straightened Jane slowly and looked at her face as it came up in the mirror. Her eyes were
glassy, her mouth open, her cheeks flushed. On her neck his bite mark was just where he wanted
it: right where everyone could see.
He turned her around to face him and ran his gloved forefinger up her throat, catching the thin
trail of blood from the punctures. He licked the black leather clean, savoring the taste of her,
wanting more.
«I'm going to seal this closed, okay?»
She nodded, and he dipped his head. As he delicately ran his tongue over the holes, he closed his
eyes and got lost nuzzling her. Next time he wanted to go between her legs and tap into the vein
that ran down the juncture of her hips, tap into it so he could alternate between sucking at her
blood and licking at her sex.
He leaned to the side and turned the shower on, then stripped off the button-down shirt she wore.
Her breasts were covered in white lace, the pink tips visible through the lovely pattern. Bending
down, he suckled one of her nipples through the fine weave and was rewarded with her hand
easing into his hair and a moan bubbling up her throat.
He growled and slipped his palm between her legs.
What he'd left behind was on the inside of her thighs, and though it made him a crass bastard, he
wanted it to stay there. He wanted to leave that stuff where it was and put more inside of her.
Ah, yes, the instincts of the bonded male. He wanted her to wear him like she did her own skin:
all over.
He took her bra off her and eased her into the shower, holding her by the shoulders, getting her
under the spray. He stepped in, his pajama bottoms getting wet, his feet feeling the smooth
marble floor. Sweeping his hands over her hair and taking the short blond waves back from her
face, he looked into her eyes.
Mine.
«I haven't kissed you yet,» he said.
She arched against him and used his chest for balance, just as he wanted her to. «Not on the
mouth, no.»
«May I?»
«Please.»
Shit, he was nervous as he looked at her lips. Which was so strange. He'd had so much sex over
the course of his life, all different kinds and combinations, but the prospect of kissing her
properly wiped all of that away: He was the virgin he'd never been, clueless and weak-kneed.
«So are you going to?» she asked as he stalled out.
Oh . . . shit.
With a smile like the Mona Lisa's, she put her hands to his face. «Come here.»
She pulled him down to her, tilted his head, and brushed her lips against his. Vishous's body
shuddered. He had felt power before-his own in his muscles, his godforsaken mother's in his
destiny, his king's in his life, his brothers' in his job-but he'd never let any of it overcome him.
Jane overcame him now. Held total sway as she cradled his face in her palms.
He gathered her close and pressed his lips tighter on hers, the communion a sweetness he never
would have believed he'd want, much less revere. When they broke apart, he soaped up her sleek
curves and rinsed her off. Shampooed her hair. Cleaned between her legs.
Handling her with care was like breathing… an automatic function of his body and brain that he
didn't have to think about.
He shut off the water, toweled her dry, then picked her up and carried her back to the bed. She
sprawled out on his black duvet, arms over her head, legs slightly parted, nothing but flushed
female skin and muscle.
She stared at him from underneath lowered lids. «Your pajamas are wet.»
«Yeah.»
«You're hard.»
«I am.»
She arched on the bed, the undulation riding up her torso from her hips to her breasts. «You
going to do anything about it?»
He bared his fangs and hissed. «If you'll let me.»
She moved one of her legs to the side, and his corneas nearly started bleeding. She was
glistening at her core, and not from the shower.
«Does this look like a no to you?» she said.
He ripped off his bottoms and was on her in a heartbeat, kissing her deep and long, lifting his
hips, positioning himself, sinking in. She was so much better like this, in reality, not a dream
state. As she came for him once, twice… more… his heart broke.
For the first time he was having sex with someone he loved.
He felt a momentary blind panic at his exposure. How the fuck had this happened?
But, then, this was his last-well, only-shot at the love thing, wasn't it. And she wasn't going to
remember a thing,
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