Dark Slayer - Christine Feehan [167]
He suckled strongly, ravaging her body, making it his. He took his pleasure from her, yet gave her back tenfold, as if he, too, knew, this could be their last time together. Neither voiced it, neither acknowledged it, but when he took her to the floor of the chamber, she was every bit as frantic as he was.
Her hands moved over his back, her nails digging deep as he laved her breast, sending those delicious flashes of lightning streaking through her. His tongue flicked at her hard peak with hot, slow licks that sent her mind reeling. His mouth took on a rhythmic motion that matched the push of his hips against hers. She could feel the hard length of him lying like a brand along her thigh. Each drag of his body along hers just made him grow hotter and thicker.
Electricity seemed to arc over their skin, sparks of arousal as she gasped for breath. He was switching back and forth, a man possessed, teeth and tongue and hot mouth driving her senseless. There was nothing in her world but Razvan, his hard body, his male scent of sin and sex filling the air around her, burning in her lungs in place of air.
He lifted his head, small flames burning through the piercing blue of his eyes. “Take my blood, Ivory. Now. Right now.”
He lifted her with hard hands, fitting her on his lap, facing him, straddling him, so that she felt the hard length of him, aggressive and hot, against her wet, slick opening. His harsh gasps just drew her further under his spell. She felt mesmerized when he was like this, so desperate for the taste and touch of her. His hands never stopped moving over her skin, claiming every inch of her for his own. She loved the thrill of being his.
She lifted her head to lick over his chest and up to his throat. His stomach rippled. Bunched. His shaft, that terrible, wonderful steel spike, throbbed and pulsed against her thigh, waiting for an opportunity. She licked her lips. Tasted him. His essence. Let him feel what that did to her, deep in her mind—in her body.
Her tongue swirled over his pulse as she nuzzled his warm throat. She loved the masculine feel of him, the heat of him. Her teeth nipped and she moved her body restlessly along his, a tempting enticement, so deep, so primal, she shook with her need. She lifted her face for his kiss, wanting—no—needing his mouth. That glorious mouth that could send her body skittering on the brink of a great precipice, too close to the edge, to that yawning abyss, or send her over, plunging her into a maelstrom of pleasure beyond anything she’d ever dreamt.
Her mouth melted into his. Fused. Welded. So hot. A scorching heat that filled her entire body, turning her fine, white porcelain skin to faint color. She looked up at his face, carved with hard edges, a man’s face, his eyes heavy-lidded, possessive. She kissed him again, drinking him in, letting the rush hit her hard before kissing her way to the corners of his mouth. Licking. Tasting him. Biting with small nips to his chin and back to his lip. Tugging. Teasing. Wanting.
“You might kill us both,” he warned.
She moved her body in a sensuous slide over the hot brand of his very hard erection, rubbing back and forth, trying to draw him inside of her.
His body jerked and he groaned. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her head back so he could stare into her eyes. “Take my blood now, Ivory.” His voice had gone deep. Harsh. Hungrier. More sensual.
Her heart jumped. Nearly exploded. Her throat constricted. Her tongue already could taste him, that sweet, seductive, erotic taste of him. She felt her saliva form. Her teeth lengthened. She kissed his stubborn jaw, trailed more kisses to the side of his neck where his pulse was warm, alive and inviting. Her teeth