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I shivered. I’d never get over the—quite frankly—humiliating fact that having his fangs sink into me felt, well, fucking good. Really fucking good. As did the sensation of his tongue licking up the bloody remnants, sliding over the tiny puncture marks he’d no doubt left on my skin. Marks that would quickly heal as they always did, now that I was willing and compliant.

“What’s the matter? Are you having trouble taking all of me now, Miss Pendragon?”

“Oh, I can take it,” I breathed, as he gripped my hips.

“Good,” he whispered. “Now touch yourself. You know you want to.”

I whimpered slightly as I slid one hand between my legs, gripping the desk with my other. My clit was already swollen and throbbing from his earlier ministrations. I tilted my head down, letting my long hair cascade around my shoulders, then closed my eyes, imagining how we must look together. I wished I had a mirror so I could see just how incredible Blake Drakharrow looked fucking me from behind over a teacher’s desk. But in the meantime, my imagination would have to suffice.

“You feel,” Blake growled from behind me, “fucking exquisite, little dragon. And you taste …” he snarled and sank his fangs back into my neck as I gasped in delight “ … you taste even better.” He moaned—a sound I absolutely reveled in having elicited. Blake pulled away, and I felt him trembling against me, holding himself back from coming. Simply holding on to the feeling of ecstasy that this—our being together, two bodies united—created. “You taste so sweet, Pendragon,” he whispered, nuzzling his mouth against me. “Do you like how I fuck you?”

A moment’s hesitation. Then, “Yes. No one’s ever made me feel this way. This good.”

It was a confession I hadn’t meant to make. I felt him go very still.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “You don’t know what you do to me. You don’t know how much I’m holding back. I crave everything about you, Pendragon. Your voice, your lips, your body. And the sounds you make when you come? Sheer perfection.” He kissed his way down my neck, then slid his hand over mine, rubbing my clit with his finger. “Come for me now, little dragon. Come for me.”

And I did. Exploding at his fingers, while his cock filled me up and he thrust hard into me, shoving my thighs against the table so roughly I knew I’d have bruises afterwards. I didn’t care. I saw stars. Sparks. Fire. Whatever you want to call it at that moment you reach your climax, I was there, floating, weightless, breathless. I heard Blake cry out, felt him bury his head against me, then lift his hands to cup my breasts—a gesture so perfect, so gentle, it shocked me.

And then I was falling back to earth, my body trembling, tears inexplicably streaming down my cheeks, as I turned towards him.

“Hey, hey, what’s this?” he said, sounding startled. He reached a hand up, touching the wetness on my cheeks. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, trying to wipe the tears away.

Blake didn’t say anything, just looked down at me for a moment. And then he was scooping me up, lifting me into his arms.

“What are you doing?” I exclaimed. “Put me down …”

But it was too late. With one great arm movement, he’d cleared the remainder of things littering the desk behind us. I had a moment of guilt thinking of the poor instructor who’d be cleaning up later. And then Blake was laying me down, carefully, with infinite tenderness, and then climbing up beside me, lying down on the desk next to me and pulling me into his arms, until his chin rested atop my head.

“What is—” I started to say.

“Hush,” he commanded. Not meanly, just firmly. He tilted his head a little, and I felt him inhale. He was breathing me in, I realized. Smelling my hair.

“What do I smell like?” I asked, unable to resist. I grimaced, remembering. “Probably like Larissa’s blood.”

“You smell nothing like Larissa. A vampire can smell your true scent even beneath the filth.”

Was he calling Larissa filth? I felt myself smile. “Tell me, then.”

He sniffed again. Then sighed appreciatively. “You smell like autumn.”

“Autumn?” I said dubiously. “It’s winter.”

“You smell like autumn even in winter. Like fallen leaves.”

“Like decay, in other words?”

He pinched my upper arm playfully, and I squealed. “I told you to hush,” he reminded me.

“Oh, are you still playing professor, Professor Drakharrow?”

“Autumn leaves,” he repeated, ignoring me. “Jasmine. Vanilla.” He took another sniff. “Blueberry tarts.”

“I had a blueberry tart at lunch,” I said, impressed. “Can you really still smell that?”

I felt him nod his head. “And beneath all of it, the rich scent of your blood. Potent. Powerful.”