Demon Blood

everywhere. The press of his fingers nearing her center. The roll of his tongue on her nipple. And still she wanted more. So much more . . . She feared how much more she wanted.
    His fingers curled inward and abruptly stopped. He lifted his face toward her, staring in disbelief.
    “You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet.”
    Did he think she wouldn’t react? That Guardians couldn’t? “Yes.”
    His voice deepened. “Then come up here.”
    A push of his hand told her exactly how. She came up on the hood, straddling his thighs. Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. She had Deacon between her legs. The thickness of his erection formed a hard ridge against her sex.
    “Kiss me again.”
    She did, and this time she kissed him as she wanted to. Hungry, deep. And didn’t stop, even when she felt the probing between her legs, the separation of her wet folds. Pressure at her entrance was followed by a faint pain. Oh, God. He was . . .
    He stopped, barely inside, and pulled his mouth from hers. His voice was ragged.
    “God, Rosie. You’re so little.”
    What was she supposed to say? She didn’t know. His gaze locked with hers and the penetration continued, ever deeper, Deacon slowly working himself into her. It felt good. And strange. And she couldn’t stop herself from tensing up, not quite so aroused now, but . . . uncertain.
    He must have sensed it. “You want me to stop?”
    She shook her head. She just wanted to know what to do. To be a part of this again, because somewhere along the way, she’d become lost. Distant. But she knew the mechanics, didn’t she? She’d seen this so many times in her life. She knew how it worked.
    But when she moved her hips, she felt him slip out of her. No, she didn’t want to quit now. It had felt lovely and she’d never—
    She looked down. It took a moment for her to realize that she’d gotten it all wrong. His trousers were still zipped, the fabric wet. She rode his hand between her thighs. His middle finger glistened.
    “Oh,” she whispered, then half laughed. “That wasn’t—I thought—”
    “That I was fucking you?” Anger returned to his voice. “You’d go that far?”
    “Yes.” Obviously, yes. She’d thought they already had .
    And maybe Deacon meant to now. He took her mouth again, his tongue pushing past her lips. She felt his fingers working between her folds again, and pressure inside—so deep. His thumb slid up, began to circle.
    And that quickly she was back in it, wanting too much, no longer lost. Deacon scraped his fangs down her neck, then sucked the tip of her breast into his mouth. Rosalia’s head fell back, her eyes closing, her fingers clenching as if she could hold on to something, hold something in. Need and excitement swelled within her, growing too fast, too big. She hadn’t thought it would be this . Rough. Hot. Urgent. She’d thought it would be sweet, and soft. Not . . . not this . . .
    Out of control.
    “Deacon—”
    She cried out as the pressure increased. A second finger joined his first, thrusting slowly. She hadn’t known the burn, the pain could be so good. Too good.
    “Stop . . . Oh, God. You’ve got to stop. Before I come.”
    And she couldn’t stop herself. She was still moving on his hand when he pulled it away. He watched her, not speaking, his face still hard. Almost sobbing, she quieted her body.
    It took a few more moments before she could breathe steadily enough to explain. “I don’t know if I can shield my mind. Sardis’s compound is too close. The vampires there might sense my presence.”
    His eyes narrowed. “How can you not know? You’ve come before.”
    “Yes. But only alone. Cocooned in the dark.” And that sounded . . . pathetic. She put on a smile and tried to turn it around. “When I’m desperate and lonely.”
    Something in his expression changed. She couldn’t read it. And she couldn’t stand not knowing, but wouldn’t ask.
    She pulled off. Stumbling to the grassy verge, she sat heavily, her hands covering her face. The pressure inside her built up again, but this time she felt no pleasure. Only panic. She’d come so close to not caring whether she revealed herself. To losing control at his touch—and loving it. This wasn’t the risk she was supposed to be taking.
    Behind her, Deacon cursed, and Rosalia steeled herself. She recognized the harshness of his tone. It always appeared in his voice just before he told her to fuck off.
    “At least now we know how far you’ll go. You’ll