Shadow's Claim

callused hands gripped her shoulders to steady her. Ah, contact!

A lifetime of swordplay had roughened his palms. Because my Cas is a warrior, none finer, none braver. . . .

She laid her hands on his chest, lids growing heavy at the feel of his mighty body. But this was just a tease; she needed to trace his skin, to explore him.

She reached for his coat, working it over his bulging shoulder muscles. He shrugged from it, and she heard it land over the foot of the bed.

For years, she’d been beset with curiosity about sex, about the masculine form. Yet she’d never touched a male before. Would nights of fantasizing at last come to fruition?

When she attempted the top button on his shirt, her normally agile fingers were clumsy. She made a sound of frustration. “I’m impatient to touch you—”

The material of his shirt disappeared with a single rip, joining his coat.

“Thank you. I-I just need to feel you for the first time.” Bettina worked with metal every day, engraving, forging, casting. To check for the slightest imperfections, she would often close her eyes and trace her sensitive fingertips over her work, as if seeing with them.

Now she smoothed the pads of her fingers over Cas’s naked torso, holding her breath . . .

The reality was so much better than fantasy! “My gods, I love your body.”

Her words made him groan. Light grazes over the hard planes of his pec muscles made them tense for her, made his heart thud louder. And oh, how his flat nipples hardened. When she dragged her forefingers across them, he hissed between his teeth.

She dipped her hands, savoring each rise and fall of his rigid stomach muscles as they contracted. His body was honed like unyielding iron, his skin flawless.

Initially he’d felt cool, but now he ran hot as a forge.

Any shyness she might have felt disappeared. Every caress deepened her desire, until even her breasts felt heavy. His scent washed over her—normally pleasing, it had now grown intoxicating.

Inside, she felt like molten gold . . . smoldering, awaiting a chance to be made whole.

Her nipples stiffened so much they ached, and he must have noticed; his hands tightened on her shoulders, as if he didn’t trust himself to touch any other part of her body.

He was such a ruthless demon warrior, and yet he was being patient with her, letting her explore him.

Was he too patient? He should’ve thrown her to the bed by now! Why wasn’t he kissing her?

Maybe he was reconsidering this.

Take him over the finish line, Bettina!

* * *

Dazed bewilderment.

Trehan could only stare, riveted by his Bride’s pert breasts and taut nipples, savoring her every stroke upon his skin. How long he’d gone without a single touch!

This creature belongs to me, he told himself again. To me alone—

The sorceress grasped his hands, pulling them down to her soft breasts.

The contact roused him from his enthrallment. With a strangled groan, he covered her flesh with his palms, molding it.

Why did other vampires always warn of obstacles inherent in mating with an otherlander? Trehan’s mate was demanding that he stroke her breasts, the ones she’d been eager for him to see.

When he gave them a reverent squeeze, she moaned low. Her reaction made him shudder, a sensual haze clouding his mind once more.

And then she swept her hands down his torso, lower . . . lower toward that aching, engorged part of him. As she grazed her nails along his waist just above his sword belt, his throbbing shaft strained for her touch.

Finally, he found his voice. “You are so lovely.”

She briefly stilled at his words, tilting her head. His lust-addled brain determined two things: she truly didn’t want him to talk; nothing could interrupt this blooding.

So he resolved to say no more, determined to do whatever it took to come inside her. At the thought of pinning down her writhing body to spend deep within it, need surged within him, as if a dam had been breached.

He clasped her upper arms, tracing them into her bed. She gasped as he positioned himself over her, but then she whispered, “Yes, yes.”

Her hair spread out behind her, a backdrop of shining waves. Her scent was drugging. She arched her back, drawing all his attention back to her breasts, to those jutting nipples. Did they throb as badly as his shaft? Were those stiffened peaks driving her mad?

He rubbed his thumbs over them, gave each a light pinch as he watched her reaction.

“Oh, gods.” She licked her lips, staring up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. As her irises began to glitter from her passion, she whispered, “Kiss me. Please kiss me.”

Anything! He lowered his head, slanting his mouth over hers, relishing her cry. Her red lips were smooth, unimaginably giving. He slipped his tongue between them, and she met him.

As she softly lapped, Trehan’s head swam. Her mouth tasted like spiced honey mead.

He kissed her with all the pent-up passion denied him over lifetimes. With each sweep of his tongue, he grazed his straightened forefingers over her nipples, until she was undulating beneath him.

When he tore his mouth away to run his lips along the slim column of her neck, she breathed, “I’ve needed this. Needed you.” She sounded delighted—and relieved?

He craved relief as well. For now the pressure in his cock was turning into pain. He rose up on his knees, unbuckling his sword belt, tossing it to the floor.

“You know you can do anything to me,” she murmured. “I’m yours—I always will be.”

He groaned. Want for nothing? No more. His wanting for this female was primal, undeniable, bordering on . . . savage. He dropped his head to her chest, kissing all around one nipple, tasting her luscious skin.

“Yes!” She sank her nails into his back. “More. Please! P-put your mouth on it.”

With a growl, he complied. When he closed his lips over one peak and it puckered to the tip of his tongue, she gasped. When he flicked it, she moaned, “That feels so good.”

His new Bride was so responsive, he knew he could make her come just from this. Another night, he would, tormenting her until she begged him for release.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him in place as he began to suck.

Her taste was bliss—her cries, the scent of her dark hair, the way she moaned with each swirl of his tongue.

What a gift he’d been given with this sorceress!

Impulses warred. He wanted to suckle her for hours, to lick her sex and taste the orgasms he’d wrung from her. He wanted her pale hands gripping his cock, her red lips sealing around it as he thrust.

To feed his length inside her . . . inch by throbbing inch.

Haze. Losing control. He snarled against her breast, increasing his suction as he drew his head away. Then to her other nipple. What would it be like to pierce that taut peak with a fang? Blood from the sweetest little font.

Where had that disturbing thought come from? His kind considered biting another to be a savage taboo. Were his fangs beginning to ache? Ignore them.

As he sucked, he palmed her breasts with greedy hands, possessively clutching her. When her arms fell limp over her head—letting me do as I will—his worry faded. He drew back and gazed at his woman, pride firing inside him.

Panting breaths between plump, red lips. Hips rolling with need. Nipples wet and swollen from my tongue. His heart thundered for her. Forever for her.

She’s stunning.