The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(80)

She bit her tongue to silence a guttural moan, a plea for more. "Why not use me? For blood, I mean?"

"You've lost enough." His eyes never left her breasts; they were glazed, as if he were entranced. "I need you strong."

"Aren't you afraid I'll beat you at the next challenge?"

He chuckled, but it was a harsh sound. Strained. "If I cannot beat you fairly, I don't deserve to be here with you." The moment the last word left his mouth, he stiffened. Stepped backward.

He was going to leave her, she realized. Why, damn him? Because he didn't feel he deserved her now? Her eyes widened, her anger mutating into tenderness. Yes, that was exactly what he thought, but she would have none of it.

She closed all distance between them, leaving only a whisper that was conquered every time she drew in a breath. They were body to body, skin to skin. Only his erection and thighs were covered. And that wasn't good enough. She wanted to feel them, too.

As if he couldn't tolerate brushing against her with his inhalations, he stopped breathing, becoming as still as a corpse.

"Did you come here to reject me?" she asked. "Again."

He flinched. "No."

"Do something, then. Before I change my mind and leave."

His nostrils flared. "Don't pressure me, woman."

Rising on her tiptoes, she pressed their lips together. His were soft, moist. His eyes never closed, only narrowed. He allowed the contact briefly before turning his head away.

"No kissing there," he said. "I have to keep some part of me removed from this. That is the only way I can allow it to happen."

"You've kissed me before."

"That was a mistake. A mistake I will not make again."

No hurting, she told herself. "All right. No kissing you on the mouth." She pressed her lips to his cheek next. "What about here?" Then his jaw. "And here?"

Once again he began breathing. Choppily. Harshly. Sweat broke out over his skin. "Fine. Those are fine."

The hard tips of her nipples rubbed against his chest, creating a dizzying friction. Yes, oh, yes. Lowering, she concentrated on his neck, laving her tongue over the graceful column.

He inhaled sharply as his arms banded around her waist, clutching, the nails digging into skin.

"Take off your pants," she commanded fiercely. "I want you naked."

His fingers slid to her bottom and cupped, spreading her a little to hold her up. "Do you think to be in charge?"

"Yes." She arched forward, grinding herself on the massive erection straining so proudly from the waist of those unwanted pants.

"No." His grip tightened, holding her in place, keeping her still.

"But I ache," she told him before licking one of his nipples. The hard tip abraded her tongue deliciously.

A groan of pleasure sprang from him, the sound echoing in the night. "Lay down."

"You first. I would - "

"Lay down, Delilah."

His tone was hard, uncompromising. She should have bristled. She didn't. She tingled, her knees going weak. Breathless, she obeyed. He didn't move, just stared down at her.

What did he think of her?

Did he compare her to his mate?

Former mate, her mind supplied on a jealous burst. Tonight, he belonged to Delilah, only Delilah. "Well. Do you plan to join me?"

"Spread your legs. I want to look at you, all of you."

Cradled by moonlight and moss, she slowly...slowly...moved her thighs apart. She drew up her feet, bending her knees and anchoring her weight against her elbows. She was as vulnerable as a woman could be and surprisingly thrilled to be so.

His hot gaze raked over her thoroughly and soon those crystalline irises were glowing, practically surrounding her in a cerulean halo. She could feel the heat of it invading every inch of her needy body, blanketing her.

"You're wet," he said.

The reverence in his tone stroked her as expertly as a caress, and she shivered. "Yes."

"You want me."

"Yes."

"What do you want me to do to you?" As he spoke, he gripped the waist of his pants and slid the material down...down...then stepped out of them, leaving him bare.

"I - I - " Dear gods. His raw masculinity enthralled her. He was lean, yet so muscled he could probably have crushed her with his strength. There was no hair on his body, just mile after mile of perfect skin and sinew. His cock was long and thick - mine - and his testicles were drawn up tightly, heavy and proud.

"Like what you see?" he asked huskily, almost sounding drugged.

Unable to speak past the heated breath blistering her throat, she nodded. The length of her hair tickled her now sensitized skin, her beaded nipples, and she tore her gaze from Layel to study herself. To see what he saw. A thick blue lock of hair was curled around one hard, pink tip, stroking lovingly with the breeze. Her stomach was flat, her thighs firm and tattooed, quivering.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She did. Oh, gods, she did. Need was like a storm inside her, his every command hers to fulfill. Here was everything she'd ever wanted, dreamed about, craved, offered to her on a night of moonlight and bliss, starlight and dreams.

"What do you want me to do to you, Delilah?"

Took some coaxing, but she finally found her voice. "Touch me." A broken plea.