by J. R. Ward
As she breathed in, the scent of him—that male scent—produced an unprecedented reaction. Everything went instantly instinct, her fangs dropping from her upper jaw, her lips parting, her tongue coming out as if it intended to taste.
“Take it, No’One.… You know you want to. Take me.…”
Swallowing hard, she pushed herself up from him and met his burning eyes. There were too many emotions to decipher in them, and the same was true with his voice and his expression. This was not easy for him; then again, this was his marital room, where he had no doubt been with his mate a thousand times.
And yet he wanted her. It was obvious in the tension of his body, in that arousal that even beneath the covers she could see.
She knew the troubled crossroads he stood upon, torn between contradictions: She was the same. She wanted this, but if she fed from him now, things were going to progress, and she was not sure she was prepared for where it would take them both.
Except she was not going to turn away. And neither was he.
“Do you not wish me at your wrist,” she said in a voice that was nothing like her own.
“No.”
“Then where do you want me.” It wasn’t a question. And, dearest Virgin Scribe, she didn’t know who was talking to him like that—low, seductive, demanding.
“At my throat.” His words were even lower, and he moaned as her eyes went back to where he had seemed to deliberately put her.
This mighty warrior wanted to be used by her. As he lay back against the pillows, his huge body appeared to be in that strange thrall she had seen before, held captive by invisible binds that were nonetheless impossible for him to break out of.
His eyes stayed on hers as he tilted his head to the side, exposing his vein… on the side opposite of where she was. So that she would have to stretch across his chest once more. Yes, she thought, she wanted that, too… except before she made any kind of move, she gave her inner core a chance to panic. The last thing she wanted was to become overwrought and undone in the midst of this.
Nothing bubbled up from the depths. For once, the present was so alive and captivating that the past was not even an echo or a shadow—she was, in this moment, wiped clean.
And very clear about what she wanted.
No’One reached out her arm and stretched herself thin as she surmounted the impossible expanse of his torso. His size was nearly a joke, the juxtaposition of their bodies absurd—and yet she was not afraid. The hard pads of his pectorals and the broad beam of his shoulders were nothing to be threatened by.
They merely served to sharpen her hunger for his vein.
His body arched upward as she laid herself upon him, and oh, the heat. Boiling up through his skin and magnifying her body’s need, sure as a simmer was made into a rioting fervor.
It had been so long since she had struck any male. And back in her earliest past, it had been done only under the strict supervision of not just her father, but the other males of her bloodline: Indeed, throughout all of it, there had been a ceremonial feel, biology tempered by society and social expectation.
She had never been aroused. And if the fine, gentlemale she’d used had been, he had wisely shown no such reaction.
This was everything that the former experiences had not been.
This was raw, and wild… and very sexual.
“Take from me,” he commanded, his jaw locking, his chin lifting, his throat becoming even more exposed.
As she brought her head down, she shook from head to foot, and she struck with no grace whatsoever—
This time, the moan came from her.
His taste was like nothing she could recall, a screaming roar in her mouth, over her tongue, down her throat. His blood was so much purer and stronger than that which she had had, and oh, the power of him. It was as if the potency of his warrior’s body poured into hers, transforming her into something so much more than she had ever been before.
“Take more,” he urged in a rough voice. “Take everything.…”
She did as he commanded, readjusting the angle of her head so that her seal was even more perfect. And as she drank with renewed gusto, she found herself becoming acutely aware of the weight of her breasts as they rested on his chest. And of the ache in her gut that no matter how much she took in seemed only to get sharper. And of the languid nature of her legs… as if all they wanted to do was fall open.
For him.
The reversal of her tense rigidity was so complete, it felt irreversible, and what did that matter? So consumed was she that she cared for naught but more of what she was getting.
THIRTY-ONE
Tohr orgasmed shortly after No’One’s first strike. There was just no stopping the contraction of his balls or the pulsing shocks that traveled up his shaft or the explosion that blew out the head of his cock as he jerked underneath the sheets.
“Fuuuuuck… No’One…”
As if she knew what had just happened, and what he was asking permission for, she nodded against his throat. Then went so far as to take his wrist and push his hand under the sheet.
No asking twice on that one.
Spreading his legs, he stroked his rigid length in a rhythm that matched the pulls on his vein. And as he released again, his arousal kicking like mad, he dipped down, gathered his sac, and squeezed hard. Pleasure and pain became a fun-house mirror, the distorting reflection of one against the other amplifying everything from the feel of the fangs in his neck to his below-the-waist eruptions.
The sense of letting go, of putting aside the pain he struggled with night and day, was such a fucking relief. He was the lake temporarily melted and free from its ice cover, and he reveled in his openness to her, the way he let himself lie there beneath her slight body, captured and held by her dainty weight and her powerful bite.
