No Rest for the Wicked (Immortals After Dark #3)(7)

With a body like a god’s.

“Harder,” she whispered, then somehow she was backed against the wall, his hand behind her head to take the impact as he pressed her into it. His entire rigid body covered hers. Good, he was getting more aggressive. No! If he takes the reins, I’m lost . . . lost to him.

It had been so long.

A tight and aching coil was rapturously unfurling with each of the vampire’s determined shoves. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded between ragged breaths. For the first time in a millennium, she was going to climax.

Reading her mind, he rasped, “Can I make you . . . come like this?”

“Yes!” she cried against his mouth. “Keep going! I need you to!”

“Need?” He groaned as if excited by the word. “The problem is . . . I will, too.” His voice rough with lust, he said, “I’ve got to take you, Bride.”

*

She stiffened at his words, as if she were waking up, then turned her face away. “Wait! I can’t . . . I can’t do this!”

“I can give you what you need, I swear it,” he grated, even as he cursed his lack of experience. He’d figure it bloody well out. “Just let me have you.”

She shook her head wildly, thrashing in his arms. “Noooo!”

As a human, he would have let her go immediately. But instinct told him not to. While understanding so little about what was happening, he somehow knew it was critical to have something shared between them, even a brief morning of pleasure.

He couldn’t allow this to stop—not before he’d given her release and taken his from her body as well. “Then we’ll only be as before.” If this was all she’d permit before she came to her senses, then he’d take what he could get.

“You don’t understand—”

Shocking himself, he cut off her protest, hands cradling her face so he could take her mouth hard. She tensed, seeming merely to endure his kiss. Then, after a moment, she gave an answering moan that made him sweat with relief. Her claws were back into his shoulders. He rocked into her, and his thoughts grew murkier, replaced by urgent want.

The rougher he became, the more she gave cries into his mouth that drove him wild, urging him on. Yet even as she took his aggression with obvious pleasure, the wall was crumbling behind them.

Suddenly, she hopped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Ah, God, that’s it, Katja.” He clenched her generous, round ass in his palms, groaning at the feel. Here, too, she was in no way slight, and he loved it.

He squeezed her lush curves, kneaded her, and she panted in his ear, “Yes, yes, you’re so strong.”

Strong? He shuddered. That pleased her? “I’ve never felt anything so damned good as your body—”

His words died in his throat when she dropped lower, clutching his shoulders and hanging from her straightened arms to grind against him. She kept her silvery eyes on him, one tiny fang digging into her bottom lip as he stared down in disbelief. She was wild, making his cock twitch and pulse, nearing orgasm.

Hold on, he commanded himself. She needs to come.

She pulled herself up to kiss and nibble at his ear, putting her silken neck right before his mouth. Bite her. He licked her neck, wanting to take her there so badly. No. He couldn’t do that to her.

Why not? She likely thought him a monster already—

She slapped her palm hard behind her, pushing off the wall so he went tripping back over books. Pages flew as they tumbled to the ground with her on top.

She was frantic, shed of inhibitions, grinding against his shaft while tonguing his mouth. Her ass moved so sensuously beneath his palms as she worked her body against his—never in his most fevered fantasies had he imagined this.

He no longer cared if he spilled his seed into his pants. He was going to come harder than he ever had. Shameful, degrading. He didn’t care.

He rolled her onto her back, pinning her arms above her head, giving in to the most primal urge to rock his hips. He ached to thrust against her. He needed to master her, and from the way she reacted, with her eyelids fluttering closed as she moaned, she needed it as well.

“I didn’t believe it was true,” he groaned.

Her head thrashed, the blond silk of her hair filling him with her scent.

“Katja.” He thrust harder and she writhed wildly beneath him. “You’re mine.”

“Yes, yes . . . you’re making me . . . come.” She arched her back, crying out. He wrapped his arms tightly around her torso, trapping her against his body as he bucked furiously against her.

He groaned toward the ceiling, neck tensed, as his seed began to pump from him. With each shot, he gave a brutal yell. She was still coming, her claws sunk into his back.

He gave one last violent shudder, then collapsed on her, stunned to silence by the pleasure. His breaths, so new and astounding to him, were ragged.

But when he realized what he’d just done to her, he flushed, humiliated, pushing up from her and averting his eyes.

Bride or not, she was a stranger to him, but he’d shamed himself like a green lad in front of her. Much worse, he’d used all the strength in his body to hold her down and shove against her. How could he not have hurt her? How could he not have bruised her perfect skin? He dreaded meeting her eyes. To see that betrayed look . . .

Yet then, she tugged him back down and turned her head slightly, seeming to nuzzle the side of his neck. She began rubbing her face against his, almost like a cat. Though she had the strangest manner of showing it, he knew she was indeed giving him affection.