Silken Rapture (Princes of the Underground 2)

He knew the inevitable moment had arrived when he would touch her everywhere, feel every inch of her smooth skin beneath his lips, teeth and tongue. He longed for it, hungered for it, as he’d never longed for anything in his soulless existence.

He couldn’t stand for the moment to be marred by her look of horror if she fully absorbed his cursed essence with her sensitive fingertips, though.

He held her stare as he lifted her gown. As always, the sight of her pale, taut belly, gently curving hips and small, thrusting breasts excited him beyond measure. He lifted her arms and carefully manipulated the satin over her vulnerable hands. She watched him with wide eyes as he twisted the flimsy fabric of the gown into a slender rope.

“Put your wrists together above your head.”

“No,” she whispered.

He merely said Isabel and she raised her hands into a position that was familiar to her, even if she didn’t recall. She stared up at him, her hands clutched together loosely above her head, protecting the inner flesh of her palms and fingers. Often, when he was moving inside her, he’d tell her to open her palms so that he could see the tender, sensitive flesh. The vision never ceased to send a jolt of arousal though him.

At the moment, her gaze struck him as trusting, and yet unhappy at once.

“I do it for you, Isabel.”

“You’re not listening when I say I want to touch you.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he said gruffly as he bound her wrists together with the twisted fabric. She moaned when her hands were tied, arching her back and thrusting her pink nipples toward him. He knew she enjoyed being restrained, even if she protested at the moment, and that pleased him.

Everything about her pleased him.

He quickly shucked off the jeans he’d just donned and fingered the band of leather around his waist, hesitating. He glanced up and saw her stare fixed on his cock. His penis flicked upward, as if her gaze was a hot stroke along its length. For the first time in his long, long life, he removed his heartluster and the harness in order to lie with a woman.

So what if he was vulnerable during those ecstatic moments. His vulnerability was a given when it came to Isabel.

He straddled her thighs and placed his hands beneath the thick silk. He watched her face closely as he ran the exquisite fabric over her smooth skin. She moaned in pleasure.

“The royals have lost their prize,” he murmured, his gaze glued to the erotic vision of her nipples deepening in color and growing erect—such succulent, delicious fruit. He molded the silk to her hips, his hands holding her and stroking her at once. “The sheets were meant for our joining—no one else’s.”

“Yes.”

He met her heavy-lidded stare. She looked sublime to him in that moment, her skin smooth and gleaming next to the rich fabric, restrained and as helpless as he was to stop this deluge of desire.

“Ask me to touch you, Isabel. Ask me.”

“Make love to me, Blaise.”

He slid his hands beneath her ribcage and lifted her at the same moment he leaned down. She arched into him, her long, dark hair spreading against the drape of pale silk. He took her breast into his mouth and suckled the sweet morsel, his hunger exponentially strong because of his forced abstinence in tasting her flesh. Heat rushed into his groin, swelling his cock until it ached against stretched skin.

It would be a delicious agony to taste her everywhere.

He flicked the turgid nipple with his lashing tongue, mesmerized by the hint of the flavor of her blood rushing just beneath the surface. He fondled her other small breast as he suckled, gently pinching and stroking one while he feasted on the other.

Her moans and ragged pleas finally penetrated the thick fog of his arousal. He found himself hesitant to leave the breast in his mouth, so he paused and shaped her nipple lovingly between caressing lips. When he finally raised his head, her color had grown even richer. The nipple stood distended and stiff against the soft, pale curves of her breast.

She made a desperate, gasping sound and he felt the tension in her bowed body. He gently ran his incisors over the soft flesh at the side of her breast and down over her ribs. When she began to shudder as she broke in climax, he held her with both hands, relishing every tremble, absorbing her essence. He nursed her through her orgasm, applying just enough pressure with teeth and tongue to heighten and lengthen her pleasure to its fullest.

When she’d quieted, he set her back upon the floor and lay on his belly over her, his torso between her spread thighs. He spent the next half hour drowning himself in the sensation of her hips, waist and belly against his fingertips and tongue. He could never say why, but the pale harbor of her stomach had always enraptured him for some reason.

His restraint had failed tonight, but now that he had failed in his control, he planned to relish every moment of his downfall.

She told him what caresses she liked best and where she liked them the most. Not with words, but with the tension of her body and the tone of her sighs, whimpers and pleas. For most women, the scraping edge of his fangs caused intense pleasure, but Isabel was unusually susceptible, climaxing almost immediately at the caress. She’d already come multiple times, and her moans sounded increasingly frantic and dazed. So he refrained from using his teeth, instead utilizing his tongue and lips and fingers to excite her flesh.

Everything blended for him into a symphony of sensation. He was lost. She was a goddess, the very essence of life sculpted in flesh, and he worshipped at her altar.

This time, it was not her pleas and desperate moans that brought him out of his trance, but the flaring ache of his cock. Blood pounded along its length. He burned from the inside out. He’d been so hypnotized by the mysteries of Isabel’s flesh, he hadn’t kept track of his own body’s need for release.