Burning Skies (Guardians of Ascension #2)(33)
Author: Caris Roane

She had felt him inside her while caught in her dream-like state, but this was different, so real, so awake.

It had been a long time. She had known two men before Marcus, and both men she’d loved. Now she would have Marcus, whom she did not love but whose body she craved as though even his skin meant life to her and his body every blessing possible in ascended life.

He pushed back on his arms and straddled her. He cupped himself, holding his erect c**k in her direction. She looked up at his face, uncertain of his intention. His lips were still parted. His expression was serious, his eyes at half-mast, his chest rising and falling with deep heavy breaths.

Her gaze dipped low again, taking in the swollen head. A bead of his essence appeared at the tip. He still waited.

She leaned up on her left elbow and with her right hand she stroked him the entire thick length, from tip to the heavy thatch of black hair at the base. She brought her fingers up the back of his hand since he still held himself. More of his fennel scent teased her, sending shivers up her thighs.

He hissed. “Havily.” Her name emerged from his lips on a growl.

She lay back down and looked up at him. “Let’s do this, Warrior. I don’t know the why of it, but I’m yours.”

He groaned. He bent low and guided himself to her opening. “God, you’re so wet.”

“What else would I be?” How strange that tears rose to her eyes then slipped down the sides of her face into her hair. His gaze was fixed on her lower body as he watched his c**k enter her in a series of slow firm pushes.

Her breaths came slowly and with difficulty. Marcus was big and each push was a little uncomfortable and yet like heaven at the same time as her body stretched to accommodate him. With each push tears rolled inexplicably, as though every moment of her life, even from the time she had stood at Eric’s graveside, had been leading to this time with Marcus.

She had never thought to take a Warrior of the Blood to her bed. Yet here she was, with her inadequate powers, her dislike of his two-hundred-year absence from service, and her flaming, oh-so-irritating breh-hedden desire.

Once inside, he leaned over her, holding himself up by his arms. With a solid push, he rocked into her.

“We’re joined,” he said, again looking down at where they were connected.

“Yes.”

He met her gaze, his longish hair falling forward on either side of his face. The ends curled under slightly. His hair moved in waves as he flexed his bu**ocks and pushed into her again and again.

She was grateful he didn’t rush. This time with him seemed oddly precious, probably in part because there was no commitment on either side to take this farther than a few days.

He shifted his weight to the left and supported himself on one arm. With his right hand now free, he drifted a finger over her face, down her cheek, her chin, her throat. He pushed her hair away from her neck.

“I want what was stolen from me,” he said, his voice a hard rasp. “But I don’t want to upset you.”

She felt his tension, his holding back on her behalf, because of what she’d just gone through.

She touched his face, and his gaze skated to hers. “You smell like licorice,” she whispered. He groaned. His eyes had a wild look. He craved just as she craved. He needed what she had to give. She could no more have denied him in this moment than she could have left this bed.

She reached up and stroked his cheek with her hand. “I want you to take my blood,” she said. She arched her neck away from him. “Make new memories for me.”

Only a vampire would understand the presentation of the throat. She heard his sharp intake of breath. Using his forefinger, he stroked her neck in a long slow line just over her vein. Her heart rate increased since she knew what was coming, what he craved and what she craved for him to do. She wanted his mouth on her so that she might forget what had been done to her without permission.

He dipped down and kissed her neck then moaned and rocked into her, giving her a sharp thrust from his hips that made her cry out. You fill me, she sent.

He growled and thrust harder.

Her moans rose to the ceiling. The butterflies overhead moved as Marcus’s hips disturbed the air beneath them.

The sensation over her tender flesh at the apex of her labia tingled anew and she ground against the thrust of his hips. He hissed between his teeth. He kissed her neck over and over.

“I want to taste you. May I drink from you, Havily? Do I have your permission?” His voice was low and resonant, thick with need and desire.

She clenched and on a heavy release of breath said, “Yes. Please. Yes. Now. Do it.” She had lost the ability to form sentences.

He leaned toward her slowly, all the while his hips pushing and pushing, her body contracting around his cock, pulling him deeper inside.

Her hands crept around his waist, drifting up his back, and with spread fingers she positioned her hands between row after row of wing-locks. He groaned at the touch.

His tongue hit her neck and rasped a long glide over her vein. He repeated until her breath came in pants. She hadn’t felt the sting of fangs, while in the midst of lovemaking, for fifteen years. She wanted the sting. She knew exactly where the corresponding sensation would strike, and her internal muscles clenched over and over in sweet anticipation.

“You’re so ready for me,” he whispered. She felt the tips of his fangs poised now, the barest pressure. “But I worry. Will this bring back memories?”

“Not the same thing at all. Marcus, you are the only vampire in this room right now. I want you to trust me in this. So please don’t wait. Do it!”

He made a quick strike, to exactly the right depth. She cried out as her tender flesh responded in a sliding streak of pleasure so profound that as he began to draw at her vein and blood left her body, the first orgasm rode over her like galloping horses. Pleasure moved up and up through her core until she clenched around him repeatedly and screamed at the ceiling.

Honeysuckle, he sent, his voice inside her head enhancing the rolling tugging sensations. You’re coming.

All that fennel. Oh, God. I’m coming. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

A sharp grunt returned. She could feel Marcus tense. Was he ready to join her? So soon? She protested the thought. She wanted more of this, more of him, more of his body. Oh, just more.

* * *

Marcus lost part of his consciousness as Havily’s honeysuckle blood hit his stomach and propelled into his bloodstream. Over the course of his four millennia, he had taken the veins of mortals and ascenders alike, but it had never, never, never been like this.