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He pushed deeper. His smooth, rigid chest pressed to her back, his lower body melding to hers. They became one. She’d felt that earlier, on the second floor landing, when he’d made love to her with such a fevered pitch it was a wonder the storm outside hadn’t shattered the windows.
It was so much more intense now. And she couldn’t escape the eroticism of the moment. The sensuality. The passion. The intensity. Both physical and emotional.
He moved inside her with full, confident strokes. Once again, one hand cupped a breast, the other teased her clit until she couldn’t fight the sensations closing in on her. She let them take over and called out his name as she came. But he didn’t stop or let up. He pushed deeper inside her and she responded to him. Wanting more.
She could barely breathe. It didn’t matter.
She reached for the intricately designed wrought-iron headboard and wrapped her fingers around the smooth, cool metal. Held on tight.
His body was pressed against hers. She wanted more. Impossible, but damn it. She wanted more.
“Fuck me,” she said.
He was already thrusting deep into her. Yet somehow managed to rush them toward a frenzied crescendo. Her grip tightened on the iron design her fingers were wrapped around as she demanded more from him.
He whispered in her ear, “Careful.”
“No,” she shot back. “Not this time.”
She wanted everything he had to give.
“Bev.” His strained voice issued a warning.
“Come inside me. You know it’s what I want. What you want. Do it.”
He moved even quicker inside her. A frantic pace that had her clutching the headboard and all but screaming erotic words she’d never uttered before. Her entire body turned molten and pliable, putty in his very capable hands. She didn’t sound the least bit coherent even to herself, but it didn’t matter. The way he hammered into her, pleasured her, gave her all of him…
“Oh god, yes!” The first wave slammed over her, only to be followed by a tsunami of sensations as he fucked her harder, faster.
She screamed. To hell with the neighbors. She clutched the wrought iron, clung to it, holding on for dear life as he took her over and over again. There was really no beginning and no end. Her pleasure went on and on and on. And it was so much more exquisite than anything she’d ever imagined possible.
Six-hundred-plus years. And she was finally deliriously happy. Sated. Content.
And then the oddest thing happened. A sharp scrape across her shoulder. A deep growl. The feel of blood trickling along her skin. And then…
Nothing.
Chapter Eight
The sound of the drywall caving against his weight as his shoulder slammed into the wall across the room echoed in his ears, along with the erratic pounding of Bev’s heart.
The taste of her blood lingered on his tongue. One small bead remained on his bottom lip.
Something’s not right. Aside from the fact he’d accidentally lacerated her skin with his teeth.
Unintentional.
He’d opened his mouth to let loose a sound welling within him that bordered on a roar of erotic pleasure. He’d been wild with ecstasy, so close to his own completion yet still wanting to give her more.
She’d moved unexpectedly, practically clawing her way up the wall as he’d pushed her higher and higher. Making her scream and moan and come. Repeatedly.
And his sharp teeth had sliced her skin.
Jesus, he’d been damned close to losing it completely this time. He’d never known such passion and excitement. Such erotic intimacy. Such sexual exhilaration.
But as soon as he’d gotten
his first taste of her, everything had changed.
