The Vampire Dimitri (Regency Draculia 2)

Maia shuddered as warmth blossomed through her, her skin prickling at the sensation. Her heartbeat seemed to have changed, and it thrummed in her ears, reverberating through her entire being. She hardly realized what she was doing as her free hand moved around to the back of the chair, propping herself up just next to his hair. He slid his lips gently along the inside of her wrist and then paused, suddenly looking up at her.

His eyes were clearly illuminated and the expression there was so dark and hungry, yet filled with loathing, that she jolted.

“I don’t…want to…do this,” he breathed over her dampskin, and then suddenly he went rigid and the points of his teeth were there.

The slide of his fangs into the tender part of her wrist brought a surge of pleasure and pain. He made a low keening sound like a wild animal being freed—or tortured—and Maia felt the burst of blood as it flooded from her veins. He vibrated against her as if something suddenly released from deep inside him.

His mouth was warm, covering her, and his fingers tight on her wrist as if to keep it in place. The heat flowed out of her, leaving her light-headed and aware of every movement of his mouth and tongue as he sucked, licked, sucked…drawing from her in a base, undulating rhythm.

She looked down, watching in fascination as his dark head bent over her white arm. She smelled the blood, heard the soft whistling as he fed, the quiet gulps as he drank. And as life drained from her, it was replaced by rolling heat, building and surging as if her veins sang.

Maia’s fingers filtered into his dark hair, finding it warm and soft, damp from the water, and she sagged against him. Her br**sts felt tight and sensitive and she realized she was breathing in little gasps with her lips parted. There was something more…she needed something more.

He shifted on the chair, suddenly releasing his fangs from her arm and then slipping his warm tongue over the wounds in sensual little circles. She sighed and arched, a painful little tingle of pleasure starting deep inside her belly and moving down.

His hand slid up behind her neck and grasped her skull as he pulled her down onto his lap. She closed her eyes, her hands planted on the solid planes of his bare shoulders and then she jolted when he bit into the soft part of her shoulder.

Maia cried out in surprise and pain, then arched toward him as hot blood surged from that delicate skin into his mouth. His tongue slid, flat and sleek, over her shoulder, then retreated as he drew rhythmically from her. Strong hands held her immobile, close, and she felt his body tight and hard against hers, lurching a little with the effort.

His big hands cupped her, his mouth took, the heat from his body burned into her hands and through her clothing.

Maia’s world spiraled into a red blaze that was nothing like her dreams, but just as sensual and compelling. Blood coursed through her veins and she felt it swelling and surging, pouring forth. She couldn’t catch her breath. Everything became him.

She wanted him.

Then all at once, he froze. Some guttural curse erupted from his throat as he whipped his face from her shoulder, his fingers tight as he shoved her back, his movements violent and sharp, his breathing loud and labored in the room.

“You blasted fool,” he snapped, pushing her from his lap as if she were an unwanted cat. His eyes blazed like coals and his lips were full and slick, the very tip of a fang caught against one.

Maia, startled from the lull, stumbled as she tried to catch her balance. A hand whipped out and grabbed her arm just in time, but with the force of it, she knocked into the table and tipped it over. Her knees buckled and she sagged in his grip, weak and confused, her eyes rolling back into her head.

“Maia,” he said, urgent now, furious. “Look at me, blast it.”

She opened her eyes with great effort and tried to focus on the dark figure looming over her.

“Damned bones of Satan, I told you to use the damned rubies.” He was fairly shouting, yet his hands were gentle as he eased her into the chair he had just vacated. “Why didn’t you use the rubies?”

She noted vaguely that he seemed to have fully recovered, although when he bumped gracelessly against her chair and nearly fell on top of her, she was forced to revise that conclusion.

Other than that, she could hardly capture her whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The fluttering heat still swirled in her belly and she felt the slow ooze of blood from her shoulder. Warm. The wound on her wrist seemed to have stopped; all that was left were four dainty red marks.

She forced herself to focus now, and she let her head tilt against the back of the chair, looking up at him. He leaned over her, bracing himself with a hand on each side, his muscular arms bracketing her in.

“Maia,” he said, a bit more gently now—which was to say, at a lower volume, though no less tense—and there was an odd note in his tone. “You…” His voice trailed off and their eyes locked.

Everything stopped. Maia could hardly draw a breath.

Inside, everything exploded into hot fluttering. “Are you going to kiss me now?” she whispered.

His lips formed a silent “Can’t. No.”

But then he did.

She met his mouth as it crashed down on hers, hungry and warm with the residual of her own rich blood. His lips were hard and demanding, forcing her mouth open as he thrust his tongue deep. A powerful thigh wedged into the seat next to her and Maia found that she couldn’t move; she was pinned down into the chair by his hands and mouth, his dark, powerful body rising over her.

Grasping at the tails of his shirt, she pulled, tugging him closer, her hands sliding over the planes of his chest. His muscles shifted and trembled beneath her palms, the hair soft and prickly, skin hot and smooth.

At last, at last…was all she could think.

He had her face cupped in his big hands, fingers curling behind, thumbs pressing into her jaw as he drank from her mouth now, then pulled away with a soft, deep groan to cover the wound on her shoulder again.

This time, he didn’t penetrate, but instead, slicked his tongue over the curve of her shoulder, down into the little soft hollow of skin. Maia shivered and tried to shrug him away, for the sensation was intense, but he delved deeper, his tongue dipping and sliding, sipping from the last bit of her blood, his lashes tickling her neck. She felt her pulse coursing against his mouth, pounding against his lips, her heartbeat matching his as her hands found it through his chest.

“Please,” she whispered, not quite certain what she needed, rolling her head against the back of the chair as she tried to find it, shifting her hips. She was hot and damp every where, tight and tingling and she wanted his hands and mouth in places they had no business going.