Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

kiss her, licking her lips, her sensitive fangs. As rich blood streamed between their tongues, she shredded the sheets with her new claws.
    The first time they’d had sex, she’d begged him to be more gentle. Now she demanded, “Harder!”
    “You want it hard?” His tone warned her that she might not.
    Yet she found herself scoring his back to spur him. He shuddered, arching into her claws. And for the briefest moment, he cast her a look of . . . wonder?
    Then the ruthless Lothaire returned. With a growl, he shoved her hips into the mattress, pounding against her. The sounds of their sex grew deafening—their skin slapping, her continuous moans, his guttural words in Russian.
    And always the thundering of their hearts. She was on the verge, about to climax again.
    This raw bliss would have killed her as a human.
    Between heaving breaths, he rasped, “Tell me that you love me.”
    She almost screamed that she did. But even in this haze of emotion, she held fast to a whisper of stubbornness. Won’t tell him first. . . .
    And once she began to orgasm, she could do no more than cry out his name.
    Just when Ellie feared she couldn’t take any more of his thrusts, his body stilled completely, his whipcord muscles bulging. “I will never let you go, Lizvetta!” He remained motionless inside her, his face a mask of strain. “You are mine! ” he roared, with his eyes aglow, his gaze pinning hers. “Mine! Ah, gods, you are . . . mine . . . ”
    Ecstasy lit his features.
    His seed boiled forth in a rush. His hips surged forward in an uncontrollable fury, pistoning between her legs. Scorching jets of semen pumped into her . . . his body pouring into hers . . . over and over. . . .
    Once he’d filled her with his heat, he finally collapsed over her. “Lizvetta,” he groaned dazedly.
    She clutched him close, pressing kisses to his damp temple, his sweat-slicked neck. He lingered inside her, still softly thrusting.
    As their hearts pounded together, she experienced that closeness with him that she’d once known and then missed.
    “It’s only beginning, love,” he promised, his shaft stirring within
her. . . .
    At the end of the night, after countless bouts of sex, he squeezed her against his chest—hard. But it felt good to her.
    “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to hold my Bride like this?” Brushing his lips against her hair, he murmured, “You will never want for anything again, Elizabeth. The world is yours for the taking.”
    Again, she felt protected. Safe . Her lids began to grow heavy. But she didn’t want this to end, feared she’d wake tomorrow, and all this would be a dream. “I’m so sleepy.”
    “My beautiful girl, dawn nears. And all good vampires are to bed.”
    She eased up, arching a brow at him. “Then you’ll stay awake.”
    Cupping her face, he lightly covered her mouth with his, tenderly licking her fang, giving her one last taste of blood.
    The sweetest good-night kiss. Then back into the secure cradle of his arms.
    So why did she still feel a shadow of misgiving? Why did she feel like she had in fact just sold her soul to the devil—and there was a no-refund policy?
    No, no. What woman wouldn’t love this god, this decadent lover with power and money, who seemed to worship her body?
    If he told her he loved her right now, she’d say it back. And she’d mean it.
    But he hadn’t said it. And he’d never told her he was sorry for everything he’d done to her.
    I’m Lothaire’s fool. . . .

    Lothaire had exactly zero kingdoms under his control. None of his vendettas had been carried out and all of his plans had been upended.
    Yet a languorous relaxation spread through him. His lips continued to curl of their own accord.
    The satisfaction he felt from stroking Elizabeth’s hair as she slumbered against his chest . . . indescribable.
    He’d pleasured her with his body, stoking her need, then sating it. He’d fed her with his blood until her skin was warmed. Now she slept deeply—while he safeguarded her with the strength he’d earned through eons of survival.
    Of course she loved him. He knew she’d been about to tell him earlier. So her loyalty was his. . . .
    Indescribable.
    Lothaire had taken great pains to rehearse that transformation wish, and the ring had done exactly as bidden. Which meant that tomorrow he would give her a gift no other male could offer.
    When she absently worried her bottom lip with one of her adorable little fangs, he sighed.
    The Enemy of