time to process Rogue’s hands on me before he dropped me in the middle of a bed in a dark, really fucking cold room. My teeth chattered before I could stop them.
“Stay,” he ordered with a single gesture in my direction. Like me, he was still naked but the cold—fuck, were we in Siberia?—didn’t seem to affect him. Or maybe he was just a better actor. Crossing the room, he moved a flap then struck a match. The smell of sulphur tinged the air, and a minute later, a fire bloomed in the hearth. It wasn’t quite as large as the huge furnaces he called fireplaces in the bathing room, but the heat licked at the icy air around us.
“Do I look like a dog?” At least a plume of dust hadn’t floated up into the air when I hit the comforter. Speaking of which, the fabric was softer than any I’d felt in days.
“You look like exactly what you are,” Rogue informed me as he lifted a heavy blanket from a chest and carried it over toward me. It wasn’t just a blanket…it was a fur.
He snapped it out, and the wash of icy air sent a shudder down my spine. The fur settled over me like a heavy cloud. A heavy warm cloud. My still damp hair didn’t offer much warmth, but tracing the way the water droplets slid down his skin seemed to be plenty of distraction. When we’d been in the bath, I hadn’t really paid attention to the black ink scrawled over his skin or the patterns it made.
“I’m sure there’s an insult in there somewhere,” I murmured, skimming my gaze down to the half-hard cock stirring despite the brittle cold. Even though I expected it, when he slid beneath the fur with me, surprise still skated along my flesh. “What I’m uncertain about is whether you’re trying to offend me or…”
Undeterred by my comments, he levered across the bed, shifting the fur to drape both of us, and then he dragged my legs apart.
Really, like just gripped and spread. With one tug, he had me on my back and his shoulders wedged between my thighs. “Fiona,” he said, staring up at me with eyes gone shimmering blue. “Shut up.”
“Excuse you?”
My next thought completely stuttered however as his hot breath passed right over my pussy to the inside of my thigh and then his teeth sank in. Rage kindled in my blood, but desire stomped right over it as his lust boiled over again. Lust to taste me, to feed himself, and to fuck me.
As full as I already was, his wild need shouldn’t be pounding into my veins and taking over my pulse. Not that I was even remotely struggling against his hold.
What? I liked dominant men. Especially those who just went for what they wanted. It beat the hell out of the guys who tried to lure me in with pretty promises.
The hot pull of his mouth seemed to absorb all my focus, and with every tug, there was an answering pulse in my pussy. Fuck. I was going to be soaked in no time. I clenched at the blanket or the sheets. Anything to hang on because the orgasm he sent crashing through me shattered any arguments.
Two fingers—stiff like marble but hot like lava—speared into me, and I wanted to roll my hips and ride, but his fierce grip kept my lower body still, impaled and pinned beneath fingers and fangs. Toes curling, I dug them against his back as he sucked down more, and the vibrant buzz along my flesh doubled, then redoubled until he crooked his fingers and I came again.
The wrench of reality faded as I floated on a sea of sensation with his hot need sizzling into my soul. I was almost too full, I couldn’t consume more, and yet, more was what I got. Still, he continued to suck, pulling and draining me. Feeding one beast, he starved the other.
The lazy seal of his tongue stroking the bite mark sent little eddies of fresh pleasure through me. His fingers were still sheathed in my pussy, even as my inner walls fluttered and clenched against them.
“Better,” he murmured before he began to lick along the seam of my labia. Blood loss left me pliant. He hadn’t drained me completely, but weakness invaded my limbs as he began to suck against my clit. The storm that unleashed made me twitch.
“Much better,” he continued as the room flashed from color