One prick is all it takes to set us in motion.
It’s then I realize the danger isn’t what drenched our initial encounter with lust. It’s her.
Blood trickles over my lips, carrying with it a truly terrifying thought.
If it’s her that amplifies my lust, then how will I survive her without giving in?
Chapter 5
Amber
Ithappens.
Again.
As soon as Darius sinks his fangs into my flesh, my body flushes with renewed desire. My nipples harden beneath my silk robe, aching to be released from their fabric prison. My thighs clench. My breathing labors.
Why did I sleep naked?Fear keeps me on my guard as I tilt my head back.I should have known better. I should have been prepared.
Part of me feels the sting of my thoughts drifting toward the open wounds.
No, don’t let him feel it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating on the thread that connects us. It’s a trick that Jasper taught me long ago. Controlling my emotions is nigh impossible during a feeding.
But controlling their release? That’s another story. Trained as I am to give over every single little thing that pops into my head, I’m discerning more and more, choosing which pieces to deliver and which to keep for myself.
Later. When I’m alone.
Without Darius around.
But he’s right here, right now.
An unapproved whimper slips from me. Darius cradles me in his arms, plucking his fangs from the twin wounds to sip gently. Jasper was a ravenous sucker even while he was grazing. Darius is far more considerate, allowing my heartbeat to deliver the goods to his mouth instead of forcefully taking from me.
Though I suppose it varies between fangs, doesn’t it? The feeding rhythm inspires an assortment of possibilities. Some get far too hungry. Some lose control. And some like Darius, I suppose, end up revealing a sensitivity.
I just never imagined that sensitivity could ever be me.
My vision slides off kilter. The room tilts. Everything seems real but just a little to the left. It’s something that happens occasionally with particularly demanding feedings.
But Darius is being far from demanding.
As my body succumbs to the feeding rhythm, my hands relax on his chest. I slack into his hold, jaw dropping to reveal all the sounds I’m holding back.
The moans, the whimpers, the soft requests spoken so low that only the supernatural would be able to hear them.
And hear them he did.
His lips slide toward my chin. “You’re holding back.”
My lips feel dry. I struggle to speak around my parched tongue. The words that appear are strained, hardly loud enough for my ears. But I feel the sound vibrate my lips nonetheless. “I’m giving you what you need.”
“What I need is your lifeforce.” He trails his tongue in a long line from my sternum to the space just beneath my chin. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”
Oh, did he have to say it likethat?
It infuriates me.