Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,143

growl he couldn’t help but emit when she struggled a little and wound up brushing pleasantly against him.

Fuck. This was almost unbearable.

He wanted more. He needed all of her. She was making the most beautiful, helpless sounds under her breath. He knew her breasts would be so over stimulated they’d be tender by now, her core on fire with pulsating need, her nipples no doubt standing erect, swollen and ready for the slightest attention.

Ares swore again internally. Now he was in pain with need for her, so he removed a hand from the wall to cup the side of her face while he drank. She sighed softly at his touch.

His desire rose with each swallow, increasing just as fast as his sense of satiation. It was a dichotomy that made no sense, but that was love.

He wanted more.

This was only the first of his bites, and each would be an assault on her senses. He needed to go easy on her. But damn it to hell, he wanted more.

His hand slid from her cheek to the other side of her neck, where he encircled her gently out of sheer instinct to control her. But having his teeth so firmly planted inside her was enough, and she gasped harshly against him with only the slightest pressure, so he moved on.

He wanted to move on. He wanted more.

The sounds she was making were stronger, more urgent, echoing his own growing need. His fingers brushed over her collar bone, following the line in admiration before they moved lower, nudging the fabric of her sweater down as they went. There he found the scar those same fingers had left on her fifty years ago.

He felt its smooth, slightly raised mark beneath his touch and experienced a strange thrill. She bucked against him suddenly, trying to throw him. He growled low in warning against her throat, slamming his hand back against the wall so he could press his body hard against hers. She would not deny him something so basic, something so rightfully his.

Rightfully his… a hint of some recognition flashed through his thoughts, but his mind was too clouded with lust to clarify it. Especially when rather than be cowed into submission, Annaleia arched into his body as he pushed her into the wall. It was like she needed that pressure. Desperately.

Ares stilled against her, but she rolled her hips again, pressing into his painful hardness as if she knew he was in as much need as she was. His mind spun as he again removed his hand from the wall. Go easy, Ares, he told himself. But he needed some part of his body, any part, to be inside that slick core of hers that he could scent like candy.

But when his gaze fell on that scar again, he hesitated. Rather than move lower, Ares ran his fingers along the line of the scar.

Anna shuddered hard, moaning softly. Colors contrasted brightly all around Ares. His throat rumbled in a ceaseless growl – and he did it again running his fingers possessively over the mark he’d given her. At the same time, he instinctively pulled harder against her throat, as if he were a lover leaving a hickey. This drew more deliriously wonderful blood from her veins, sending his senses soaring.

Mindlessly, Ares placed his palm over her scar, feeling it heat up beneath his touch. His little Raindrop cried out in his grip as a hard orgasm claimed her. She bucked with the strength of it, threatening to damage her where his teeth held her tight.

Ares slowly and regretfully withdrew his fangs from the most precious, irreplaceable thing they had ever claimed and leaned back enough to study his beautiful mate. Her eyes were heavily lidded and half-closed, her lips were parted and wet, her cheeks were flushed, and she was panting. That was when he fully realized what that scar actually was.

He’d always thought he’d given it to her by accident. But looking back now, had he really?

He’d known he wanted her from day one. And in all his life, he had never felt that strongly about anyone. Now his dragon magic, his den’s augmentation of it, and the spell’s added strength were working in tandem, amplifying what had been there all along.

The scar was his first claiming mark on his mate.

It would always be inexorably linked to intense pleasure for her when he touched it.

No wonder, he thought as he watched the bite marks in her throat close and she pressed her