping in below the curtains. Constantine was still beside me. He’d rolled to his back, and my front was plastered to his side. His thick, black lashes rested on his cheeks, and he lay still and silent. The covers sat low on his hips, and I carefully lifted to my elbow and studied his muscled and tattooed chest, his stomach and arms.

His skin was so smooth in some places, while other parts were rough with battle scars. I couldn’t imagine the life he’d led, the places he’d been, and the danger he’d lived through. While I’d been locked away, Constantine had been fighting battles, and sneaking into enemy territory to defeat those who conspired to eliminate our kind.

He’d lived.

Really lived.

Something I could only imagine, and even then, what I imagined was limited by what I’d been permitted to see and hear. I took in his chest, then lower, over his stomach. It was rigid with tight muscle, and I couldn’t resist reaching out and running a finger over the corrugated flesh. It tightened more. I looked up at him, but he was still asleep. I dropped my gaze farther, to the bulge under the sheet.

I’d seen it last night, that part of him, but not a close look, and my curiosity got the better of me. I glanced up at him again and carefully, slowly, lifted the sheet.

It lay across his stomach, thick and long. It was darker at the end, and thick veins ran along the length of it. I reached out and touched it, sliding my finger along the soft skin. It was hot and smooth, velvety, and so incredibly hard. I remembered how Constantine had held it, his fingers curled around it, stroking from the base to the tip.

Touching himself that way had driven him wild, the pleasure on his face unmistakable. He’d given me pleasure like that over and over again. I wanted to do that for him. I wanted to give him that in return.

I shifted closer and curled my fingers around him now, my hold gentle, and eased my hand up and back, then again. It grew even harder, longer in my hand with every stroke.

A hiss exploded from him, and my gaze shot to his face.

He was looking down his body, watching me, eyes blazing.

“Am I hurting you? Is this wrong?” I asked, desperate to do this right, to make him feel good. To please him.

His hand curled around my wrist, applying pressure. He was going to pull my hand away, to tell me to stop. “Delphine—”