It had been so long since he had felt anything good deep in the permafrost of his soul. And because he knew that all of his burdens would be waiting for him when this halcyon sunrise faded, he drew himself even more into the experience, deliberately clothing himself in all the sensations.
When No’One finally retracted her fangs, the drawing lick of her tongue as it sealed the puncture wounds made him come all over again: the wet, warm drag over his skin translated down his body to his erection, which kicked and bucked, sending out more of what already covered his lower belly and soaked the sheets.
He stared up into her eyes as he orgasmed, biting down on his lower lip, kicking his head back—so that she knew exactly what he was doing.
And that was when he knew… she wanted some for herself.
Her luscious scent told him so.
“Will you let me make you feel good?” he said hoarsely.
“I… I do not know what to do.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes…” she breathed.
Rolling onto his side, he gently pushed her against the mattress. “All you have to do is lie there—I’ll take care of everything.”
The ease with which she complied was a humbling surprise—and an immediate cue, as far as his libido was concerned, to get her naked, mount her, and come all over her.
Not going to happen. For so many reasons.
“I’ll go slowly,” he groaned, wondering which of them he was speaking to. And then he thought… fuck, yeah, he was going slowly. He wasn’t sure he could remember what to do to a female—
From out of nowhere, a shadow crossed through his mind, jumped out of his brain, and barged in between them, darkening the moment.
With a sad ache, he realized he couldn’t remember precisely when he and Wellsie had been together for that final time; if he’d known their future, he would have paid much greater attention to so much.
No doubt, it had been one of those comfortable, forgettable, but ultimately profound sessions in their mated bed, with both of them half-awake and happy to ride the currents—
“Tohrment?”
The sound of No’One’s voice scrambled him, threatening to
completely derail what was happening in the present. Except then he thought of Lassiter… and he thought of his shellan in that gray underworld, trapped in that desolate field of dust.
If he stopped now, he was never going to come back to this moment, this potential, this situation again with No’One… with anyone else. He was going to get permanently stuck on the road out of his grief—and Wellsie would never be free.
Damn it, as with so many things in life, you had to push through the obstacles, and this was the big one. It also wasn’t going to last forever. He’d had well over a year of mourning and grief, and there were decades and centuries of it in front of him. For the next ten minutes, fifteen minutes, hour—however long this lasted—he needed to stay only in the here-and-now.
Only with No’One.
“Tohrment, we can st—”
“May I loosen your robe?” His voice sounded dead to his own ears. “Please… let me see you.”
When she nodded, he swallowed hard and brought a shaking hand to the tie of her robe. The thing loosened with little or no help from him, and then the folds were free of her sheath-covered body.
His sex kicked hard at the sight of her barely concealed from his eyes, his hands… his mouth.
And that reaction told him that unfortunately… or fortunately… he could do this. He was going to do this.
Sliding his hand around her waist, he paused. Wellsie had had such a lush body, all feminine curves and female strength that he had loved so much. No’One wasn’t like that.
“You have to eat more,” he said harshly.
As her brows came together and she appeared to retract from him, he wanted to punch himself in the head. No female needed to hear about shortcomings at a time like this.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said, eyes probing the thin fabric that covered her breasts and her hips. “I just worry about you. That’s all.”
As she relaxed again, he took his time, stroking her through the simple linen coverlet she wore, slowly moving over onto her belly. That image of her suspended upon the crystal palm of the pool’s blue water, floating with her arms out, her head back and her breasts tight at the tips made him groan.
And gave him a specific direction.
Trailing his fingertips upward, he brushed the bottom of her breast—
The hiss she let out and the sudden arch told him that the contact was more than welcome. But there was no hurrying. He’d done that down in the pantry; not going to happen again.
With languid ease, he went higher until his forefinger surmounted her nipple. More hissing. More arching.
More exploring.
His body was roaring, his cock straining against the covers, against his self-control, against the tempo. But he was keeping things under wraps down below—and shit was going to stay that way. This was about her, not him, and the quickest way to flip that table would be to get his naked body anywhere near her.
It had to be her blood in him. Yeah, that was it. That was the cause of his crazy urge to mate.…
When No’One was thrashing her legs on top of the duvet, and she had gripped his forearm with her nails, that was when he cupped her whole breast, switching his thumb for his forefinger as he stroked her.
“Do you like,” he drawled as she gasped.
The reply she eventually gave him was nothing but a bunch of sounds; then again, all that erotic straining gave him his real answer.
She really liked the way she felt.
Encircling the small of her back with his arm, he gently lifted her up to his mouth. He had a moment’s hesitation before he latched on, just because he could not believe he was actually doing this to someone: It had never occurred to him that he would have any kind of sex life outside of memories, but here it was, up close and personal, so to speak, that electric connection sparking, his body naked and aroused, his mouth about to taste someone different.
