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“But then why—”

He gently uncrossed her legs, and bless that damn robe’s heart, but didn’t it fall completely to the sides, showing him everything: Her hips and her thighs and the little slit he needed so badly.

Phury licked his lips as he slid his hands up the inside of her legs, spreading them slowly, inexorably. With an erotic sigh, she leaned back to give him room, reassuring him that she was right there with this, ready for it just as he was.

“Lie back,” he said. “Lie back and stretch out.”

Oh, fuck . . . She was smooth as cream for him, easing back until she was lying down on the table.

“Like this?”

“Yeah . . . exactly like that.”

He ran his palm down the back of one of her legs and extended her foot so it rested on his shoulder. The kissing started at her calf and followed the path that his hands caressed, going higher and higher. He paused at midthigh and double-checked to see if she was truly okay. She was watching him with huge green eyes, her fingers up to her lips, her breath going in and out on a pant.

“You all right with this?” he asked in a low rasp. “Because once I start, it’s going to be hard to stop, and I don’t want to scare you.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“The same thing you did to me last night with your hand. Except I’m going to use my mouth.”

She moaned, her eyes rolling back. “Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe . . .”

“Is that yes?”

“Yes.”

He reached up for the robe’s tie. “I’m going to take care of you. Trust me.”

And, shit, yeah, he knew he would. Some part of him knew with absolute certainty that he was going to pleasure her, even though he hadn’t done this before.

He released the tie and parted her robe.

Her body was revealed to him, from her high, tight breasts to the flat expanse of her stomach to the lovely pale lips of her sex. As her hand went down and rested on the mound of her sex, she was the drawing he’d done the day before, everything sexual and feminine and powerful . . . only she was flesh-and-blood real.

“Jesus . . . Christ.” His fangs punched out into his mouth, reminding him that he hadn’t fed in a while. As a noise came up his throat that was both a demand and a plea, he wasn’t sure how much of the moan was because of her sex and how much was because of her blood.

Although did the divisions really matter?

“Cormia . . . I need you.”

The way she shifted her legs apart was a gift like nothing that had ever been wrapped and tagged for him: As she opened herself a little further, he could see the pink core that he was after. She was glistening already.

He was going to add to that.

With a growl, he lunged down and put his mouth to her, going right for the heart of her body.

They both cried out. As her hands speared into his hair, he gripped her thighs hard and moved in even further. She was so warm against his lips, warm and wet, and he made her warmer and wetter as he French-kissed her sex. While she moaned, instinct overtook them both, paving the way for him to lap at her and for her to roll her hips.

God, the sounds were incredible.

The tasting was even more so.

As he looked up over her stomach to her breasts, he had to get at her little nipples. Reaching forward, he pinched them gently then soothed them with his thumbs.

The way she arched nearly had him orgasming. It was just too much.

“Move your hips faster,” he said. “Please . . . God, move your hips against me.”

As her pelvis started to rock, he extended his tongue and let her ride it as she wanted, using his flesh to pleasure herself. He didn’t last long like that, though. He needed to get even closer. Trapping her hips in his palms, he pressed his face from chin to nose against her, and she became all that he tasted and smelled and knew.

And then it was time to get really serious.

He moved up and started an insistent flicking at the top of her sex, knowing he had the right place by the gasping sound she made. When she began to pump her hips with increasing thrall, he reached for her hand to reassure her. She grabbed