Burning Up

all frustrated power, arms bunching as he fought his chains. Yet he seemed scarcely aware of them, so utterly was he focused on her, on every tiny thing she did.
    His face fascinated her. There was a muscle in his jaw that leaped and bunched each time she flicked her tongue over his nipples. He really was a handsome man, his face all jutting bone, deep hollows and uncompromising angles. It was a warrior’s face, one that could have been sculpted by the Red God himself for the battlefield—designed to lead men and bellow orders and snarl as he swung a sword in lethal arcs.
    And he had a warrior’s body as well. His bunched upper arms were round as melons and near the size of her head. Each of his thighs appeared the width of her waist. Given the vampire strength within all that muscle, he’d be a formidable force on the battlefield.
    A killer.
    What if she could make him her killer? Amaris eyed him, considering the thick strength surging under her body, the wild black heat in his eyes.
    A solid mount indeed.
    Could she ride him? Could she trade him her blood for Marin’s freedom? Did she dare?
    Black eyes stared into hers, highlighted with candlelit reflection in flashes of liquid gold. The male hunger in that dark gaze demanded her surrender with a trace of savagery, as if he eyed her while riding at the head of an army.
    Not while he himself was bound and helpless.
    Raniero’s lips parted in invitation. His breath smelled of honey mead. Unable to resist, she bent closer and kissed him again.
    His mouth was soft, tempting, tangy with lemon, sweet with berries and honey. Amaris sighed, deepening the kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth, exploring the sensuality he offered.
    Something sharp pricked her tongue, and she frowned faintly, wondering. Until realization struck.
    It was one of his fangs.
    He was a vampire. In the storm of emotion and heat, she’d almost forgotten.
    Luscious as he was, so powerfully seductive as he lay there in pretended submission, he was a predator. And worse, he was a trapped predator. If she were stupid enough to offer him the magical blood he needed to break his chains, he’d be gone like a ghost at dawn. And she’d be left alone to confront Korban’s fury.
    Vampires could not be trusted.
    Anger surged in her, hot and sudden, spiked with helplessness. “Well,” she growled down into his startled eyes, “there’s one way I can use you.”
    She rose onto her knees in her simmering frustration, scooted back, grabbed the waistband of his breeches, and jerked downward. His cock sprang free, its strong length shading into delicious pink, its head ripe as a plum.
    Amaris grabbed that tempting thickness in one hand, rose over it, and impaled herself in a single breathless rush.
    Sensation ripped away her breath. He felt incredibly thick in her slick inner grip. She hadn’t even realized she was so wet, so swollen with heat and need. Teasing him had aroused her as much as it had him.
    Damn him to the six hells.
    Bracing her hands on his chest, Amaris rose, teasing herself with the juicy slide of his cock. Rolling her head back, she sank, acutely aware of his deep, rumbling groan.
    She told herself she no longer cared what the vampire felt. No longer cared if he moaned as she rode him. Cared not if his hungry black gaze lingered on her face, if his big hands clenched in desire, if his feet twitched in helpless reaction to her jogging strokes.
    All that mattered was the impaling heat between her legs that spun such sweet pleasure every time she rose and fell. The vampire ground his teeth and rolled his hips to meet her, adding his fierce power to her strokes. But that didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it. Wouldn’t let him matter.
    Vampires couldn’t be trusted. They lied. They hurt.
    And they killed.

FIVE
    R aniero ground his aching fangs as she rode him, head tossing until her curls teased his thighs. Amaris felt as deliciously wet as any fantasy he’d ever had, gripping him in a tight vise of feminine flesh. Each time she moved, jolts of pleasure surged straight up his cock and into his balls, drawing them tighter, hotter, until the raging need to come whipped him into a ferocious, heaving gallop beneath her.
    Red God’s Balls, what she’d done to him.
    Gripped in a fist of lust, Raniero watched her—the sweet, seductive bounce of the breasts he was dying to taste as they danced beyond his chained reach. Her torso rolled as she rode him, all elegant, slim curves, the