speech was absent, so she couldn’t warn him. On some level, she even loathed to stop him. He was insatiable for the taste of her, still groaning with as much satisfaction as he had in the first few seconds, his mouth suctioned to her neck like it might disappear. And now it had been…how long had they been…doing this…?
Jonas tore himself away from Ginny with obvious difficulty, running his glittering, jewel tone gaze over her face, looking like a man who’d sold his soul to the devil and wouldn’t take it back for anything in the world. His fangs were still out and he licked them now, a shuddering wracking him. “My God is your sustenance sweet.” He laid kisses on her hairline, her cheeks, ending with a hard pull of her mouth. “Tell me you’re okay, love. Tell me I didn’t go too far. Ginny.”
“I’m fine.” She tunneled her fingers into his hair. “I’m fine.”
He pressed their foreheads together. “If you knew…if you only knew what your taste does to me. You’re a feast after a famine.” He shook his head slowly and whispered, “Thank you.”
His adoring tone did nothing to dispel the hunger he’d coaxed. Not at all. She was finally able to move and her body sprang into action, trying to make up for the time she’d been immobile. Her fingertips rode up his hard body, nails digging into his shoulders, her hips starting a slow buck she didn’t seem in control of. This wasn’t mere desire, there was something about the bite that made every sensation fuller, made her limbs languid and light.
“Good,” he said thickly in her ear. “Take what you need from me now. If my hands weren’t chained, I’d lay you down and give it to you so fucking good.”
Since when did epithets turn her on? Maybe since they were delivered in a throaty growl and every tweak of her hips seemed to make him…swell. Harden. Was she really doing this? Seeking relief from Jonas came naturally, even though she’d never been there in her life. Not with him or anyone else. And yet, her body knew exactly where she needed to go and urged her to ride, get there, grind, get there.
“You came in here so beautiful and brave,” he gritted, leaning back to watch the point where their lower bodies were creating the most frantic friction, cotton panties moving on top of strained denim. “Hiked up your little skirt for me and offered me your gorgeous neck, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she sobbed.
“My bite made you wet,” he enunciated. “Didn’t it?”
She nodded jerkily and quickened her pace, sensing the end of her frustration looming. Finally. Finally.
In response to her silent confession, Jonas’s head fell back on a moan. “Might be time to get some mirrors. I’d give anything to watch your tight backside pumping all over my lap right now.”
A volcano of bliss erupted inside of her, trapping a gasp in her throat. His words stabbed at her composure like little daggers and she bore down, prolonging the rush of relief by grinding up and back on his thickness. “Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord,” she whimpered, raking her nails down his back. “It feels so good.”
“Remember that feeling,” he said, pressing his bared teeth to her cheek. “You only get it from your mate. Ever.”
His satisfaction purred in her ear, but she could still feel that hard part of Jonas prodding her panties—and it was pure instinct that made Ginny crawl backward and kneel between his outstretched legs, though her own were still shaking. She reached for the zipper of his jeans and paused, not only at his sharp curse, but because she was overcome by the sight of him.
Jonas Cantrell sprawled out in nothing but jeans and permanently flexed muscles, arms suspended in the air in chains, his midnight hair in a mess from her fingers? He might have been God’s gift to women if he wasn’t looking at Ginny with total and utter worship. The kind that let her know on purpose that it would only ever be her. And she was dead certain she looked back at him in the same manner. Their pure idolization went both ways.
His worshipful attention gave Ginny confidence, made her feel sexy. Maybe for the first time in her entire life. Jonas might have made her feel wanted like hell before, but this was different. She’d just worked out an orgasm on his lap after he’d drunk her blood.
Boundaries? What boundaries?
Before the heady freedom