Page 61 of Caller of Crows

Helikedthis.

He was getting off on the bite, and fuck, if that didn't do things to Altair that made him want to growl.

Altair lapped at the wound, enjoying the way Sven writhed underneath him.

"More," the mortal demanded, thrusting his hips upward.

Fuck, Sven was so desperate for it.

So ready for him.

Altair's hunger roared through him, but it wasn't blood he hungered for now. It was the mortal himself. His warmth, his surrender.

Altair's dick throbbed, aching to be buried in Sven.

"Alt," Sven pleaded, his voice high-pitched and breathy.

Altair groaned, kissing him, claiming the mortal's mouth the way his fangs had claimed his throat, and Sven yielded, opening up for him.

It wasn't enough. Altair's hands moved to remove Sven's shirt, then undid his pants. He tugged them off, along with his underwear, until he was touching bare skin. His hands slid down Sven's smooth stomach, his fingertips brushing over the mortal's straining erection.

"Alt!" Sven's voice was raw, needy, and the sound of his moans was driving Altair crazy.

Fuck, he wanted him so much.

He removed his own clothes and tossed them aside.

Sven gazed up at him, his eyes hooded, his lips swollen from Altair's kisses, blood drying on his neck.

Altair had never seen a more beautiful sight. From the first night he'd spotted Sven under the light of the moon, he'd known the mortal was special. That was why he'd tried to keep his distance, but what was he to do when Sven threw himself at him with such abandon?

Altair would have had to be a saint not to give in, and that was the very opposite of what he was.

He grabbed the bottle of lube he'd left on the nightstand and poured a generous amount of it into his hands.

Sven's eyes were wide, his gaze fixed on Altair's lubed-up fingers.

Altair leaned down to whisper into his ear. "Tell me how much you want it."

"So much," Sven breathed.

"How much?"

Altair trailed his slick fingers down, circling the mortal's entrance.

Sven was panting now, his chest rising and falling.

"Alt, please, " he whimpered.

"Answer the question."

Sven's hips bucked. "I can't think when you do that."

"That's okay." Altair nibbled on the mortal's earlobe, licking the shell, nuzzling his neck. He sucked on the bite mark he'd left, and the taste of Sven's blood on his tongue made him even harder. "You don't have to think," the vampire murmured. "Just feel."

"Fuck, Alt."

"Spread your legs."