Page 143

But every time I say his name, the thrusts come harder, more punishing, the muscles in his body rippling with the force of hammering against me. It’s as if he wants to beat his way into the very core of me, and I can’t figure out how to stop it, grabbing for something–anything–to anchor myself.

His eyes slouch down to my chest, and then his face follows, jaw taut as his body snaps into a wild, curling thrust. He dives to the side of my breast with such clear, unimpeded intent, that for a moment, I think perhaps he’s awoken.

But his lips, his tongue, aren’t what I feel.

It’s teeth.

My body lurches with the sudden white-hot flare of pain tearing through my breast. I scream through gnashed teeth, but not before I grab a thick fistful of his hair andyank.

It just makes him latch on harder.

“Lex!” I shriek, and the teeth go in deeper. If my vision wasn’t spotty from being strangled, then it’s definitely fizzling with the sting of his bite, my legs kicking upward ineffectually. The reflex to scream his name again mingles with the knowledge that it’s only making it worse.

Which must be why the next word tumbles from my mouth in desperation.

“Lagan.”

Lex freezes, his hips pinning mine to the bed.

It’s not a tranquil moment. His teeth don’t release me, and he’s panting around the bloody flesh, nostrils flared out as saliva trickles down into my armpit. But he’s motionless–rigid–as if he’s waiting for something, teetering on the edge of a knife’s blade, and when I look into his eyes, it’s not at all unlike staring down a rabid dog.

Trembling, I ease my grip on his hair. “Lagan, wake up.” He shudders when my fingers, smeared in red, flutter over his scalp, his jaw loosening just enough to give me some relief. “You like that?” I ask, swallowing down a cry as I run soothing fingers through his hair. Coaxing him with a gentle nudge, I whisper, “Please let go.”

And just like that, he does.

His bloodstained teeth are all I see for a long beat, the crimson trickling down the corners of his mouth, but when I look up into his eyes, I no longer see the feral demon that climbed into this bed.

His amber eyes are hooded, an unimaginable hurt staring back at me. Suddenly, he looks so tired that I wonder how he’s even holding himself up above me.

“Lagan,” I try, wondering if this is it–if he’s finally roused himself from the daze. But all I get in response is another of those rolling shudders, his hips rocking into me. It sends a different kind of fire through my core, and I rest my palm against the base of his skull, tugging him down. The sound he makes as he burrows against my body, face buried into the crook of my neck, is so quiet and mournful that it makes my chest twist.

It’s an odd intuition, but somehow, into the very flinching depths of my soul, I realize what he needs.

I fold him into my body, arms around his shoulders, legs winding around his waist. “It’s okay,” I whisper, turning to brush my lips tenderly against the cut of his jaw. “You’re okay, baby.”

He keens, low and desperate into my ear.

The next thrust is more of a rock than anything, the drag of his cock slow and more sensual than I’m expecting. I greet it with a roll of my hips, breath hitching as I cradle him against me. “Oh, god…”

His hair is soft against my cheek, and without really meaning to, I seek it out, burying my nose in the tresses. He smells clean and masculine, the scent tinged with an edge of the sweat I can feel dampening his brow. I’m not really expecting it when he lazily rolls his head to the side, lips dragging across my jaw before catching my mouth.

It should be disgusting.

My blood is still sticky on his lips, and he’s lax–clearly still asleep–so it’s sloppy and uncoordinated, filled with the bitter taste of copper.

And it might be the best kiss I’ve ever had.

It’s completely without artifice, his tongue swiping out to lick lazily against my own. It’s wet and warm and somehow sweet, the perfect punctuation to his unhurried thrusts against me. I reach up to touch his cheek, softly brushing his hair away as I kiss him back.

I must be crazy, because he’s not even here–driven by purely primal instincts–but I’m struck by the notion that this is it.

This is what I’ve been needing.

No.

This is what I’ve beenwanting.

The way our bodies begin working as one, rocking together as we taste each other. The punch of his small, quiet grunts every time our hips meet. Even the sting of lingering pain, the slip of sweat and blood, is everything I always knew sex should be.