“You’re so beautiful,” he said, in a thick, husky voice.
Tentatively, she lifted her hands to his face, digging her fingers into his thick, wavy hair. “Liar,” she said, and pulled his mouth down to hers.
“Far from it,” he murmured just before their lips collided.
The kiss was long and leisurely, and they barely moved apart when it was finally done. For a long moment they stayed, noses almost touching, sharing the same breath. The bones behind her fangs began to ache, waking her own sleeping beast. She had been too shy, too shocked by this unexpected tryst for her own hungers to fully rise before this. He didn’t smell like food, but desire and biting went hand-in-hand. Still, Constance held back, swallowing the saliva pooling in her mouth. She didn’t want anything to spoil the moment.
Slowly, he sank down beside her, stroking her hair back from her face. Stroking her arms. Drawing the long tendrils of her hair through his fingers. Loving her. For all the impatience she could feel radiating from his big body, he was going at a cautious pace. His dark eyes hadn’t changed— outside of a slight smolder of demon fire—and for that she was glad. His gaze was what had called to her when they first met. Despite the wildness of his demon nature, those eyes were still wise and mischievous and kind. The look of someone who had seen more than they should have, but had survived to jest about it.
Feeling less intimidated, she rose and shed the garments he had unlaced, leaving nothing but the flimsy, shabby shift. She unhooked her skirt and pushed it off, but left her petticoats. She wasn’t ready to part with them yet.
As she shed her layers, he stripped down to his skin, but slid under the covers before she could get more than a glimpse of his male parts. They were like the rest of him. Distressingly large.
Bloody hell.
He sat up and pulled her under the covers, steering her into the circle of his arms. He smelled like spice. Resin. Dark, fragrant woods. Musk. This new form of his was exotic and unfamiliar. Hot to the touch.
Kissing her again, he plundered her mouth with the gusto of a pirate. Her resistance melted in all that heat. She ran her hands over his chest, feeling the play of strength beneath his skin. That weak feeling swamped her once more, followed by a wave of her own slick fire:
“Connie?”
Connie? No one had ever called her that. “What?”
“Have you ...” He gave a little lift of the eyebrows. One thing hadn’t changed over the centuries. Men still had problems with some words. “No.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
She would have said more, but that was all the informa tion he seemed to need. He had given her the chance to back away from this encounter, but now he was back in control. One hand reached around her waist, untying the tapes of her petticoats. She kicked them free.
She lay half on top of him, captured by his strong arm. His mouth quested down her neck, his hands circling her breasts. His teeth dragged against their peaks, teasing through the thin fabric of her shift. She felt them harden, aching and tight. He suckled through the cloth, sending a stab of pleasure right down to her belly. She gasped, her back arching, pushing her farther into his embrace.
As they moved, Constance slid her hands down the ridges of his stomach, around his hips, over the cresting arch of his backside. Her mouth found his flesh, tasting, savoring, but keeping her fangs from seeking the sweetness below the skin. Her teeth ached, but the discomfort only made her more eager. She tentatively ran her fingers over the hair that curled low on him, and the hard, long, thick evidence of his pleasure. It was unexpectedly smooth, in places soft.
As she fondled it, a sound came from him, half rumble, half moan. She filed that information away, and slipped off her shift.
A soft gasp came from Mac, and his hands were on her breasts. Then his mouth. Then his fingers reached between her legs, finding the hot, wet secrets there. Instinctively, her knees drew up, parting to give him access. A restless pressure built in her stomach as he stroked her, finding places no one but she had ever touched. Pleasure coiled through her, pooling like oil in her belly, in the hard nubs of her nipples. She began to feel like she might burst, all her desire leaking from her, sweet and sticky.
A convulsive stab of wanting wracked her. And again. He kept up the questing, teasing, pushing, caressing until the stabs became a single, uncontrollable gasp of pleasure that ground her pelvis beneath his hand. Her vision blurred and meaningless, the candlelight melted into a single sunburst as waves of heat seared her.
She came out of it panting like she’d run a race. “Holy Mother,” she murmured.
“That’s just the beginning,” he murmured in her ear. The demon was in his eyes, sparking scarlet. She was starting to like that demon.
He poised himself above her, the muscles in his chest and arms bunching under his weight. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
Her mouth went utterly dry. “I’m a vampire. I’m not easy to hurt.”
He lowered himself to one elbow, using his free hand to move her leg, move himself until he was poised at her hot, wet entrance. Slowly, slowly he pushed his tip inside. The sensation seemed to flow, full and delicious, all the way to her throat.
It was too much. She reared to strike, to taste him, but the urge to bite was swept aside by a completely new and wondrous sensation. There was no way she was going to distract him now. But it was so hard to not bite, so hard, so hard____
... Oh, and yes, he was. He slid out and slid back in, farther this time, stretching and filling her more than felt possible. She moved to ease him in, instinct telling her when and where to push. The sensation blazed all conscious thought to ash. She pushed again, finding his rhythm.
A longer thrust pierced her, took the maidenhead that had been frozen in time along with the rest of her. She let out a rough cry but kept pushing, yearning, doing everything to engulf him inside her.
Her heart, long still, shuddered out a beat, and then another. Keeping time with his thrusts. It was a brief, temporary tryst with life, driven by extremes of emotion. He was bringing her back to life.
She hurtled toward the next crest. She tried to hold herself back, but the momentum was too huge, too urgent.
She clung to Mac, digging her fingers into his back. His skin was burning hot, shining in the candlelight. His scent rocked her senses, the sound of his lungs, his driving pulse loud in the Castle’s silence. It was too much.
He thrust again and her body clenched around him. He let out a sound that said as much as he had conquered her, she had conquered him. The power of it staggered her. At that moment, she ruled this massive demon-beast.
She felt a scream rising inside her, tickling between her aching breasts, then low in her throat. When Mac gave a last heave, the thrust drove her into the soft bed, hot, hot life spilling inside her. He shuddered, his face a mask of lust, the dark smell of him swamping her. She lost control, pleasure brutally slaking a thirst buried for the whole of her long, dry existence.
At last, the scream ripped out of her, a sound of raw triumph.
By the time Mac slept off the sex-induced-haze, he was ready to begin again. Apparently if he wasn’t stuffing his face, his body moved on to Plan B with equal drive.
Constance was curled against him, her cheek pressed against his chest. It was odd, because she was so still. No stirring. No breathing. No way to tell if she was awake or not. One hand was hooked around his waist, holding him as tightly as he was holding her.
It felt good to have her there. It had been far too long since he’d woken up with a woman. The night had given him even more pleasure than he’d expected. Snow White had hidden depths.