succulent blood.
“Oh, God, God. Raphael, please.”
“Please what, my Cyn?” he crooned, laving her breast and driving himself deeper into her body, feeling her growing even hotter and slicker with every new thrust.
Her eyes flashed open, her nails scraping down his back as she nearly screamed her demand. “Raphael!”
He bit her nipple, eliciting a fresh sob of pleasure as he licked his way between her breasts and over her tender collarbone, closing his teeth on the taut tendons of her shoulder before moving up to rub his lips over the swell of her jugular. He inhaled deeply, smelling the delicious scent of her blood, the tantalizing aroma of her arousal.
Cyn moaned, tightening her arms around his shoulders, crushing his chest against the hard mounds of her nipples, the heavy fullness of her breasts. Her hips were moving in time with his now, shoving against him, the muscles of her stomach clenching as her womb convulsed, sending tremors rippling along his cock deep inside her.
He licked her neck one last time, blowing on the wet skin, feeling her shiver. “I love you, my Cyn,” he whispered against her heated flesh. As he sank his teeth into her jugular, her body arched beneath him, the orgasm seizing her hard and tumbling her into ecstasy. She gasped his name, her breath stolen away, tears streaming down her cheeks as pleasure overwhelmed her and she convulsed helplessly in climax.
Raphael let the sweet flow of her blood fill his mouth and roll down his throat like warm honey, hardening his cock until he groaned with the need to come. He threw his head back and roared as he found his own orgasm, pumping his release deep into his mate’s trembling body, feeling her legs tighten around him, holding him, caressing him, draining him dry.
Chapter Eight
Lucien’s words were still with Sophia when she woke the next night, sitting like a weight on her chest. She threw aside the many down-filled blankets, suddenly feeling suffocated instead of warmed by their presence. A small exertion of her will and candles flared, lighting the dreary little dungeon where she’d spent the day.
She folded the letter carefully, touching the single pink tear staining one corner, evidence of Lucien’s regret. Then, slipping the sheet of paper back into its envelope, she picked up the photograph of three vampires she’d never known and now never would. All three of them were dead, destroyed by human hatred and Lucien’s foolishness. But now his stupidity had reached out to touch others. Dangerous others whom he somehow expected her to placate and what? Save his worthless hide while he hid in safety? Typical Lucien, she thought angrily. Never thinking of anyone but himself—his pleasure, his curiosity, his damnable sexuality.
Dashing away the remnants of her own tears—not for Lucien, but for the innocent vampires he’d given over to death—Sophia stood, shivering as the cold air hit her bare breasts. She had a momentary flashback of the lovely Aurelio, with his long, sleek body, and then she set it aside. She might enjoy her sensual interludes, but she was at heart a woman of discipline and purpose. Yet another thing she and her Sire had always disagreed upon.
Taking the few steps to the trap door, she paused long enough to ascertain the emptiness of the room above her before pushing upward and climbing into the cottage proper. A quick glance assured her nothing had changed in her absence, that no one had been there while she’d slept defenseless beneath their feet. She shivered again, with an entirely different sort of chill, hating the circumstances which had forced her to be here, hating Lucien for his persistent self-indulgence which would one day get him killed.
She crossed to the bureau, picked up the old-fashioned telephone and waited for someone to answer. It didn’t take long.
“My lady?” a smooth male voice responded.
“I need to speak to Larissa.”
“Shall I send her, my lady, or—”
“The
“Oh, God, God. Raphael, please.”
“Please what, my Cyn?” he crooned, laving her breast and driving himself deeper into her body, feeling her growing even hotter and slicker with every new thrust.
Her eyes flashed open, her nails scraping down his back as she nearly screamed her demand. “Raphael!”
He bit her nipple, eliciting a fresh sob of pleasure as he licked his way between her breasts and over her tender collarbone, closing his teeth on the taut tendons of her shoulder before moving up to rub his lips over the swell of her jugular. He inhaled deeply, smelling the delicious scent of her blood, the tantalizing aroma of her arousal.
Cyn moaned, tightening her arms around his shoulders, crushing his chest against the hard mounds of her nipples, the heavy fullness of her breasts. Her hips were moving in time with his now, shoving against him, the muscles of her stomach clenching as her womb convulsed, sending tremors rippling along his cock deep inside her.
He licked her neck one last time, blowing on the wet skin, feeling her shiver. “I love you, my Cyn,” he whispered against her heated flesh. As he sank his teeth into her jugular, her body arched beneath him, the orgasm seizing her hard and tumbling her into ecstasy. She gasped his name, her breath stolen away, tears streaming down her cheeks as pleasure overwhelmed her and she convulsed helplessly in climax.
Raphael let the sweet flow of her blood fill his mouth and roll down his throat like warm honey, hardening his cock until he groaned with the need to come. He threw his head back and roared as he found his own orgasm, pumping his release deep into his mate’s trembling body, feeling her legs tighten around him, holding him, caressing him, draining him dry.
Chapter Eight
Lucien’s words were still with Sophia when she woke the next night, sitting like a weight on her chest. She threw aside the many down-filled blankets, suddenly feeling suffocated instead of warmed by their presence. A small exertion of her will and candles flared, lighting the dreary little dungeon where she’d spent the day.
She folded the letter carefully, touching the single pink tear staining one corner, evidence of Lucien’s regret. Then, slipping the sheet of paper back into its envelope, she picked up the photograph of three vampires she’d never known and now never would. All three of them were dead, destroyed by human hatred and Lucien’s foolishness. But now his stupidity had reached out to touch others. Dangerous others whom he somehow expected her to placate and what? Save his worthless hide while he hid in safety? Typical Lucien, she thought angrily. Never thinking of anyone but himself—his pleasure, his curiosity, his damnable sexuality.
Dashing away the remnants of her own tears—not for Lucien, but for the innocent vampires he’d given over to death—Sophia stood, shivering as the cold air hit her bare breasts. She had a momentary flashback of the lovely Aurelio, with his long, sleek body, and then she set it aside. She might enjoy her sensual interludes, but she was at heart a woman of discipline and purpose. Yet another thing she and her Sire had always disagreed upon.
Taking the few steps to the trap door, she paused long enough to ascertain the emptiness of the room above her before pushing upward and climbing into the cottage proper. A quick glance assured her nothing had changed in her absence, that no one had been there while she’d slept defenseless beneath their feet. She shivered again, with an entirely different sort of chill, hating the circumstances which had forced her to be here, hating Lucien for his persistent self-indulgence which would one day get him killed.
She crossed to the bureau, picked up the old-fashioned telephone and waited for someone to answer. It didn’t take long.
“My lady?” a smooth male voice responded.
“I need to speak to Larissa.”
“Shall I send her, my lady, or—”
“The
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