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Yes, it sure had. But it wasn’t the first time . . .
“Just like you lost it the night you bit me.” Anger wove its way into my words.
He broke contact with me, taking a step back. “I thought we were past that?”
“I thought we were as well. But then you did this and—”
Rrrrip.
Aurelius tore the collar of his tunic, exposing his purely male neck and a peek of the muscle brooding beneath. Molten eyes met mine. “Then do as the goddess in you so clearly needs to do. Take back what I took from you.”
“What?” I sputtered, sawing air. In and out. Whether my breathless state was because of the raw sexiness of seeing Aurelius rip his clothing or what he said, I didn’t know. Regardless, if I knew one thing, it was that I was no longer thinking with my head . . .
“Bite me back,” he demanded.
Myteethin hisneck?
The thought was enough to get the goddess within to awaken from her slumber. And awaken she did. I heaved a deep breath, my chest swelling against the tight confines of my dress.
A hungry fire blazed in Aurelius’s eyes. I wondered if he saw the same one that had suddenly been lit within my own.
“Well?” he asked, the word spoken in such a way that it could make an elite courtesan fall to her knees and beg forit.
“No,” I answered, my breath shaky. Unsure.
“No?” he challenged.
Creator above,this male.
I pressed my thighs together, all too aware of the ache building there.
He guided me backward until the table chewed into the backs of my thighs. He stepped into me, securing me there, the iron tucked beneath his pants pressed into my stomach.
I glanced down. We both did.
He lowered his head, his heated breath skittering over my ear. “You are either going to sink your teeth into me, or—” he cupped my sex, “—I’m going to sink my cock into you.” He pulled back, just enough so that I could see the sensual grin on his divine lips. “The choice is yours.”
His words were like embers upon my skin—stirring a sickness to surface. A fever. And there was only one way to break it.
My hand dipped over top of his, tightening his hold.
“This,” I said, my voice husky. Breathy. Needy.
“Very well, princess.” He slid his hand from my sex to the neckline of my dress. He tore my clothes off like they were made of paper, shredding through the layers of fabric and steel-boned corset. He threw the torn remains of my dress to the side, leaving only the lacy, white hose on.
I started to remove them, but his hand fell over mine—stopping me from doing so—he lifted me onto the table. “Keep them on,” he said with a hint of a smile.
I raised a curious brow but didn’t ask why. Instead, I watched. Watched as his hand trailed between my breasts, down my torso, over the lace hose, stopping at the sensitive bundle of nerves. The length of his nail sharpened into a deadly, sharp point. He pressed it against me, and I let out a gasp at the strange, unexpected sensation—my nerves flaring alive with both panic and . . . excitement.
It was like having the tip of a knife pressed against me. It was an erotic sight, something so dangerous pressed against something so delicate. A dance of trust.
Slowly, precisely, he slid his finger down, tracing my slit while cutting the hose along the seam. The fabric curled back, exposing my core to him. Sinfully wet.
Those golden eyes had never looked so greedy. They flicked up to mine.
“You are flawless,” he said, tearing off his already torn tunic, just as he had done with my dress, and discarded the cloth on the floor. He undid his belt, the metal rattling as he moved on to his pants, working on the buttons. His length erupted—hard and thick and huge. And ready.
I throbbed at the mere sight of him, clenching at nothing to the extent that it was almost painful. I needed him between my legs. I licked my lips.
