Velvet Cataclysm (Princes of the Underground 1)

He didn’t tell himself to move, but suddenly he was sweeping the items off Christina’s desk and lifting her onto it, bending over her as he continued to send his tongue deep in the honeyed cavern of her mouth, striking out again and again to capture her flavor, shivering uncontrollably at the sound and sensations of her whimpers as they vibrated her throat. His incisors throbbed with a need to extend, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop feeding on the sweetest mouth in existence.

She pressed her soft mound against his erection, her hips rolling in tight, sensual circles against his straining flesh. The sensation of her pointed nipples thrusting against his chest made him lift his head and growl.

She stared up at him with desire-glazed green eyes. He had never known what the color green was—never known what color was period—until he’d first seen Christina. Pink was only pink because it was the sensation that had hit his brain when he first saw the bloom in her cheek and her lush, rosebud mouth.

Her lips wer

e red now, not just from his ravening kiss, but with desire. His cock lurched furiously in his jeans, demanding its due. He saw only a pulsing haze of pure gold flickering with a rainbow of throbbing color and Christina’s beautiful face at the center of it. He heard the rush of blood pounding in her veins even more clearly than he heard the thud of his own frenzied heartbeat. The aura of pulsating light surrounding her became tinged with red.

Against his will, his incisors elongated, the sensation excruciatingly painful and arousing at once. He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t stop.

He was lost in a dream of pulsing color and blinding hunger. He ripped at her pants. Buttons clicked and skittered across the wood floor. He jerked her panties to her thighs and pierced warm, weeping, succulent flesh with his finger. Her head jerked up off the desk, her long, near-black hair falling like a silken cape down her shoulders and back. She bit her bottom lip, stifling a moan as he slid his finger in and out of her tight channel. It maddened him the way her sleek muscles squeezed around him, as though she never wanted him to leave her.

And the gods knew he never wanted to.

She clenched her teeth in an agony of pleasure. He was rough with her and he knew it, reaching high into her, kneading her tender cunt mercilessly. Her vitessence pulsated and sparked around her, looking like a rich, golden cloud spiked with flashing, colorful fireflies. He bathed in it, every cell of his being absorbing her energy hungrily. He flicked his forefinger rapidly across her swollen clit and watched her face tighten with pleasure while her aura surged, the tiny, living lights flickering more rapidly until they overwhelmed his vision.

He ripped at his own jeans, wanting…needing…to be fully embedded in her when her entire being exploded and the essence of Christina blasted into him.

Gods, he hurt. His hunger clawed at him. He fumbled wildly to free his cock as he continued to stimulate her, his eyes never leaving her rapturous face. His cock felt heavy and stretched to maximal volume when he finally took it in his hand and arrowed it toward Christina’s tender cleft. He slid his finger out of her and replaced it with the head of his cock, hearing her gasp at the sudden invasion.

Then she was sinking her nails into his shoulders and shuddering in orgasm.

Her vitessence thundered into him like a tidal wave. His head flung back. His grunts mixed with Christina’s whimpers of release. Her pussy milked the hypersensitive head of his cock. He snarled, his fangs fully bared, and leaned over her, held spellbound by the pulse throbbing at her throat.

He flexed his ass muscles in preparation to fully pierce succulent female flesh, but at the same moment, his tension amplified for another reason.

“Shhh…quiet yourself, beauty,” he whispered harshly, silencing Christina’s mewls of anguished pleasure. She opened her eyes sluggishly and slowed in the eye-crossing little thrusts of her hips as she tried to seat his cock farther in her.

A second later someone pounded on the office door. With supreme effort, Saint drew in his incisors until they only barely protruded past his other teeth.

“Give me a minute, Aidan. Wait for me in the dayroom,” he called over his shoulder, ascendancy flavoring his tone with authority.

“Okay,” the boy replied from the other side of the door. Saint listened to the sound of Aidan’s fading tread with a potent mixture of gratitude and regret. He met Christina’s wide-eyed stare and withdrew his cock from her warm clasp.

Every nerve in his body screamed in protest at the cruelty of the resulting pain.

Her hands tightened in anguish on Saint’s shoulders when he separated himself from her.

“How…how did you know it was Aidan?” Her voice sounded hoarse, like she hadn’t used it in a week. It was the white-hot blaze of pure pleasure that had scored her throat, undoubtedly, just like it had the rest of her body.

Saint didn’t respond. Her senses swam in a thick haze of arousal. He straightened and her eyes sprang wide. He’d shoved his jeans down to his thighs. Christina had frequently admired—well, salivated, in fact—over the manner in which Saint filled out his jeans. Seeing his full glory revealed left her brain vibrating with stunned lust. His long, beautifully shaped, golden-hued cock flushed with arousal was one thing. But his penis was erotically highlighted by a leather thong that encircled his lower hips and both thighs, just below his round, shaved testicles. She caught a glimpse of two leather straps tied tightly against his muscular left leg, a thin sheath of sorts, strapped to his outer thigh.

It figured. Saint couldn’t just wear a pair of boxers like most guys.

He pulled his jeans over his hips, inserting his swollen cock down his right pant leg with a grimace. Reality crashed in on her as she watched him fasten his button-fly, wincing as he did so.

“You called him here with your mind,” she whispered incredulously. “You wanted Aidan to interrupt us…to interrupt this,” she said as she nodded to the juncture of her naked, spread thighs. His eyes flashed dangerously when he glanced to where she referred.

He turned his back to her.

Turned his back on her, Christina realized. A band seemed to pull tight around her chest, constricting her breath. Her lungs burned.

“Get dressed and meet us out in the dayroom,” he ordered briskly.

But Christina remained spread-eagled and aghast for several seconds after he left. No human could engage in something so intimate and then just blithely turn and walk away.