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Her head fell back on a low moan and his mouth found her ear as he whispered softly to her. “That’s it, Delilah. I have you. Trust that I’ll always have you.”
Lazy, deep strokes filled her as he pressed into her body. Her arms wreathed around his broad shoulders, pulling his face closer. Warm breath washed over her neck. Pressure built and she raked her fingers up the back of his head, her fist knotting in his hair.
Her mouth ached for a split second, and then her lips parted. The sharp tip of her fangs grazed her tongue and she didn’t want to think what the change implied. She only wanted to feel.
“More,” she breathed, nuzzling her nose along the steady throb of his pulse. “Keep going.”
Gentle nips pulled at her delicate flesh and her pulse went wild. “Let me taste you, pintura.”
The thought of his face buried between her thighs drove her mad with lust. She wanted that sweet release more than anything. “Yes—”
He struck with startling speed, sinking his teeth into her throat and puncturing an artery. Not at all the tasting she’d envisioned.
With a whimper, she tensed. Her entire nervous system fired off as he pulled greedily from her. Her words locked in her throat, paralyzed by fear.
His bite was strong and unbreakable, the suction of his mouth stretching her insides into something malleable as her heart sped up and her mind panicked. She struggled but he was still inside of her and the combination of his mouth on her vein and his stroking cock drove her to the edge of pleasure where her body could only fall into an all-consuming climax.
It wasn’t natural for women to reach such pleasure so quickly. Mentally, she panicked but physically she was in heaven. He suckled as intently as a baby nurses, consumed by the act. If anyone stumbled upon them in such a vulnerable moment, he would be completely helpless to protect himself.
Short of breath, she cried out in pleasure, waves of ecstasy beating over her like the ocean reshapes the shore. As her strength waned, she didn’t think about blood or all the things she learned in school about disease. Her mind couldn’t go there. She only felt the pleasure of the act. It was unlike anything she’d experienced before. Sinful and dirty yet poetic and right. There was a ritual here, something unwritten that carried through time by tradition alone. She was a part of that bigger picture. A part of him.
They dropped to the bed, their bodies never parting. Possessive and primal. He grunted and shoved deeper, thrusting his hips hard and holding her beneath him. Impaled. Claimed. Owned.
Then he growled, “Mine,” deep in her mind, she heard his claim as clearly as if he whispered it into her ear, but she was certain he hadn’t. He was inside of her in every possible and impossible way.
That irrefutable claim unlocked something inside of her and a gentle ease took over. Her desire to escape had fled, and she was content to simply let him use her.
He drank deeply, moaning and rocking his hips as something else marked her. She sensed him covering her even where their bodies didn’t touch. He was everywhere. On her. In her. Running through her veins.
Finally, he licked the bite and the conclusion of the act left her instantly craving more. “My beautiful pintura.” He rolled to his back, taking her with him. Her hair formed a curtain around them. It was perfect until the fading light glinted against the smeared blood on his teeth and she stiffened.
Blood. That was her blood on his fangs. What the hell had they just done? Why would she allow him to do such a thing to her?
Because we are one and the same. She shoved the thought away, immediately rejecting the idea that she, too, was such an abomination.
“Let go of me.”
“Easy, little one—”
“Don’t try to calm me.” The connection had severed the moment he stopped drinking from her and—Oh, God—he drank her blood. Her revulsion sickened her. “Get off of me.”
He studied her with caution, obviously reluctant to let her go. “Delilah—”
“Let go. Let go of me right now or I’ll scream.” She shoved at him and her body was suddenly free. Empty. Her legs tangled in the blankets and she collapsed, rolling to her side. Hiding like a child who wanted to be invisible.
“Delilah.”
She sensed his concern, but couldn’t handle his worry on top of her own. Her hand blindly explored her neck, but there was no wound. Not even a trace of spilled blood. She pushed her chemise down over her legs, but there was no retracting what he’d just done. What she’d allowed.
His hand gently touched her back and she flinched. “There’s no reason to feel ashamed, little one.”
She buried her face in the pillows and covered her ears. “Don’t call me that. I’m a grown woman.”
