Chapter 4 A Sacred Kill #2
When he tore his mouth away, she heaved a breath. “Nora,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Offer me your throat again—on the bed this time.”
The air filling her lungs restored some coherent thought. She realized she had him right where she wanted him. One more drink of the poison, and he wouldn’t have the strength to hold her like this ever again. She pushed him toward the bed, preempting any negotiation with more kisses.
When the back of his knees hit the mattress, triumph glinted in his eyes. “Can you deny you want me under you?”
“I cannot.” She could scarcely believe these words were coming out of her mouth. But it was all according to plan, she reminded herself. “I’m offering to ride you while you drink from me.”
“This isn’t the Drink any longer. This is what we call the Feast.” He unfastened his high-collared robe, revealing his own throat. Then the golden-brown contours of his chest and torso, accentuated by black hair. He shrugged the robe off his broad shoulders.
A strange longing filled her as her gaze swept down his muscular arms. She could tell by his strength that he had once been a soldier. But not a scar blemished his immortal body.
He stretched out on the bed, half reclining against the pillows. Her mouth watered, as if she too were a bloodthirsty heretic.
There was no husband in her future. This was the only time she would ever share this bed with anyone. She had this one opportunity to discover what it felt like. And no one would ever know what had happened in this room.
As long as she kept her maidenhead, she wouldn’t betray the promise she’d made to herself.
She drew her skirts up, careful to gather plenty of fabric to cushion the scabbard. What a dangerous game she was playing. A rush coursed through her limbs as she climbed onto the bed with him.
She slid her leg over him, straddling his lap. His thighs were hard under hers. She rested her hands on his bare chest for balance, positioning herself. He would not feel the smooth leather strap on the inside of her thigh through this much clothing.
“You may not touch my thighs,” she informed him. “I will offer you other places for your hands.”
“Will you, now? I cannot wait to find out where.”
She reached up and began to remove her veil. His heated gaze tracked each pin she plucked out. No one had ever looked at her like this, as if her every move mesmerized him. She had him in her thrall.
“I’m offering you my hair.” She tossed her veil aside and shook out her curls. As she leaned down over him, he reached up to bury both hands in her mane. The feeling of his fingers on her scalp sent a tingle through the rest of her.
“Unlace my gown,” she invited.
He didn’t tease her like the night before. He tugged open her bodice with demanding hands. “No undergarments tonight? That is clearly an offer.”
“Leave my sleeves on,” she reminded him.
“Of course.” He held his hands out to her. And waited.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. No one would ever find out. And she needed to make sure he was thoroughly distracted before she made her move.
She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her belly. She slid his palm down her skin, past the vee of her open gown. When his fingers touched her nether curls, she sucked in a breath.
“When you offered me your hair,” he said, “I had no idea you would be so generous.”
“Touch me here,” she said. “Any way you like.”
“Oh, Nora, are you sure you can withstand the temptation if I show you this?”
“Yes,” she snarled.
He gave her that presumptuous smile of his. “Has anyone touched you here before?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you ever touched yourself?”
That bastard. She didn’t answer, but she felt her cheeks flaming, and his smile widened.
“Show me how you like to be touched,” he said.
She guided his hand between her legs. A frisson traveled through her at the feeling of his big, strong hand cupping her. Together, they pressed their fingers into her folds.
“You’re already wet,” he purred. “It was a good kiss, wasn’t it? But it left you wanting more.”
She dipped his finger into her core, then slicked her most sensitive place. He followed her lead, letting her move his finger in a circle around the bud of nerves.
She bit down hard on her lip. His hand felt so different…so good…
“Is this how you like it?” he asked.
She nodded, her hair falling in her eyes. She kept her hand on his for a moment longer, but he soon had the rhythm. When her grip went slack, he took over. He didn’t need her to show him anything. He knew exactly how to touch her.
“You can’t read my mind!” she protested again.
“But I can sense what gives you pleasure…and I have five hundred years of experience with the female body.”
She gasped, bracing her hands on his chest for support.
Wrapping her hair around his other hand, he pulled her closer. He kissed his way roughly down her throat, his caresses a smooth torture between her legs. “One release is never enough for you, is it?”
She swiveled her hips into the rhythm of his touch, chasing the sensations.
“Do you have to pleasure yourself over and over to feel satisfied?”
He could sense her darkest desires. He increased the pressure of his fingers. She sank into his touch, her thighs trembling as he built the delicious tension inside her. Her body responded to his dexterous hand with such greed that she could feel herself crashing toward release already.
He eased off, leaving her quivering on the edge. “Is it hard to be quiet when you climax?”
She bit his shoulder to keep from moaning.
“I’ve covered your room in veil spells. I’m going to make you scream for me tonight, and no one will hear you.”
“I’m not that depraved,” she rasped.
“There is nothing depraved about your appetites. You need someone as hungry as you are to enjoy them with you.”
He struck her throat. Pleasure tore down through her body and flowed up from his hand. His ravenous sucks at her vein and the relentless glide of his fingers crashed together, too intense.
She stifled her scream against his neck. When the first waves had barely eased, he kept drawing on her throat, holding the thread of tension taut inside her. She snapped, and longer, deeper spasms wracked her body, leaving her gasping with relief.
He could make her come apart all night. His wicked power could exorcise her desires.
But the force of his bite weakened. The poison was working.
His grip on her hair slipped, and his other hand slid out of her gown. Cold struck her throat as his jaw went slack. It was already over.
It was time for her to act.
“Nora?” he wavered.
That plea pulled at her heart.
She eased his head back on the pillow. Her pulse raced with a panic she had never expected. All she could think was that no one had ever showed a shred of respect for her foolish drawings except this Hesperine.
Lies. All of it. This illusion of closeness meant nothing. His seduction would only lead to her paying for his brother’s death for all eternity.
Nora reached under her skirts and slid the blade along her thigh.
When she raised Arceo, his eyes widened, and he tried to lift his hands. But she held him down easily. Who was the helpless one now?
A scream of rage tore out of her as she brought the blade down.