She undulated against those expert fingers, her vision going black.
'That's right. Ride them, take what you need.' In and out he continued to pump.
She thought his voice sounded strained, wanted to tell him to replace his fingers with his shaft, but the words caught in her throat as wild passion slammed through her, a battering ram intent on destroying her every defense. She spasmed, jerked, arched, silently screamed.
'I want to taste your release.'
He kissed a path down her body, tracing her tattoos with his tongue as he'd promised. And then he was between her legs, lapping at the wetness there. Hot, so hot. He tongued her, sinking deep, just as his fingers had, riding the waves of her orgasm and pushing her right into another one.
Her legs locked around his neck, her hands fisted in his hair. Too much…too much…but she found that she wasn't shoving him away. She was pulling him closer, seeking more of him. Needing all that he had to offer.
'Never this sweet,' he said.
He was infinitely careful not to lick her with his fangs, but she thought she might have liked that. Would have liked his teeth there, so intimately taking what he needed from her.
As her tremors subsided, he kissed his way up her stomach, leaving a trail of aroused, sweet fire. I'm ready for more, she realized shockingly. Far from sated after those two climaxes, her body only seemed to be primed.
He wasn't so careful now, perhaps was close to losing control, and one of his fangs nicked her. She hissed in surprised delight.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'
'Don't be. More.'
He was at her neck in the next instant, not drinking but kissing, licking, tonguing, and his arousal was probing for entrance in a rough forward-backward dance.
'Tight,' he gritted out.
'I can take it.'
'Don't want to hurt.'
'Hurts without you. Need you.' To prove it, she arched up, up, drawing him deeper.
Sweat beaded on his face and dripped onto her, lava on her skin. 'Almost…just…need a moment.'
'Now.'
'No, I—'
'Yes!'
With a roar, he slammed all the way to the hilt, as if he couldn't hold himself back a second longer. Stretched, burned. It had been a long time for her, too, and then only for that one night. Yet…Oh, gods, oh, gods. Nothing had ever felt so wondrous, so perfect. He was inside her. Layel was a part of her, touching deeply, so deeply, filling her up with all that he was.
'Sorry,' he chanted. 'Sorry. I'll be still. Give you time. Can't leave. Long time, sweetheart?'
Sweetheart. 'Layel, kiss me. Please.' She needed it, would die without it.
He nibbled on her ear, his warm breath fanning the lobe and ruffling her hair. But he denied her demand. 'You feel so good. I think I could happily die here, in your arms.'
She grabbed his face, palms flat on his cheeks. Their gazes met in a heated tangle. There were lines of strain around his eyes and mouth, passion blazing from his expression. Passion and pain and need, tenderness and self- loathing.
'Kiss me. On the mouth.'
'No,' he said, shaking his head. 'Told you. Can't.'
'Kiss me. Take me the rest of the way. Please. I'm giving you everything. Do the same for me. I'm not asking for something you haven't already given, mistake or not.'
He shook his head again, pumped inside her once, twice, slow and measured. His lips drew tight over his teeth. 'You're heaven, sweet. Feel just like heaven.'
She arched back, almost lost, drowning. Her head thrashed from side to side as he continued to pump. Important. Concentrate. She pulled herself from the eroticism of the moment. There was something she wanted, something she needed. Something she—A kiss! Yes. Her eyes narrowed on him, taking in the blood dripping from his lip where he'd bitten himself. He would not hold a part of himself back. She wouldn't let him. He could hate her later, could resent her forever, but she didn't care.
She was a warrior and she would fight for all he had to give.
'Kiss me,' she commanded once more. She lifted her head and bit into his jaw. 'Kiss me now, like you did before, with tongues rolling together, teeth scraping.'
He stilled, his muscles taut. He was growling low in his throat, an animal. Needy. 'I can't!'
She almost gave up, that cry was so tortured. More than that, she was desperate to have him moving again. Without the friction of his body sliding in and out of hers, she felt lost, adrift. 'Kiss me. I need your tongue in my mouth, tasting. I need your flavor. I need you like I've never needed anyone else. I want you so badly, I feel like I've been waiting for you forever and will think of you, dream of you, every night for—'
Her words were cut off as his mouth smashed into hers, tongue thrusting deep. With that one touch, that one melding of their mouths, it was as if his control snapped completely. No tether, no reining him in.
He jerked from her only to slam forward, hard, rocking her and even scooting her backward, from moss to twig-laden bank. A few rocks cut into her skin, but she didn't care. This was it, the kiss she'd remember all the days of her life, more powerful than even the first. 'Yes. More.'
He tongued her deep, probing. Their teeth scraped together with a ferocity that surprised her. His fangs even dug into her lower lip. He sucked and he thrust and he growled, all the while hammering inside her.
This wasn't sex. This was possession. This was…magic.
Release tore into her with the same intensity as his thrusts and her inner walls clamped down on him. He roared loud and long, and she swallowed the sound. His body heaved, the force of his climax so strong he was nearly convulsing.
He gripped her tightly and she thought her bones might snap, but she didn't stop him. She held him, cradled him, cooed to him as she'd never done to another.
A few minutes passed, maybe an hour. His spasms eased and he was left shuddering…shivering…Her own limbs were weak, her body utterly sated, but still she held on to him. Every feminine instinct inside her was screaming for her to do so, to never let go.
He was hers.
Only tonight…foolish girl.
She wanted forever. Wanted more nights like this, wanted to wake in his arms and talk with him, eat with him. Every morning.
Mine, she thought.
'I'm sorry,' he said brokenly. 'I'm sorry.'
She tangled her fingers in his silky hair. 'I'm glad we did this. I loved everything that happened. I—'
'I'm sorry,' he repeated as if he couldn't hear her or just wasn't listening. Perhaps he was trapped inside his head, his thoughts consuming him.
Her chest ached for him. For herself. 'Layel—'
'So sorry.' He wrenched from her, separating them completely. His half-hard shaft was covered with her climax and glistening in the moonlight.
She shivered from the sudden cold. 'Talk to me. Tell me what's going on.'
He turned from her without a word and ran. Just ran. Delilah watched, feeling more helpless than she had in the whole of her life. Even the time she had been captured by the demons after she'd been wounded in battle, she hadn't experienced this sense of despair.
What should I do?
She pushed to shaky legs, almost fell as she tried to move forward. Then something cool and wet slid from her collarbone and down, down her stomach. Confused, she wiped at it and held up her hand. Clear, glistening liquid.
Tears.
Layel's tears.
