Her dress was the kind of thing his mother would wear and exactly what he wished his sister would put on more often: a pale blue satin gown that was fitted perfectly. It was Dior. It had to be.
"Come here, Marissa."
He drew her over to a leather sofa and pulled her down beside him. In the glow from the windows, her blond hair was like a shawl of silk, and he took some between his fingers. Her hunger was so strong, he could feel it clearly.
"You've waited for a long time, haven't you?"
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She nodded and looked at her hands. They were knotted together in her lap, ivory against the light blue satin.
"How long?"
"Months," she whispered.
"Then you'll need a lot, won't you?" As she blushed, he pushed her. "Won't you, Marissa?"
"Yes," she breathed, obviously uncomfortable with her hunger.
Rehv smiled fiercely. It was good to be around a female of worth. Her modesty and her gentleness were damned appealing.
He took off his jacket and unknotted his tie. He'd been prepared to offer her his wrist, but now that she was in front of him, he wanted her at his neck. It had been forever since he'd allowed a female to feed from him, and he was surprised by how excited he was at the prospect.
He popped the buttons of his collar and undid the rest of them, all the way down his chest. With a surge of anticipation he yanked the shirt free and opened it wide.
Her eyes went round as she looked at his bare chest and his tattoos.
"I didn't know you were marked," she murmured, her voice shaking along with her body.
He eased himself back into the sofa, spreading his arms out, bringing one of his legs up. "Come here, Marissa.
Take what you need."
She looked at his wrist, which was covered by a French cuff.
"No," he said. "This is the way I want you to do it. At my throat. It's the only thing I ask."
As she hesitated, he knew the rumors about her were true. She was indeed untouched by any male. And the purity of her was... something to be taken.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the darkness in him shifted and breathed, a beast locked in a cage of medication.
Christ, maybe this wasn't a good idea.
But then she was moving on him slowly, crawling up his body, her smell so like the ocean's. He cracked his eyelids to see her face and knew he was helpless to stop the feeding. And he was not going to miss this; he had to let a few sensations come to him. Slipping loose his discipline, he opened the channel to his sense of touch, and it received with greed even with the drug, all kinds of heady information surging through the dopamine fog.
The satin of her gown was soft against his skin, and he felt the warmth of her body mingling with his own heat. Her slight weight was braced on his shoulder and... yes, her knee was between his thighs.
Her mouth parted and her fangs unsheathed.
For a split second the evil in him howled, and he called on his mind in a panic. Thank the Virgin, the damn thing came to the rescue, the rational side of him rushing forward, chaining his instincts, quieting the very Page 201
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sexual need to dominate her.
She wobbled as she leaned down toward his throat, unsteady as she held herself above him.
"Lie on me," he said in a guttural voice. "Lay yourself... upon me."
With a wince she let the lower half of her body sink into the cradle of his hips. Clearly she was worried about bumping up against an erection, and when she encountered nothing of the sort she glanced between their bodies, as if thinking she'd hit the wrong place.
"You don't have to worry about that," he murmured, running his hands up her slender arms. "Not from me."
Her relief was so palpable he was offended. "Would laying with me be such a chore?"
"Oh, no, Rehvenge. No." She glanced down at the thick muscles of his chest. "You are... quite lovely. It's just... there is another. For me, there is another."
"You still love Wrath."
She shook her head. "No, but I cannot think of the one I want. Not... now."
Rehv tilted her chin up. "What kind of idiot wouldn't feed you when you needed it?"
"Please. No more talk like that." Abruptly, her eyes fixated on his neck and dilated.