Nocturnal Urges (Nocturnal Urges, Book One) by Elizabeth Donald

against her skin.
    His hand moved around to her stomach, still creating that electrical storm through the fabric of her dress. He smoothed his hand upward, so slowly she wanted to cry out again, sliding it up to rest just beneath her right breast. She arched her back, bringing the aching nipple into sharp contact with the sliding fabric.
    “Ryan,” she breathed.
    “Is this what you want?” he asked, and she almost laughed. As if she could possibly have the strength to stop. Duane’s face tried to intervene, and she pushed it away without difficulty.
    Ryan’s hand moved up swiftly to cup her breast, and the electric heat sank into her skin with sudden, jolting fervor. She breathed sounds of pleasure as his fingers gently rubbed over the nipple, which was so hard and sensitive it was nearly painful. Ryan seemed to sense that, and touched her so lightly that he never overstimulated her, never pressed too hard or too roughly, but kept the right amount of pressure to keep her aroused and seemingly incapable of silence. Her voice cried out wordlessly, as though she had no control over it, and when his other hand moved up to capture her other breast, she let out a moan that would have embarrassed her if the pounding fervor of the music in the club beyond had not surely drowned her out.
    Ryan’s mouth was moving again, pressing against the back of her neck, the exposed skin at the top of her back, licking little patterns along her shoulder line.
    His hands slipped off her breasts, moving down again to her hips, and she realized he was steadying her, readying her for what was to come. The gentle but firm pressure of his hands kept her still, though her hips wanted to thrust and writhe as though he lay between her legs and moved within her.
    With a quick motion, he swept her hair from her neck and returned his hands to her hips. She leaned back against him, feeling the pressure of his mouth at her throat. The two sharp points of his teeth dimpled her skin, and she was afraid for one tiny moment, like the sharp prick of a needle in her heart.
    Then his teeth sank in, and a brief moment of pain dampened the fire burning between her legs and raging across her chest. But his lips quickly pressed over the wound, and instantly it faded.
    She felt him begin to feed, drawing what he needed from her, and this time it was longer, more drawn out. It was as though the velvet thread within her skin was now a thin rope, coiled throughout her body. As he fed, he drew it out through her neck, and it moved beneath her skin, unspooling and sliding within her. The glorious tension built deep in her belly, between the raging electricity generated by his hands.
    The velvet rope grew taut and strong, and still he fed, still she tried to writhe and move, and still he held her tightly, binding her close to him. Her hands moved helplessly on her thighs, and her eyes closed, her mouth open in a meaningless cry.
    She wanted him, wanted to turn and take him within her, as though the only release for this great building tension would be to feel him fill her and complete her in open-mouthed, shared ecstasy.
    Then the shuddering climax began, low in her abdomen and exploding throughout her body in cascades of vibrating shivers and moaning cries that seemed to come from her very skin as well as from her throat. Her back arched uncontrollably, and she felt his teeth slip and sink in a little deeper. The sudden jolt of pain helped banish the roil of shuddering ecstasy, which in truth was something of a relief. She felt as though she had skated up against something too big for her, something so powerful and huge that she could not take it within herself, could not feel that much without losing herself in it. She recoiled from that feeling, backed away from it in momentary fear.
    She was suddenly aware that Ryan’s mouth was no longer on her throat, and for that matter, she was not sitting up. She was lying on her side, and Ryan was pressing something against her