The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia 1)

And all the while Angelica’s mouth tasted his, and his fought to taste hers back, the Mark on his skin twisted and throbbed, knifing beneath his skin, tempting him… Take, take, take.

Slick and full, her lips molded over his, nibbling and licking as her body strained closer. Her br**sts, right there, free and loose just beyond his reach. Her nipple strained against the thin material. The druglike mix of lavender and orange and Angelica, warm and sweet and sensual.

Her hands brushed over his hot skin and he felt the flesh on his face tighten beneath her fingers. He lifted his chin and her touch slipped to cup his jaw. More, more…he wanted more. His lungs no longer worked and he felt as if he were drowning, spiraling into a vortex of pain-matched pleasure.

Her hip pressed against his torso, the fabric of her robe slid along his thigh. His fangs thrust hard and sharp, his gums swollen with the same need that filled his cock. Voss tried to say her name, but he couldn’t drag his thoughts together enough to take the breath.

The next thing he knew, she was lifting his shirt, pulling it from his trousers. The cooler air was good against his damp skin, and her hands were there…over his shoulders, his chest, along the tops of his arms. Tentative, so tentative and light that he wanted to groan with frustration.

She gasped in horror when she brushed over his Mark, and it leaped and pulsed beneath her touch, shooting dark, evil pain through him. “Oh, God, Dewhurst…” Angelica breathed.

Voss. Call me Voss.

He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but he wanted it. He wanted her. Deep within, his body strained and writhed with so many battling demands, weak and on fire.

Voss closed his eyes, tried desperately to block out the agony, to gather the strength to touch her. If he didn’t, he would die.

“Dewhurst,” she said, her voice penetrating the blaze of pain. She was close, her words warm on his desperate skin. He managed to lift a hand, though it felt like a hundredweight, and touch her face. “I’m going to take this off.” She lifted the necklace.

Yes, yes, yes. Oh, Luce. Oh, God, please, yes.

Voss drew in his breath as she closed her fingers around the chain. He struggled, his back was on fire, his body wouldn’t work…yet it strained and throbbed and needed.

No. He moved his lips. No.

He tasted blood—his own blood, and knew in a moment, if she pulled on that chain, if she yanked it away, it would be her blood. In his mouth. Her skin, her blood. Hot and sweet, so thick and filled with her…sliding down his throat, warming his belly, filling him. Yes, yes.

Voss was shaking as he fought it. Squeezed his eyes closed. No, he whispered. “No.” A single breath was all he could manage.

Angelica stepped away, taking her warmth, and he opened his eyes. Her fingers were still closed over the chain. Her dark, velvet-brown gaze covered him, wide and hot with pleasure. Beckoning. Her lips, full and well kissed, half parted. Her chest and br**sts, ni**les outlined, straining against the robe, rose and fell. Thick waves of her hair had come undone, half tumbled over her shoulders, a strand caught against her damp neck.

If he’d been able to breathe, he would have groaned at the pure beauty of her.

“If I remove some of the leaves…some of it?” she asked, and began to pluck at them. “Will it be…better?”

Voss swallowed. He couldn’t speak; he could formulate nothing. He managed a short nod and wondered, what next?

How long could he live through this torture?

Angelica felt the smooth leaves beneath her fingers, and watching Voss, breathless from the expression on his face, she pulled some away. Careful to gather them in her palm so they could be disposed of, she picked from the necklace.

Three, four clumps. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that more than half of the original remained. It also showed her a woman there, with unbound hair and flushed, rosy skin and parted lips. Nothing beneath her robe and shift but skin. Unbound, her br**sts felt full and ready, and the place between her legs hot and damp.

Turning away from the alluring image, Angelica took the small handful of leaves and put them into the small metal case in which they’d come. And then she turned back to Voss.

His eyes hadn’t left her. Dull, glassy with pain, yet hot and wild with desire, they followed her. The edges of his lips were white and he remained on the bed, half sprawled against a mound of pillows. The discarded shirt was a crumpled white heap on the floor; the awful neckcloth that predicted his death a snake on the rug.

And his chest, golden and broad, with sleek, hard muscles so different from her own soft and curvy torso. Hair grew there.… She’d never imagined hair on a man’s chest, a generous patch of gold and bronze over slabs of muscle. His shoulders, square and smooth, the skin soft and hot, called her back to his side. So beautiful.

What am I doing? she asked herself again.

But she closed her mind to the worries, the concerns, the propriety. Let herself feel.

She was in control. Safe. And she wanted to touch him, taste him. He wanted her to. His eyes begged her to, yet his face drew tight with pain. White near his lips, his skin shiny and damp from struggle.

This time when she came to him, he moved a bit, as if some of the restraint was eased. It had worked, then, she thought dimly as she bent to kiss him again. The necklace flipped forward, and he jolted when it hit his skin. His body whipped taut beneath her hands, bowing sharply. Angelica pulled away, slamming her hand over the plant stem, smashing it against her chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathed, horrified at the red mark that now appeared across his throat. Like a burn.

“Kiss…me,” he managed to say, his fingers trying to close around her arm. “Just…kiss…me.… Touch…me.”

She did. She slid her hands up and over the flat planes of his chest, into his hair, kissed the salty-warmth of his skin. It trembled and shook beneath her touch and when his hand moved slowly and awkwardly to cup her breast, Angelica pushed into him.

His finger shifted, finding her nipple, somehow easing its way down beneath the fabric to touch it. She snatched in a breath of surprise and pleasure as he moved, just so slightly, over the very sensitive tip. Little shocks shot down into her belly, down into the heat between her legs where her quim felt full and ready. Ready.

Oh, she said silently as he moved his finger, swirling around in delicate circles, his eyes fastened on her. Red-hot. His breath came faster and his face darkened, tightened into a shiny mask. Folding into themselves, his lips disappeared into a grim line. His great effort was evident as he shifted his other hand, moving down her belly, toward the throbbing center of herself.