Demon Blood

Rosie.”
    She nodded, then stilled when she felt the first touch against her wet core. Her fingers bit into her knees. She couldn’t hold his gaze and looked down. The thick head of his penis parted her folds, teasing through her center, but not entering. Aching with need, she tried to lift toward him and push him inside. His free hand gripped her hip, held her down. Slowly, he rubbed the wide tip against her clitoris, already so sensitive. Rosalia’s muscles locked, a cry caught in her throat. She’d have begged him, she needed him inside, to know what it would be, but he was already pushing down through her sex, pushing in .
    Her legs shook, her trembling hands on her knees unable to hold them still. She watched him sink inside. Oh, dear God, she had not taken even half his length and there was so much pressure. Her chest heaved as she tried to manage it, not even certain if what she felt was pleasure, only that she felt so much . Too much, and so overwhelming as he pushed more sensation through her, leaving no room inside. She closed her eyes, too late. Tears squeezed from beneath her lids.
    Deacon stilled, but the pressure remained, so big and full inside her. “Rosalia?” Her name was agonized. “Do you want to stop?”
    Never. She shook her head.
    “I’m hurting you. You’re so tight, I can barely—”
    “No.” But more tears came, tears she couldn’t explain. She could only choke out, “More.”
    He withdrew. Her eyes flew open and she sucked in a panicked breath, but then his abdomen flexed and he thrust back in. Rosalia’s back arched as her body stretched, yielding to him. Oh, God. This was pleasure. He gripped the tops of her thighs with both hands, screwing deeper with short, spiraling jerks of his hips.
    Pressure continued to build, winding around ecstasy. Panting, she held her knees still, held herself open. By the time he was seated fully inside, she was desperate to move.
    He stopped. Her gaze met his again. His lips had drawn back, exposing sharp fangs. His big body was taut with strain.
    “Hold on, Rosie.”
    He came forward between her legs, bracing his hands beside her shoulders. She cried out as the new position drove him deeper. He bent his head, his lips just above hers, his face washed in the glow of her eyes.
    “Slow,” he said, the guttural word followed by a slow lift of his hips and the endless drive back in.
    Rosalia pulled her legs open farther, almost sobbing. His penetration was slow, so slow—and relentless. Excruciating tension twisted inside her, the rush pushed her higher. But this time, with Deacon holding her, she didn’t fear falling. Overwhelmed, but not frightened. Ecstasy filled her instead, until everything within her overfilled. Tears ran a constant stream over her cheeks.
    She tilted her head back, each thrust wringing another wordless cry from her lips. Deacon lifted her hand from her right knee. He sucked her fingers into his mouth, teasing his fangs over their wet tips before carrying her hand down between their bodies. With his hand over hers, he rubbed her middle finger over her clitoris. A dark ache bloomed through her body, centered on that tiny movement. She rubbed harder.
    “No, Rosie.” He held her gaze. His fingers slowed hers. “Not fast. Stay with me.”
    He withdrew his hand, braced his fist beside her shoulder again, and began another long thrust inside. Gasping, Rosalia forced her hand to match the wet slide of his shaft. Her inner muscles clenched around him with each slow circle of her fingers.
    Deacon hissed his pleasure from between gritted teeth. “Christ, Rosie. I’d give anything to have my tongue where your fingers are. To suck on your clit while I fuck you.”
    The crude image shocked her, wound her tighter. She’d have given anything, too. Her right leg wrapped around his back. She urged him deeper. He caught her knee, spread her wide again. Oh, God. He felt so big, invading, stretching, and yet she couldn’t get enough of him. Desperate for his taste, she lifted her head, searching for his mouth.
    He gently drew her upper lip between his, circling his tongue over the sensitive flesh in the same rhythm as her finger, as the driving pressure within her.
    “It would be soft like this,” he said, with another kiss to her bottom lip. “But this isn’t wet enough.”
    He opened her mouth, closed his lips around the tip of her tongue. Rosalia cried out, trying to kiss him, but he only suckled, as if her tongue was the