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“Yes, Ophelia. It’s my pleasure to kneel before you. My honor to taste you.”

He skims his lips over my knee, my thigh, higher, head bowed over me as he worships his way toward my hot, aching—

“Tell me to stop. Tell me if this isn’t something you want.”

He cups a hand over my pussy, fingers pressing into the damp lace there.

“I… I want…”

He tightens his grip on me, presses the lace of my panties into my clit, fingers shifting on me, teasing, driving me out of my—

“Ophelia.”

Cas’s touch ebbs. He hesitates, pulling back when I don’t give him my permission.

“No.” I reach down, curling my fingers over his and drawing his touch back between my thighs. “Don’t stop. I want this. I want you to—”

He doesn’t make me say it, doesn’t make me beg any further as he surges up and captures my mouth with his.

A rasp of fangs over my bottom lip makes me gasp. The sweet surrender of his mouth on mine is a cool balm for my frayed nerves, though I’m well aware he won’t be staying that temperature for long.

I devour him. Finally,finallygetting my fingers into his hair, I tug hard, pulling him closer and angling him just how I want so I can stroke my tongue into his mouth, drag my teeth over his lip and bite, drawing a low, ragged moan from the back of his throat.

He pulls away, breathing hard. “Philippe is a bastard, Ophelia, and a cruel one. He isn’t fit to look at you, or touch you, much less taste you.”

The sharp sting of unexpected tears burns at the back of my eyes.

“I know. Iknow. And I wasn’t going to let him Cas, I really wasn’t. I—”

He crushes his mouth to mine, cutting off the rest of my garbled promises in a kiss I feel all the way down to my aching pussy.

If the last kiss was me taking what I wanted, this one is all Cas.

Slow, languid strokes of his tongue against mine, a hint of fangs against my lips. He cradles a hand around the back of my head and holds me like I’m something precious to him.

And when he pulls back, all that hurt and anger are gone from his expression. In their place, more bone-deep hunger, a thread of pleasure and possession.

With a fang-sharp smirk, he lowers himself back between my legs, slips my panties off, and hooks both my thighs over his shoulders. It changes the angle, makes me even more exposed, and he takes his sweet time looking his fill before meeting my eye with wicked intent written all over his face.

“Do you remember what I told you about all the secret places I could mark you?”

Dredging up the memory is an effort, but I nod.

“Here’s one,” he murmurs, resting his palm over the mound of my pussy. His touch is cool, firm against my shaved skin. “Should I see if I was right about how wild it might make you?”

“Yes.” The word comes out half-sob, half-moan as I grab for his hair again, desperate to drag him closer.

Cas shakes his head. “Let me, Ophelia.”

Gently, he takes my wrists in both his hands and sets them on the chair’s arms. He curls his fingers over mine to make them grip the smooth wood in a silent command to keep them right where they are.

Obeying takes every last scrap of my sanity, especially when he dips his head back down and brushes his lips against me, presses his fangs down hard, just this side of breaking my skin.

He runs a finger up the length of my pussy, spreading the pooled wetness he finds there and groaning deep in his chest before slipping that finger into his mouth to suck it clean.

A few more minutes of that teasing—hands and lips and fangs touching me, but not where I want, nothowI want—andI’m bucking my hips off the chair, trying to press closer, silently demandingmore.

Cas restrains me with a firm hand on my lower belly. “Be still.”