They merely served to sharpen her hunger for his vein.
His body arched upward as she laid herself upon him, and oh, the heat. Boiling up through his skin and magnifying her body's need, sure as a simmer was made into a rioting fervor.
It had been so long since she had struck any male. And back in her earliest past, it had been done only under the strict supervision of not just her father, but the other males of her bloodline: Indeed, throughout all of it, there had been a ceremonial feel, biology tempered by society and social expectation.
She had never been aroused. And if the fine, gentlemale she'd used had been, he had wisely shown no such reaction.
This was everything that the former experiences had not been.
This was raw, and wild. . . and very sexual.
"Take from me," he commanded, his jaw locking, his chin lifting, his throat becoming even more exposed.
As she brought her head down, she shook from head to foot, and she struck with no grace whatsoever -
This time, the moan came from her.
His taste was like nothing she could recall, a screaming roar in her mouth, over her tongue, down her throat. His blood was so much purer and stronger than that which she had had, and oh, the power of him. It was as if the potency of his warrior's body poured into hers, transforming her into something so much more than she had ever been before.
"Take more," he urged in a rough voice. "Take everything. . . . "
She did as he commanded, readjusting the angle of her head so that her seal was even more perfect. And as she drank with renewed gusto, she found herself becoming acutely aware of the weight of her breasts as they rested on his chest. And of the ache in her gut that no matter how much she took in seemed only to get sharper. And of the languid nature of her legs. . . as if all they wanted to do was fall open.
For him.
The reversal of her tense rigidity was so complete, it felt irreversible, and what did that matter? So consumed was she that she cared for naught but more of what she was getting.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tohr orgasmed shortly after No'One's first strike. There was just no stopping the contraction of his balls or the pulsing shocks that traveled up his shaft or the explosion that blew out the head of his cock as he jerked underneath the sheets.
"Fuuuuuck. . . No'One. . . "
As if she knew what had just happened, and what he was asking permission for, she nodded against his throat. Then went so far as to take his wrist and push his hand under the sheet.
No asking twice on that one.
Spreading his legs, he stroked his rigid length in a rhythm that matched the pulls on his vein. And as he released again, his arousal kicking like mad, he dipped down, gathered his sac, and squeezed hard. Pleasure and pain became a fun-house mirror, the distorting reflection of one against the other amplifying everything from the feel of the fangs in his neck to his below-the-waist eruptions.
The sense of letting go, of putting aside the pain he struggled with night and day, was such a fucking relief. He was the lake temporarily melted and free from its ice cover, and he reveled in his openness to her, the way he let himself lie there beneath her slight body, captured and held by her dainty weight and her powerful bite.
It had been so long since he had felt anything good deep in the permafrost of his soul. And because he knew that all of his burdens would be waiting for him when this halcyon sunrise faded, he drew himself even more into the experience, deliberately clothing himself in all the sensations.
When No'One finally retracted her fangs, the drawing lick of her tongue as it sealed the puncture wounds made him come all over again: the wet, warm drag over his skin translated down his body to his erection, which kicked and bucked, sending out more of what already covered his lower belly and soaked the sheets.
He stared up into her eyes as he orgasmed, biting down on his lower lip, kicking his head back - so that she knew exactly what he was doing.
And that was when he knew. . . she wanted some for herself.
Her luscious scent told him so.
"Will you let me make you feel good?" he said hoarsely.
"I. . . I do not know what to do. "
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes. . . " she breathed.