On the Prowl

“We’re disgusting to you,” I said, echoing that long-ago, contemptuous voice. “Nauseating, untouchable.”
    Heidar’s free hand deliberately skimmed down my side. The play of light and shadow over the muscles in his arm was mesmerizing. “Who told you that?”
    “One of the group who tried to buy me.”
    “Svarestri.” The way he said it, the name sounded almost obscene. The glow of the fire bathed his face in flickering vermilion shadows, making him look dangerous. My body liked that; lately, it seemed to like everthing.
    “I suppose. He said—”
    “Forget what he said.” Heidar pulled me onto his lap, those large hands encircling my waist as warm lips ghosted against my hair. “I’ve heard it all before. They despise anyone of thin blood, as they call it. It’s caused them to miss out on wonders before this.”
    “I’m not a wonder.”
    A warm finger traced the line of my cheek. “Could have fooled me.”
    I leaned in to kiss him but he pulled back. “What’s wrong?” I demanded. He’d just finished telling me how he didn’t think like the Svarestri, and now he didn’t want to touch me?
    “Claire, have you ever been with one of us?”
    I suddenly found it impossible to focus on what those perfect lips were saying—I was too busy thinking of things I would like to have them do. I dragged him into a desperate kiss, hands sliding everywhere, finally running my fingers through that beautiful hair. For a moment, he was right there with me, his passion matching my own, then he was grasping my shoulders, holding us apart.
    “Claire, listen to me!” He was talking, saying my name, but he may as well have been speaking whatever language the Fey used, because I couldn’t understand him. I felt horribly tangled up inside, and the pressure that had been building in my chest since I first caught sight of him threatened to smother me. I thought I was going to choke, to die; not from lack of air but from lack of him, something I seemed to need almost as badly. Heidar remained where he was, conflict clear on his face as he searched mine. Then, finally, he gave a rueful smile. “I should never have said I like to live dangerously,” he commented. I had no idea what he was talking about, but then he was kissing me and it didn’t seem to matter.
    Warm, agile fingertips brushed all of the sensitive spots along my ribs as his hands smoothed up my body, caressing my skin through the thin silk of my dress. A tongue ran hot and rough along my throat, reducing me to a delirious, aching, raw nerve. I shivered as he brushed aside the straps of my gown, and when his lips found a nipple the explosion of sensation caused me to jerk violently. He lost his balance and we tumbled off the chair, but I kept contact, riding him to the floor.
    I started out on top, trapping his body beneath me, leaning forward to suck hard at his lips and tongue, claiming him with a passion that was almost rage. It should have scared me, to feel anything that strong, but I couldn’t think and didn’t care. For awhile, I almost forgot where I was, even who I was, as a dark tide swept me to a place beyond thought, where worry and apprehension melted into liquid pulsing need.
    The hunger I felt was matched in Heidar’s kiss, hot and bruising and violently satisfying. He met me with the same level of passion I gave, one hand sliding to my waist, pressing me against him, the other behind my neck to hold me in place while hard lips crushed mine. His tongue in my mouth was possessive and demanding, matching my almost anguished desire. Burning, bruising kisses continued, tongues dueling, thighs intertwined, until I was breathless.
    Somehow I ended up on my back, a strong, warm body pressing me down, being kissed with a desire that still matched my own, but was suddenly more tender. His hands glided down my sides, sliding the gown the rest of the way off my body. An alarm was blaring somewhere in my mind, but he had paused to kiss my throat and I couldn’t concentrate with his breath on my skin.
    His tongue found the edge of a nipple and he traced it lightly, delicately, the strokes barely there, yet sparking down every nerve. He pulled the tight little nub he’d created into his mouth and caught it between his teeth, sharp enough to make me gasp. It was almost a bite, almost pain, but stopped just short. He flicked it with his tongue, swept around the areola, and captured it again. Then he drew that tender flesh completely into his