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He rose from the bench and wedged himself between her gorgeous thighs. All he wanted to do was drive his cock home, but she looked too enticing to rush, her sex flushed deep red and juicy, her dark curls like wet silk. He took himself in hand and played the head of his penis along the slick cleft of her body, delighting in her breathless mewls of pleasure.

It was a torture that broke him before it did her.

On the knife’s edge of coming just from the feel of her, he shifted his hips and pushed inside. She was molten heat around him, her plush sheath swallowing him from tip to balls. He began to pump, slowly at first, still delusioned enough to think that he had any patience where loving Claire was concerned. Her body milked him, the hot, wet friction driving him toward a more urgent tempo. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t hold it, not for another second.

He gritted his teeth and let out a sharp roar as his seed exploded out of him and deep into her. She climaxed with him, her fingernails scoring his shoulders as she cried out with her own release. He murmured her name over and over, his cock as hard as marble even as the last tremors of his orgasm racked him.

He stared down at her, moved as always by her exquisite, delicate beauty. He loved the way they looked together, the contrast of their skin, the perfect fit of them when they were joined. And he loved her spicy warm blood scent, especially when it mixed with the musky perfume of her arousal.

“I don’t want to let go of this night,” he murmured, gazing into the absorbing color of her eyes. “I don’t want to let go of you.”

“Then don’t let go.” She wrapped her arms around him a bit tighter. “This time, I won’t let you go.”

He smiled, regret and duty tearing at him from inside. He had intended to explain to her at least half a dozen times already this evening that their time in Newport was over. He had intended to explain it now, too, but instead he found himself lost in her eyes. Lost in the intoxicating pleasure of her body.

“For now,” he said, kissing her as he spoke, “let’s neither one of us let go.”

“Yes,” she said, moving her hips in a provocative way against him. She stared up at him then, her eyes intense and imploring. “Will you do something else for me tonight, Andre?”

He grunted, bending his head to taste the soft skin below her ear. “Anything.”

“Make love to me again, the way you would if we were truly mated.”

He came up to regard her with a frown.

“Drink from me,” she said, stroking his face with a lovingly tender touch. “Let me pretend that we’re together as blood-bonded mates. Just for tonight.”

God, the very notion lit through his veins like a flash fire. He could feel his glyphs surging with hungered colors, and his fangs stretched even longer in his mouth.

“I want you to do it,” she said, a soft demand. “Drink from me as though I were really yours.”

The sound that left his lips was raw, profane. He reared back, fighting the need that shot through him. But then Claire tilted her head to the side and moved her hair away from her neck, and he was lost.

He bore down on her in a primal surge of motion, fangs seeking out her vein as he plunged deep into her welcoming heat once more.

The taste of her sweet, warm blood slammed into his senses in a flood of roaring power. He couldn’t curb his possessive growl as he suckled hard at her throat. Nor could he get close enough as he held Claire tight against him and buried himself to the hilt. He pumped hard and fast, unable to be gentle when her blood was spurring him like the most potent, intoxicating drug.

He had never known this kind of primal, visceral union.

It staggered him.

It humbled him.

It shamed him too, when he wanted more than anything to give himself to Claire in the same way, but could not because she was already bonded to another male. Reichen could offer her his vein, but no matter how much of him she drank, her bond would remain to Wilhelm Roth.

A flicker of aggression and fury began to twist and kindle in Reichen