The disturbing words floated through his mind before he could halt them.
“Raw energy,” she retorted, moaning as his tongue traced the edge of her lower lip. “Dangerous…unpredictable…”
“Oh, I can be very predictable, little one,” he corrected, grasping her hand to gently place it against his pulsing arousal.
Her breath caught as her fingers traced his hard c*ck straining against his zipper, her eyes darkening with awareness of her feminine power.
Desire clawed deep within him. He wanted to make this a slow, delicate seduction, but the thought of being buried deep within her was swiftly undermining his control. At heart, he was still a barbarian. A wild, pagan coupling was becoming a more viable option by the second.
Regan couldn’t have missed the sudden heat that filled the cavern, or the tension that clenched his muscles, but as if deliberately seeking to push Jagr over the edge, her searching fingers slowly tugged down the zipper of his jeans, releasing the heavy thrust of his erection.
“Gods,” Jagr managed to croak, shuddering at the hot surge of desire.
“Do you like this?” she demanded, lightly skimming her fingers down his thick length.
“Yes,” he growled, his hands clutching her h*ps as he sought to remain in control of his building need.
“And this?” she whispered, her hand moving steadily lower.
“Regan…” He muttered a curse, his eyes clenching shut as he battled to hold off the surging cl**ax. “Yes.”
She discovered his tender sack and lightly squeezed. “And this?”
“Enough,” he choked, grasping her wrist to halt the exquisite torment.
“Why?”
Forcing his eyes open, he met the glittering emerald gaze. “Because just your touch is enough to make me explode.”
The sweet scent of her arousal deepened at his blunt words. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“Bad?” His sharp laugh echoed through the darkness. “By the saints, I would walk through the fires of hell for the feel of your hands on my body.”
Her lips curved in a smile of pure temptation.
A natural born Eve.
“Then why are you stopping me?”
Good question.
Oh, it wasn’t uncommon for him to deny himself pleasure.
His lair was a cold, barren series of cement tunnels beneath an abandoned warehouse. It had none of the luxuries that most vampires craved. His only concession to comfort was his vast collection of books, his high-tech computer, and his plasma TVs.
And certainly he never allowed himself to wallow in the self-indulgent pursuit of physical pleasure that many demons craved.
He never questioned his monkish existence. What did it matter if it was an obsessive need to feel in control after years of being in the power of others? Or some obscure hatred for being turned into the same monster as those who’d tortured him? Or even a boorish distaste for the company of others.
In this moment, he wanted to plunge into the swirling sensations that heated his blood to a fever pitch. He wanted to…feel. To melt the ice that had held him captive since he’d left those blood-soaked caves.
He wanted Regan in any way she would have him.
It was obvious that despite her innocence, this Were possessed a playful curiosity. Why not allow her to explore her potent effect on his body?
They had an eternity to satisfy any number of fantasies.
Endless, decadent, wicked fantasies.