Immortals After Dark 01 - The Warlord Wants Forever

pleasure.

    He set to her other nipple for long moments, then sucked from her neck again. Somehow the bite turned pain to pleasure, helping her body grow slick to accept the invasion. She yanked the remains of his shirt open to sweep her fingers over his splendid chest and that helped as well.

    As he slowly withdrew, he groaned, “So wet,” but when he thrust again, she hissed in a breath, eyes watering.

    “Wroth, it really hurts,” she whispered.

    “Can’t stop,” he bit out. His neck and chest sheened with sweat, the muscles rigid from his effort already.

    “T-tell me not to feel pain.”

    “Ah, Myst, don’t hurt.” His words were ragged. “I don’t want you to feel pain from this.” Immediately, the pain muted to only a feeling of fullness.

    When he drank from her, pulled back his hips and then tentatively thrust, she cried out again. He stiffened. “No, Wroth…it’s good!…Keep going.”

    He did. He timed each draw from her neck with the bucking of his hips, and she knew it was over, gave herself up to it, arched her back, arms limp overhead. The lightning whipped up the wind, and it rushed over her heated body, over her tight nipples.

    He raised his chest up, positioning himself on his knees. She whimpered when she thought he would withdraw, but he dragged her up with him until she was straddling him. He spread his knees so he could thrust up inside her. He was getting too large to move within her, already hitting the end of her sex so she couldn’t take him to the hilt.

    His body was so big around hers, making her feel truly vulnerable. As if he read her mind he wrapped his arms tight around her, pinning hers to her sides. He completely captured her to hold her in place while he drove into her from below.

    She relaxed every muscle in her body—why not? This was a position she had never allowed before, from which there was no fighting even if she’d wished to. She knew he wouldn’t let her go or fall. She relaxed in the crushing tightness of his arms, her naked breasts pressed against his scarred chest.

    He kept her immobile while he continued to fuck like a piston below them. Her head fell back and she watched the sky in a daze of pleasure, seeing her own lightning thrashing the earth.

    Bliss welling up, strengthening, so close.

    “Myst,” he growled, releasing her neck.

    She thought he would order her to come, thought he was tightening his arms even more as if to threaten her should she disobey, but he didn’t. “Milaya, I want you so much.”

    Milaya, the endearment from years ago said in his accent, sent her over the edge. She cried out from the shattering pleasure. But it only built when he desperately wrenched her up and down on his shaft as he tensed to come.

    Groaning, snarling, another bite that made her shudder in her second orgasm. Then he threw his head back, neck and chest tensed with corded muscle, to bellow from the force of his spending. She felt it inside her, searing, palpable, seeming endless as he pumped and pumped within her. She came the entire time, her body squeezing around his thickness.

    Then after-shudders. Arms loosening though she didn’t want them to. She didn’t want this to end.

    When his breaths had calmed somewhat, he drew her back to search her face. His eyes had cleared. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he rasped. “I didn’t—Your neck,” he said in a shocked tone, staring.

    She brushed her fingertips over her marks. “It didn’t hurt. Even before you…we…uh, worked it out.” They were nothing and would be healed by tomorrow. “You’ve really never seen this before?”

    “Never.”

    “I was your first bitee?” Why that would please her she couldn’t know. Why she wasn’t leaping away from him in disgust confused her. She was just so overwhelmed with everything. And she felt…tenderness toward him. Yes, Myst had always been the girlie-girl of the coven, but she’d never in her long, long life felt truly feminine until this male had squeezed her in his arms and taken charge. She had never—in all the lifetimes she’d endured—experienced that much pleasure.

    “I’ve never taken flesh to drink because I knew what it would do to me.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Myst, my eyes will go red from this. I will turn.”

    He looked so horrified, the words slipped out, “Your eyes will go red only when you kill as you drink living blood. The ones whose eyes turn drink to the marrow of their