The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

He lifted my hips, and I barely saw him move. All I knew was that his mouth was on me. Air fled my lungs. His tongue delved inside my slick heat as his head twisted, dragging a cry of pleasure from me as one fang grazed my sensitive nub of flesh. The strokes of his tongue were firm and determined. He licked and sucked. He feasted, feeding from me as desperately as he had at my throat. I was lost. My body tried to follow, but the hands at my hips held me in place.

Casteel devoured.

I shook and trembled, the heat building in me fierce and intense—almost too intense. My fingers curled, pressing into the floor as he dragged a fang over the bundle of nerves once more. I jerked, crying out at a sharp prick of pain. His mouth closed around the throbbing flesh, and that sensation echoed in the bite mark on my throat. And that—that—was too much.

I choked on a scream as I shattered into thousands of silk-draped shards, barely able to hold myself up as tight spasms wracked me. I was still trembling when his mouth left me. I felt the press of his glossy lips against the center of my back.

“Honeydew,” he growled. “You taste of honeydew, and your skin smells of jasmine. Fuck.”

Head limp, I looked back at him. I watched his hand go to the flap of his breeches. He tore at them, sending little discs of metal scattering across the floor. My body flushed as he shoved the ruined, dirtied breeches down his lean hips, freeing the thick, hard length of his erection.

He stretched over me, his mouth grazing my jaw and then the line of my neck, sending a hot, tight shiver down my spine. The feel of his skin, now blazing hot against my back, shook me.

He brushed his lips over my skin, and then I felt his fangs on those ultra-sensitive bite marks as the head of his cock nudged my slick core. He didn’t pierce the skin. His fangs were just there, holding me in place as one hand folded around my hip again and the other curled around my chin. He tilted my head farther back and to the side. Another illicit thrill rocked me, pushing all the air from my lungs. All those briefly relaxed muscles went taut once more. I panted as a sharp swirl of anticipation sliced its way through me.

“I’m not…” His body shook against mine, his fingers trembling against my cheeks, my throat and arms, as he dragged them down, following the curve of my waist. He gripped my hips, his fingers pressing into the flesh there, and when he spoke, his voice was thick and needy, a coarse and ragged whisper. “I’m not…I’m not in control.”

A pounding pulse of desire followed those words, becoming a roar in my blood. It was such an intense wave of sensation, leaving the tips of my breasts tight, and the very core of me throbbing all over again. “Neither am I.”

“Thank fuck,” he grunted, and then his mouth closed over mine.

After ending the kiss, Casteel struck, sinking his fangs into my throat as he thrust deeply, all the way to the hilt. I cried out, my back arching. The twisting ache of pain-tinged pleasure tore its way through my body, sparking every nerve and igniting into a blaze of wild, raw sensation that became pure ecstasy. The feel of him filling me, stretching me, left no room for anything else. His presence dominated.

Casteel held me there, on my hands and knees, back arched with his fangs still deep in the side of my throat. There was no hesitation, no moment of reprieve. He moved behind me, fast and hard, and drank from me, deep and long. I felt each pull against my throat and every tug and push of his throbbing length throughout the entirety of my body. His weight—the force of how he lunged in and out—took me to the floor, trapping me there. The cold press of the wood against my breasts, and the heat of his body on my back as he kept my head lifted, neck exposed, was a sinful shock.

Suddenly, he lifted me onto my knees again, drawing me back so I was flush with his chest. The tunic finally slipped free of my wrists, but his arm snagged mine, pinning them below my breasts. His thrusts were a raging storm, and the sounds he made as he fed—the sounds I made as he took me—were scandalous. And I reveled in it.

He rose without warning, standing with one powerful surge. A ragged gasp of surprise parted my lips as my feet left the floor. Good gods, his strength…

Casteel turned sharply, pressing me against the bedpost. “Brace yourself, my Queen.”

I almost came again, right there, at the sound of his raw demand. Gripping the beam, I had no way of preparing myself. Not as he drew me to the tips of my toes, his hips churning against my ass. His hand fisted in my hair as he tugged my head back.