The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(36)

He pinched one sweet, pink nipple and rubbed his hard, aching cock between her legs. If only he could wish his clothing away. Skin to skin; he would die without it. "Hook your leg around my waist."

The moment she obeyed, she writhed and whimpered. "Layel. Oh, gods. So good."

As she tried to ride his cock through their clothing, his mind produced a single thought, everything else forgotten: penetrate her. Whatever he had to do to make it happen, he would do. He had to get inside her. Strip her. Throw her down...yes, yes. He tossed the tattered remains of her top aside and pushed her to the ground.

"You're going to take me. All of me."

"Yes."

Passion flowed through him, suddenly his only reason for living. He allowed all of his weight to settle atop her as he crawled down, inch by tantalizing inch. His tongue flicked over and laved her beaded nipple.

More...more...had never been like this. Had to have more.

"Don't stop. Never thought...so good."

"I'll stop if I decide to stop." The power was getting to him, urging him on, demanding he take more. "Understand."

"Please. More. Almost there..."

His hand delved under her tiny skirt, past the thin barrier of cloth between her legs. She was hot, wet. So wet. So tight. He experienced a surge of possessiveness as he thrust a finger deep - and she screamed, loud and long, piercing and sweet. Her inner muscles clenched around him, taking the ultimate pleasure.

More...more...yes, had to have more.

"Layel, Layel."

He surged up, teeth exposed, ready to take her blood while his cock took her body. But he had to release her to free his cock, and he couldn't force himself to release her. A moment later, the dilemma was taken from him. Strong hands settled atop his shoulders and jerked him away from Delilah.

"Bastard!" he heard.

Layel hissed in fury and launched himself at this new opponent. He needed Delilah. No one took her away from him. He was charged with so much passion - rage, dark rage, kiss, more kiss - it was like lava inside of him.

Tagart was knocked to the ground. Layel was there in the next instant, sinking his fangs into the dragon's vein. Blood filled his mouth, as hot as fire. Familiar.

More Delilah. More, his mind screamed. Kill the dragon, return to Delilah.

The warrior slammed a fist into his jaw, and he was propelled sideways. He was on his feet an instant later, warm blood dripping from his face. One step, two, he stalked, a predator locked on his prey.

Delilah stepped in front of him, panting, cheeks rosy from her climax. She didn't bother to cover her beautiful breasts as she held out her hands to ward him off. "Layel," she said, concerned. "Calm down. You have to calm down."

Not Susan, his mind suddenly shouted. She's not Susan. She had no right to be concerned for him. She had no right to kiss or touch him. He had no right to kiss and touch her in return. To drink from her, to rejoice in her pleasure.

The fire in his veins died swiftly, no longer even crackling. Leaving only ache and regret. He stilled, doing his best to catch his breath, as shame coursed through him.

Tagart stood in place, his expression gleaming with fury. "Come near her again, and I will not hesitate to kill you."

"Do not hesitate now, fire-bastard."

The dragon bent his knees to leap, but Delilah shook her head at him and he stilled.

"He wasn't hurting me," she said.

Tagart looked from Delilah to Layel, Layel to Delilah. "But you screamed."

"In pleasure," she admitted, bright stains of mortification climbing her cheeks.

Understanding lit his eyes, and Tagart scowled.

"Don't worry," Layel said, his tone colder than he had ever heard it. "I will never again approach her. She is yours." With that, he sprinted away as fast as his feet would carry him.

A GONG SOUNDED throughout the deceptively tranquil night, followed by the echo of a whisper. Beach...

Delilah almost groaned. No. Not now. Not yet. Layel had just finished kissing her. During that kiss, the world around her had faded, shattering everything she'd ever known, before another anchor had taken over: his tongue, his touch. Him. And then he had walked away from her, leaving her alone with the dragon. No, he hadn't walked. He'd run as if demons were devouring his skin. Leaving her half-naked, aching, wanting. Confused. He hadn't looked back.

He'd left her just as Vorik had left her.

Hands shaking, she bent down and gathered what was left of her top. She hastily pulled it around her, tying it in the center - which shoved her breasts together. Wonderful. If she ran, they would bounce. Perhaps, though, Layel would like that. Silly girl.

Tagart didn't turn away while she dressed. He watched her the entire time through slitted lids, golden eyes bright. Bastard. "The vampire king doesn't truly want you," he said.

She could have sliced his head from his body for that, for voicing what she feared most. The vampire king doesn't truly want you. Layel had left her and sworn never to come near her again, lending truth to Tagart's claim. But...that passion could not have been forced. More than that, Layel had fought the dragon like a man possessed. For her. She knew it had been for her.

Please let it have been for her.

When she failed to respond, Tagart sighed. "You know very well that Layel is the enemy. Our enemy, not just mine, right now."