Lucien went on, “If I’d have prepared you before we started, you wouldn’t have felt the tearing, just the feeding, which is highly pleasurable for mortals.”
Her face instantly assumed the look he enjoyed, the one filled with wonder.
Then she said, “You’re joking.”
He shook his head. “Your people find it a sensual experience.”
“No,” she shook her head, pushed up again, got nowhere and gave up, collapsing against him. “I was wrong about what you said before. That wasn’t nuts. This is nuts.”
“It isn’t.”
She ignored him and her eyes narrowed. “So why didn’t you… prepare me?”
His arm at her waist circled further. His other hand slid up her neck and into her hair, bringing her face closer.
Quietly, he explained, “You were excited, moving against me, agitated, aroused. You felt good. You smelled good,” his voice dipped lower at the memory, “so f**king good I lost control.”
Her head pressed against his hand and didn’t stop even if her effort was futile.
“Tomorrow night, when we do it again, I’ll prepare you,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to her throat.
She halted her struggles and he listened to her pulse as it raced.
“No,” she whispered.
He lifted his gaze to lock on hers. “You’ll like it.”
Her voice held a tremor when she said, “You said that last time.”
“Tomorrow, I won’t be so hungry. Tomorrow, I’ll take care of you.”
“I’m supposed to trust that?”
His voice was deadly serious when he replied, “Yes, Leah. With feeding and with everything, you’re supposed to trust me.”
Her head jerked against his hand and his fingers curled into her hair until it stilled.
“I don’t trust you,” she snapped.
“You will,” he returned.
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“Never,” she hissed, losing her shock and getting angry.
Damn, she was stubborn.
“I’ll have to prove it to you,” he promised her.
“I’m never doing that again,” she announced and his fingers in her hair twisted slightly as his patience slipped.
“You will, tomorrow night.” His voice was implacable.
“Over my dead body,” she bit out, her eyes flashing, her insult crystal clear and he felt it slice agonizingly through his gut.
“Not a chance,” he clipped in return.