He glanced down at her face, so young-looking and vulnerable in her sleep. The light from the candles caressed her skin lovingly, throwing tempting shadows across her, inviting his touch. Darius felt the surge of need rushing through his body and allowed it to happen. It would take centuries to sate his appetite for her. Centuries. But he had chosen otherwise. Had chosen to keep her human and die with her when her time came. So he would have to be more careful in his possession of her; he could not afford to keep taking her blood during mating.
He was out of control when his body demanded hers, dangerous for both of them. But he wanted her. He would never stop wanting her. It felt savage and primitive, yet tender and gentle. But he was not a gentle man. The long centuries had seen to that, honing his ruthless side, his predatory nature. Yet he found that when he looked at her, he was different. Something inside him melted, went soft.
He knew from centuries of existing the exact moment when the sun above ground sank low, the night enfolding the earth above them. His time. His world. Darius stretched lazily and turned to run a hand possessively over Tempest’s satin skin. He had not slept in the welcoming soil, nor had he slept the rejuvenating sleep of his people, because had something gone wrong, he had not wanted Tempest to awaken alone beneath the mountain with what would appear to be his dead body beside her. In the Carpathians’ sleep they shut down their heart and lungs—a useful thing, a rejuvenating process, something their bodies required to keep them at full strength, but it was frightening to humans.
Without fulfilling his customary process, Darius’s sleep had been fitful and uneasy. But Tempest was young and used to going her own way, so he had sacrificed his restorative rest to ensure her cooperation and security. Now he rubbed strands of her red-gold hair through his fingertips. Red hair. Green eyes. Hot temper. Strong will Her skin was warm and alluring. In her trance-induced sleep her heart beat strong, and her breath caused the rise and fall of her full, creamy breasts.
Darius bent his head to taste her skin even as he issued the command for her to awaken. His mind caught hers as she drowsily complied, feeding his own urgent hunger to her, building erotic images of his desires in her head. His mouth moved over her slowly, languidly his teeth occasionally nipping, claiming every part of her. He could feel the rhythm of her heart change to match his. His body hardened, demanded; his blood rushed in heated need. He felt her body answer as hot blood surged through her veins, carrying flames, carrying need.
Before she was fully awake, fully aware of her surroundings, he turned her world into an erotic fantasy Darius tasted the warmth of her throat, his hand moving to cup her breast possessively. Though she was small of stature, her bones delicate, her breasts were full, fitting into his palms as if made for him. He took an almost savage joy in the way his body hardened in aggressive male response.
His mouth moved over her shoulder, stopping to dwell in the small hollow there. His tongue lapped gently, insistently, tracing the valley between her breasts, paying close attention to each nipple, a task that sent fire racing through his blood. He closed his eyes for a brief moment savoring the texture of her skin, the fire spreading through his own body. But it soon became necessary to trace each indentation along her ribs, to inspect he stomach with his tongue.
His hands moved lower still, to the slender curve of her hips, caressing the satin skin there. Beneath his palms, she moved restlessly, still drowsy, only partially aware of what he was doing. But her body was alive with need for him. He shared that, connected in her mind as he was. Darius smiled to himself, enjoying the knowledge that at his every rising she would be with him, her body soft and welcoming.
Her legs were shifting, and his hands began a slow caressing of her thighs. A soft little sound escaped her throat as she tried to decide if this was some erotic fantasy or if it was real. She had no sense of where she was, only of the mouth moving lazily but thoroughly over every inch of her body.
Darius pushed his hand into the nest of tight curls, felt her pulsing heat. As she moved to press closer, he simply lowered his head to taste her. Tempest cried out, somewhere between alarm and pleasure, her fists tangling in his hair, drawing him closer. White heat, blue lightning rushed through her and into him. The sensation was astounding, Darius feeling the way her body rippled with pleasure.
His own body was brutally relentless, so full and heavy that he was afraid he might break her if he moved too fiercely. As they shared her shattering release, Tempest’s hands moved over the carved muscles of his back to rest on his hips. Darius lifted his head, his eyes burning down into her.
Normally modest, Tempest should have felt shy. Instead she caught the images in his mind, his hungry need, and she felt like a wanton temptress—and liked it. She pushed him backward so that he lay down. Her hands inspected his chest. Smiling a little, she bent her head to lap gently at his hot skin. He even tasted masculine. With his mind firmly entrenched in hers, she could feel the fire sweeping through his blood, feel the relentless, aching need of his body. Deliberately she allowed her silken hair to fall over his sensitive skin, heightening the sensation even more.
Darius whispered her name, his white teeth coming together helplessly. She was taking her sweet time, driving him crazy with anticipation, her mouth traveling leisurely over his flat belly to find the indentations at his hips. Her hand brushed him, and his body tightened even more. He bit out her name again, a command this time, but Tempest refused to listen. Her tongue tasted him in a long slow caress that brought his hands up to clench her hair, forcing her head to him.
She had the audacity to laugh at him, her warn breath adding to the conflagration building in his body Her hand moved up and over him, testing his weight the thickness of him. Then he was shouting hoarsely The silken feel of her mouth on him was incredible. Hot tight, moist. She knew what he liked by the images in his mind, and Darius was lost to the world. Lost in the beauty of what they shared.
She teased him. Tortured him. Reveled in her power over him. He stood it as long as he was physically able to; then he dragged her head up by a fistful of red-gold hair. No matter if he was brutal, it was the only thing he was capable of doing at that moment. His hands found her waist and pulled her over him.
With their gazes locked together, Tempest slowly lowered herself over him so that he speared her, inch by inch. Her waiting sheath was so hot and moist, so tight and velvet soft, that Darius’s fingers bit deep into her hips to keep him from exploding. Where was his centuries-old self-control?
Tempest found it amazing to know exactly what he wanted. She started to ride him slowly, but it fast turned into a frenzied motion, her muscles clenching around him, taking him deep within her. His hands moved over her body, inspecting her small waist, narrow rib cage, and full breasts. Then he was leaning up toward her, a slow, inexorable movement that nearly stopped her heart. She could feel the hunger in him, his need to take her blood—more a sexual urge than a physical hunger. He had done so many times, but she had never seen his teeth other than perfect. Now he made no attempt to hide his lengthening incisors from her as he bent his head to her throat.