against her, pressing into the heated vee of her thighs. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Wide eyes, languorous with a healthy, decadent lust. “No. They—Nobody seemed interested in that. But no bites on the inner thighs. I . . . it hurt.”
Rage roared through him, so savage and brutal he had to dip his head for a second in case she saw it. But then Honor rolled her hips over him, sliding her fingers under the loose fabric of his collar to caress his back, and he was in the moment again, with a beautiful, sexy woman who had been misused and who was now his to pleasure. “Do the panties match?” he asked, tracing the scalloped edge of her bra.
“Yes.” Her chest rose and fell in a ragged rhythm. “They’re red with a black bow.”
“Witch.”
She laughed, confirming his supposition that she was teasing him again. No one had done that for an eon. “Take off this shirt, Dmitri”—a nibbling kiss on the sensitive curve of his earlobe—“or I’ll tear it to pieces.”
Hissing at the caress, he made quick work of the shirt, throwing it to the side and shoving his hands between their bodies to rid himself of his belt at the same time. His cock was a steel rod in his pants, pressing in urgent demand against the fabric—he undid the top button for relief, but resisted the urge to release his turgid flesh. If he did, this would end far too fast.
And he wanted to savor.
The thought whispering out of reach before he truly heard it, he traced the strap of Honor’s bra to the cup, nudged it down to bare the swollen pout of her nipple. Leaving the lace tucked just under it, he repeated the process with her other breast. Then he leaned back and drank in the sight of her displayed for him like an erotic feast.
30
Her breath, already ragged, turned fast and shallow, her hands dropping to her thighs. Then she did something unexpected. Pushing in with her upper arms, she plumped up her breasts for him, serving up the feast. He groaned, dipped his head to suck one tightly furled nipple into his mouth while he rolled the other between his fingertips.
Luxuriating in the taste of her, he alternated between one luscious breast and the other, until she pulled at his hair. “What?” He heard the arrogance, decided she was strong enough to deal.
“I can’t breathe.” Face flushed, heartbeat erratic, hair tumbled, and nipples hot and wet from his caresses, she was a sexual fantasy come to life.
“You aren’t planning to rush me, are you, Honor?” He flicked his thumb over one nipple before reaching back to unhook her bra and peel it off, revealing the full beauty of her breasts. The honey gold of her skin was creamier here, more delicate, until he knew his fangs would leave two perfect tiny bruises on her flesh—he could heal a bite completely, but as he’d already proven, he wasn’t exactly a civilized sophisticate when it came to Honor. He wanted her to bear the intimate brand.
But not until she was ready. However, there were other ways to mark a woman. “Lean back with your elbows on the table.” Another command.
One she obeyed.
The position not only left her at his mercy, it pushed up her breasts for his pleasure. “I want to feed from you,” he said, and saw the immediate terror in her eyes, “but I won’t. Not until you give me an unmistakable verbal invitation, so push that fear out of your mind.” He held the deep green of her gaze until the terror was washed away by relief . . . and a smoldering sensuality that told him this was a woman who’d match him in bed stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss.
“Honor?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to do things to you now that a good girl
The words made Honor’s body turn liquid.
Then Dmitri put that sinful, dangerous mouth on her breast, sucking hard enough to leave a love-bruise, before dipping his head to suckle her nipple with strong tugs that made her womb clench. If his earlier caresses had been painfully tender, this was pure, raw sex. Nothing in his touch said he considered her fractured, considered her damaged goods, and that gave her a freedom she wouldn’t have believed possible.
Pushing upward into the merciless knowledge of that mouth, she was rewarded with his tongue swirling around her nipple, doing things to her that she hadn’t known were possible. Squeezing her thighs around his powerful body, she watched him lift his head. Lick his lips. And move to her neglected breast.
A kiss of teeth.
Chanting that promise in her mind, she rode out the spike of fear to drown in the rush of pleasure. “Don’t stop,” she said when he raised his head.
He leaned forward to press a kiss just below the hollow of her throat in answer, eyes of sin and darkness holding a look of satisfaction he made no attempt to hide. “Can you reach the honey?”
Twisting slightly, she grabbed the squeeze bottle of honey he’d put out with the fruit and handed it to him, knowing full well she was giving him a weapon with which to torment her further.
He flicked open the cap and, continuing to maintain the intimate eye contact, leaned forward to lick her nipple—just once, just enough to tantalize, to have her sucking in a breath—before upending the bottle and squeezing the sticky liquid not onto her body as she’d expected, but into his hand. He flicked the top closed after he was done, and gave it to her.
She managed to put it somewhere on the table without ever taking her eyes from him.
Dipping a single finger into the thick golden liquid, he lifted it to her lips to trace her with honey sweetness. She sucked his finger into her mouth, swirled her tongue around it as she’d done to his cock in the car. Those sexy eyes told her exactly what he wanted to do to her, but the heat was a slow-burning ember, Dmitri’s fuse apparently very long.
Lucky her.
“Keep doing that,” he murmured in a voice that was the most opulent fur over her skin, “and I’ll have you kneeling between my legs sucking on something much harder.”
She caught his finger between her teeth, a sensual punishment for words that might as well have come from some uncivilized barbarian. “Floor would be tough on the knees,” she said after releasing him, feeling hotly, gloriously female. “Next time I suck you, I want to be kneeling on a nice comfy sofa.”
“I live to grant your wishes.” Finger glistening from her mouth, he dipped it back in the honey and painted both her nipples with a precise, near-delicate touch, before beginning to create an intricate curving pattern on the slopes of her breasts. “Don’t move.”
It was pure torture to sit motionless as he caressed her with long, slow, sticky motions of his finger, his body big and hard and aroused beneath her, his erection so very close that she had fantasies of ripping off his pants and mounting him, his thick flesh pushing into her in rigid demand.
Dmitri’s eyes glittered as they met hers and she wondered what he saw. But all he said was, “Be a good girl, Honor, or I’ll have to punish you.”
She shuddered as the fantasy formed full-blown in her mind. “Maybe I”—she swallowed as he painted a line down to her navel, drawing a curving design a half inch above the low waistband of her jeans—“would enjoy your version of punishment.”
“Hmm.” He ran his finger back up. “It wouldn’t be punishment then, would it?” A sensual threat from a dangerous creature who knew how to play every facet of a woman’s body. “Now, come here.” Curving his hand around her body, he pressed his palm onto her back.
