scattering sounds. “So beautiful,” he murmured, sliding his hands into her hair, lifting its weight from where it rested at the back of her neck, untangling the mass of coils and braids and twists, spreading it wide and full so that it shimmered down her back. She felt it through the thin lace, heavy and warm, and then he lifted the whole of it to one side, baring her neck.
“Narcise?” he asked, his voice rough in her ear, his other hand firmly on her arm.
“Yes—” She’d barely breathed the syllable when he slammed his fangs into her at that soft, sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder. She gave a little shriek of pain and pleasure, and he stilled for a moment, one hand cupping her shoulder, and the other curved around the back of her head, holding her steady when she would have sagged weakly.
The release of pressure inside her, fairly exploding into his hot mouth, combined with the sting of pain and the sensual tracing of his lips made Narcise weak and dizzy in the most pleasurable sort of way. Her lips moved in a smile, taut with need but real nevertheless.
It had been so long…so long since this pleasure hadn’t been taken from her,
But her knees were buckling and she grasped at the remnants of his shirt, holding on as he drank deeply. One of his hands slipped down to drag her bottom close, her torso sharply against the cock raging behind his tight breeches. She arched low, pressing against the tempting bulge, rubbing her own swollen self against him in the rhythm they both craved. Their breathing matched and mingled, hard and rough and heated, spreading over her skin where he latched on to her shoulder, his tongue caressing her behind his fangs.
There was a clink, and a jolt, and she realized they’d bumped into a table or something, and the next thing she knew, something was behind her legs. The arm of a sofa.
“Let’s do it horizontally this time,” he murmured, releasing his fangs and then sliding hot, slick lips over her wound, tenderly, gently, to close it up. She shivered at the sensation over her taut, sensitive skin, closing her eyes as her body seemed to turn to liquid, hot and pounding inside. Her breasts strained behind their lace confines, the rough material erotic and irritating to her thrusting nipples. But the pleasure rolling from belly to quim, undulating through her limbs, was delicious and unbearable, and Narcise found herself sighing and moaning in delirium, needing more.
Then he was easing her to the floor, pulling her down with him onto a thick rug. The glow of a fire spilled in a golden pool on the red wool. “The sofa…too narrow,” he murmured, pulling at the laces that bound her into the sleevelike dress, opening it along the side of her torso, pulling it with gentle hands, her skin freed from the rough lace, open to the heat of the fire, and then—
He bit her there, in the soft side of her belly, just above her hip, and Narcise jolted as pleasure shot to her quim in a hot, soft swell, then burst into a spiral of release. Her breathing went out of control and her world turned dark and red, pounding and rising, her center throbbing and pulsing as warmth and release surged through her.
“So you like that?” he said, his voice deep and filled with delight.
Then he—Giordan—was over her, one hand moving up under the lace to cover the top of her breast, smoothing his palm rhythmically over the needy tip of her nipple, and the other sliding up beneath her skirt, behind the black satin triangle between her legs.
His lips moved over the soft, delicate skin of her torso’s edge, sipping and gently sucking at the new wounds there. Her belly shivered and trembled, and when his fingers found her swollen quim, slick and full, she closed her eyes and breathed long and deep. The pleasure and need rose again immediately at his touch, and she could picture his long, elegant fingers as they explored, stroking her back to a new peak.
“Yes,” she murmured, arching into his hand, but he pulled back, teasing his fingers along the inside of her thigh, then up and away to look down at her. She was aware of his weight bearing down on her, solid and comfortable, one solid leg between hers, the other alongside the outside of her thigh.
“Kiss me,” he said, his hands now covering her shoulders through the flimsy lace. “Narcise.” His eyes bored into her, penetrating the haze of her pleasure, and she recognized the need, a vulnerability there—not so very different from what hers had been.
A rush of warmth, of certainty and desire, spread through her.
She cupped his warm face, sliding her hands along his jaw, felt the faint tremors deep beneath her fingers, the beginning of stubble on the very bottom of his chin. Her thumbs crept up along the sides of his face, her fingertips in the thick curls around his neck.
His gaze never wavered, dark and heavy on her, drilling deep into her soul. Deep into her damaged, warped, damned soul. Her heart shifted, shuddered and broke open.
He’d given her back so much: herself, her freedom, her body.
When she pulled, guiding him down, he lowered his face to hers. He murmured her name against her mouth, then their lips met gently, fusing together without hurry.
Giordan sank onto her, gathering her close as he shifted to go deeper, delved into her with soft lips and sleek tongue, still scented and flavored with the essence of her own lifeblood. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, such relief and emotion swelling strong inside her, bursting to come out from this unfamiliar intimacy.
The kiss turned from a sweet proclamation of tenderness, then to something fierce and hungry. Their tongues clashed and stroked, delved deep and furious, their lips catching on fangs and scraping tender skin. Little surges of blood mingled with the kiss, mixing with their breath, tasting sweet and thick as their bodies slid and bumped against each other. His fingers moved between them, pulling at the buttons of his breeches, the back of his hand sliding teasingly against her swollen center.
Narcise helped him, blind but efficient, and heard the soft scatter of the buttons as they flung beyond the rug to the floor. Quick and furious now, her skirt was flipped up and aside, his breeches and drawers yanked away until the heat of him lay against her thigh.
“Giordan,” she pleaded, spreading herself up and against him freely, wantonly, and she heard his great gust of relief as he found the hot, sleek place between her legs.
They both gasped when he filled her with one sharp movement, and then there was no longer time for play. He seemed to have run out of patience and teasing, for no sooner had he slid deep than he was moving again, harder and faster, bending forward to nip at her mouth, to slick up another taste of her as her hips moved to meet his rhythm.
The rug burned into her buttocks and Narcise felt her hair caught beneath her shoulders, but that discomfort was lost in the hot, driving pleasure that she suddenly reached in an explosion of pleasure, grasping it just before he did. He made a low noise, strangled and deep, and thrust deep and hard one last time, then buried his face in her hair and collapsed into her arms.
Narcise closed her eyes, her body still shuddering pleasantly, rippling from her center out to each finger and toe, remembering what it was like to feel happy, and complete after this…and not dark and damaged and used.
His lips moved against her neck, saying something she couldn’t hear, but the gentle movement sent delicious little shivers along her shoulder and she smoothed her hands all along his back.
The curling, rootlike ridges of the Devil’s Mark bumped beneath her fingertips on one side, and she felt the faint pulsing therein. She wondered if he’d done something to anger Lucifer, or if his Mark was always full and throbbing like that.
Hers rose and fell depending upon her mood and that of the demon who’d put it there, and right now, now that she was sated with pleasure, it was hardly a twinge over her shoulder blade.
Giordan—he was no longer merely Cale to her—shifted and pulled away, his hands sleek and smooth as they moved down over her throat and shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind my saying that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he said. “But you’re also the strongest. Here.” He rested his fingers over her heart. His eyes burned dark and steady as he looked down at her, his lips, those perfect ones that she’d learned so well from her sketching, were full and glistened a bit.
She shifted and he eased back farther, helping her to sit up.
“Narcise,” he began, covering her with his eyes, determination in his jaw.
She knew what he was going to say, and she stopped him with a finger over his lips. “Don’t ask me to stay. I
