Unknown - Scorched

He poised himself above her, the muscles in his chest and arms bunching under his weight. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”

Her mouth went utterly dry. “I’m a vampire. I’m not easy to hurt.”

He lowered himself to one elbow, using his free hand to move her leg, move himself until he was poised at her hot, wet entrance. Slowly, slowly he pushed his tip inside. The sensation seemed to flow, full and delicious, all the way to her throat.

It was too much. She reared to strike, to taste him, but the urge to bite was swept aside by a completely new and wondrous sensation. There was no way she was going to distract him now. But it was so hard to not bite, so hard, so hard____

... Oh, and yes, he was. He slid out and slid back in, farther this time, stretching and filling her more than felt possible. She moved to ease him in, instinct telling her when and where to push. The sensation blazed all conscious thought to ash. She pushed again, finding his rhythm.

A longer thrust pierced her, took the maidenhead that had been frozen in time along with the rest of her. She let out a rough cry but kept pushing, yearning, doing everything to engulf him inside her.

Her heart, long still, shuddered out a beat, and then another. Keeping time with his thrusts. It was a brief, temporary tryst with life, driven by extremes of emotion. He was bringing her back to life.

She hurtled toward the next crest. She tried to hold herself back, but the momentum was too huge, too urgent.

She clung to Mac, digging her fingers into his back. His skin was burning hot, shining in the candlelight. His scent rocked her senses, the sound of his lungs, his driving pulse loud in the Castle’s silence. It was too much.

He thrust again and her body clenched around him. He let out a sound that said as much as he had conquered her, she had conquered him. The power of it staggered her. At that moment, she ruled this massive demon-beast.

She felt a scream rising inside her, tickling between her aching breasts, then low in her throat. When Mac gave a last heave, the thrust drove her into the soft bed, hot, hot life spilling inside her. He shuddered, his face a mask of lust, the dark smell of him swamping her. She lost control, pleasure brutally slaking a thirst buried for the whole of her long, dry existence.

At last, the scream ripped out of her, a sound of raw triumph.

By the time Mac slept off the sex-induced-haze, he was ready to begin again. Apparently if he wasn’t stuffing his face, his body moved on to Plan B with equal drive.

Constance was curled against him, her cheek pressed against his chest. It was odd, because she was so still. No stirring. No breathing. No way to tell if she was awake or not. One hand was hooked around his waist, holding him as tightly as he was holding her.

It felt good to have her there. It had been far too long since he’d woken up with a woman. The night had given him even more pleasure than he’d expected. Snow White had hidden depths.

He looked down without moving his head. The view gave him a slice of her face: one brow, the bridge of her nose, a scoop of dark lashes. Constance was right where she ought to be, where he could keep her safe.

He’d lost his humanity, but he’d gotten laid. There had to be some cosmic meaning there. Or not. He didn’t feel like picking holes in the first good thing that had happened to him in a long, long time. Talk about a silver lining. Thinking about it was making him horny.

Constance lifted her head, her gaze tentative. “Hello.”

He grinned. She looked sleepy and tousled and terribly cute. “Hello.”

She folded her arms on his chest, resting her chin on the prop they made. Her bare arms were slender, but he could see the muscles in them. She’d worked hard when she’d been a human woman.

They looked at each other for a long moment. He could see all the usual post-lovemaking questions written on her face, and for some reason it made him happy. If she cared enough for all the usual womanly fretting, that made what they’d shared real. “You belong to me now,” he said, figuring that covered all the important points.

“I do?”

The way she said it, both relieved and resigned, made him stop and think. She came from a time of slaves and servants. “I don’t mean that I literally own you.”

She looked perplexed.

Caveman was messing with his words again, making them come out like he was some knuckle dragger fresh from the How to Discover Fire seminar. He tried again. “I mean anything you want, anytime you’re in trouble, I’m here.” He wound a finger into her hair. It ran over his skin like dark, heavy silk. She was the sort of beauty anyone would be happy to have on his arm. The sort that would stop a room cold.

Her gaze searched his features. “You’ll rescue Sylvius?”

“I keep my promises.”

“Good.” The word was heavy with more nuances than he could guess at. Maybe she wasn’t used to people keeping their word.

“Once that’s over with, you really should come see my world sometime,” he said. “You’d have fun.”

She hesitated, objections, then uncertainty, filling her eyes. “I’m sure that would be nice.”

“I’d make sure you had a good time.”

The look she gave him was pure female. Her thigh shifted against his, severely distracting him. “It couldn’t have been better than what we just did. I never imagined ...”

He put his finger on her lips. “There’s more ahead.”

She blinked at that. “What I meant to say is that you were kinder than I deserved. I did try to bite you before.”

Mac laughed at that. “True, but you didn’t this time.”

“I was busy. I’m only half a vampire, I think that made it easier to hold back. Plus, you’re not really food anymore.”

“Maybe.” He wound another piece of her hair around his fingers, using it to draw her in for a kiss.

“You were good to me,” she said.

“You were good to me.”

They kissed, taking their time over it.

“You left me that book about Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy,” she said.

“Did you like it?”

“I did. I liked everything about it.”

“Like what?”

“It wasn’t just about one or two people; all the folk fit together. It reminded me of so much of my old life. There was the wise sister and the foolish sister, the pretty one and the one you just knew would never make a match. And the men had fine families, too, although they weren’t altogether what I would call easy sorts to get along with.”

Mac was enchanted. “And were you the pretty sister, or the wise one, or both?”

“I was the baby straggling behind the rest.” She smiled ruefully. “All my sisters were wed. Only the last of the boys were still at home. I wished I would’ve been older, when there were more of my family in the house. Still, it was grand at celebrations when everyone came home. That’s what I’ve always wanted—everyone around the table, eating and laughing.”

Such talk of domestic bliss was enough to make most men bolt. Mac was too comfortable to move.

“What about you?” She blinked away a strand of hair that was hanging in her eyes, tangling in her lashes.

He brushed the hair away. “There was just me and my mom.”

“Just you? No one to share the chores?”

“It’s not so bad when you live in the city.”

“All the same, lucky for your mother you were there!”

“So she liked to remind me. She’s gone now.” He paused. “But say, I brought you another book. I’m not sure what it’ll be like because I picked it up in the grocery store. It has a pirate on the cover.”

“A pirate?”

“With no shirt. He’s going to get a sunburn.” She gave him an incredulous look. “He’s daft! Even a sailor can afford a shirt. I’m not sure about your pirate.”