Guild Hunter 04 - Archangel's Blade

kiss, she sucked on his tongue . . . then she did the one thing that had always made him lose control, even before he was Made. Nuzzling her way down to his throat, she clamped her teeth over his pulse and licked out with her tongue.
    Snarling, he released her wrists to fist a hand in her hair, pulling her off his throat—taking care so she felt no hurt—even as he seated his cock balls-deep inside her in the same motion.
    She gasped. “Oh, God.”
    “How,” he whispered, using his other hand to push up one of her knees, spreading her wider for him, “did you know to do that?” It was a very specific caress, one he’d discovered with Ingrede. In the years since, other women—Favashi included—had tried to go for his throat, but he’d never, ever left it unprotected.
    Until Honor.
    “You refused to fall in love with anyone else, Dmitri.” A whisper with the impact of a gunshot. “So I had to come back for you . . . husband.”
    Every muscle in his body locked. “No.”
    Honor’s response to that single harsh word was nothing he could’ve predicted. “It’s okay.” Cupping his face with gentle hands, she smiled crookedly, her eyes luminous with a love so deep, he thought he’d drown in the shimmering midnight green. “You don’t have to believe me, or even think me sane. Just let me love you.”
    Her next words were whispered in an ancient, forgotten language, the dialect one that had been spoken only in a tiny village long since crumbled to the earth—a dialect Dmitri alone remembered. Except the lilting rhythm of it fell from Honor’s lips as if she’d run wild through the same fields, danced under the same brilliant sun. “I’ve always been a little bit crazy when it comes to you.”
    “I can’t—” he began, because what she was offering, it was too much, a gift too painful.
    “Shh.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”
    “No.” It wasn’t okay, wouldn’t be okay until he had the answers he needed.
    “So stubborn.” Kissing him slow and deep, she held him to her with her legs around his hips when he would’ve pulled out. “I should’ve expected it from the man who once clambered up a mountainside at dawn to bring me wildflowers.”
    His entire body shuddered under the weight of the knowledge in her eyes, in her touch, in her voice. All the tiny things she’d done that had nudged at his memory, the echo of Ingrede’s joy breaking his heart when it was Honor who laughed, the way she knew him, it crashed against the chaos inside him, leaving only a raw need in its wake.
    “Let me give you what you need, husband. I’ve waited so very long.” Haunting words tangled with an exquisite desire that sang to his blood. “Drink.”
    The final thread of his control snapped.
    Roaring, he drove into her again and again and again, until she was clenching around him with feminine power and he was coming with such satisfaction that he had no memory of sinking his fangs into her neck. Then the tart, wild taste of her blood hit him with the ferocity of a windstorm, and suddenly he was hard once more.
     
     
    Honor felt her eyes grow wide as Dmitri began to move again, his fangs sending a wave of sultry pleasure through her system—languid, persuasive, tasting of sin and sex and everything deliciously bad . . . and so unlike what she’d experienced in the basement that a comparison would’ve been laughable.
    Moaning at the opulent swell of it through whimpering muscles and a pleasantly shattered body, she felt herself coating the hard intrusion of his arousal in lush need. “Oh, God, Dmitri.”
    The thick length of him pushed past swollen tissues, arcing ripples of ecstasy throughout her system, as he bent at her neck and fed. Thrusting her hand into his hair, she held him to her, the scorching sexuality of the moment cut with a wild tenderness. He sucked hard, and her body bucked.
    Making a low, deep sound of satisfaction, he pulled out, pushed back in . . . and rode her to an orgasm that never seemed to stop.
    Her muscles were still quivering from the erotic pleasure when, ending the blood kiss, he licked his tongue over the tiny wounds, sucked the skin again, and raised his head. “We’re not done,” he purred in her ear as her legs fell off his back, too exhausted to hold on. Reaching between them, he plucked at her clitoris with fingers that knew her far too well.
    Another orgasm rocked through her, deep, so deep. “I can’t take any more.” It was a