“Tohrment…” she moaned. “I do not know what I am…”
“It’s okay. I got you… I got you.”
Dropping his head, he parted his lips and brushed at her nipple through the sheath, going back and forth, back and forth. In response, her hands dug into his hair, feeling good against his scalp, tightening, scratching.
Shit, she smelled fantastic, her scent lighter and more citrusy than Wellsie’s… yet still like rocket fuel in his veins.
A lick brought him the rasp of the cloth and the hint of paradise—so he lapped at her again. And again. And again.
Sucking her into his mouth, he pulled on her nipple, tugging upward as he fell into a rhythm. And while she held on even harder to him, he moved his hands all around her body, learning her hips and her outer thighs, her belly, that tiny rib cage.
The bed made a subtle creaking noise, the mattress giving under him as he moved closer to her… and brought their lower bodies together.
It was time to take this up a notch.
This was why females got that look in their eyes when they thought about their mates.
No’One finally understood why, when a hellren walked into a room, his shellan straightened a little and wore a secret smile. This was the cause of the shared glances between the two halves of the species. This was the urgency to get the mating ceremony done with, and the guests fed and danced, and the house shut up for the day.
This was why happily mated couples sometimes did not come down for First Meal. Or Last Meal. Or any meals in between.
This feast of the senses was the ultimate sustenance for the species.
And something she had never believed she would know.
The reason she was able to enjoy it? In spite of the frantic demand in both of their bodies, Tohr was so careful with her. Even though he was obviously aroused, and so was she, he did not rush: His self-control was a set of steel bars over their collective mating instincts, his tasting and tempo as unhurried and unthreatening as the graceful fall of a feather through still air.
It was rather driving her nuts, actually.
But she knew it was for the good. Frustrated as she was, she knew this was the right way, for there was no possibility of confusing who she was with or whether she wanted this—
The sensation of his wet mouth sealed upon her breast made her cry out and score his scalp. And that was before he began to suckle at her.
Around her nipple, he said, “Will you open your legs for me?”
Her thighs obeyed before her lips could form an acquiescence, and the laugh she got in response was a deep rumble of satisfaction in his chest. He also wasted no time. Relocking his mouth onto her breast, his palm slipped down to the top of her thigh and drifted over to the inside.
“Lift your hips for me,” he said before licking at her nipple some more.
She obeyed immediately, so lost in anticipation that she couldn’t comprehend why he’d asked. Except then there was a soft brush all around her legs.
The sheath. He was moving the sheath up—
His touch returned, brushing over the top of her thigh, going downward… before moving once again to the inside.…
Oh, the lack of barrier. As if it had not already been good enough.
In response, her pelvis arched and strained and got nowhere when it came to urging him to the heat he would ultimately claim. Verily, under his diverted ministrations, the blooming at her core shifted into something edgy, the welling sensation changing into a sharp-edged need, the pain of which was much like that of the strikes he’d taken at her vein.
The first touch of her sex was nothing but a passover that had her crying out for more. The second was a slower shift. The third was a—
She shot her hand down and covered his, pushing him against her heat.
His moan was unexpected, suggesting that the feel of her might have made him orgasm himself—yes, she could tell by the way his body spasmed that he had found another release, his hips jerking beneath the blankets in a way that made her think of penetration.
Repeated, vigorous penetration.
; “Tohrment…” Her voice was ragged, her brain clogged, her body the only thing that was clear on anything.
It was a while before he could answer her with something other than heaving breath. “Are you okay?”
“Help me. I need…”
He brushed his lips against her breast and inched his hand away. “I’ll take care of it. Promise. Just a little longer.”
She didn’t know how much “longer” she could stand before her body blew apart.
Except then he taught her that there were even greater heights of frustration.
Eventually, the rubbing started just as it all had, slowly, lightly, a tease rather than a bona fide touch. But thanks be to the great Scribe Virgin, it didn’t stay that way. As he subtly increased the pressure at the top of her sex, she was reminded of the way he had pleasured himself in the clinic, his hands pushing down at his hips, his body creating friction until something snapped and the pleasure crested—
The orgasm was more powerful than anything she had ever felt: Not even the pain she had known at the hands of the symphath came close to the pleasure that bucked through her lower body, reverberated up her torso, and echoed out to the tips of her fingers and her toes.
She knew earth. She knew the Sanctuary.
But this… was heaven.
THIRTY-TWO
As No’One orgasmed, Tohr’s cock released again, the feel of her slick sex and her hips jerking and her voice crying out putting him waaaaay over the threshold: She was wet; she was open; she was ready for him.
She was luscious.
And as she rubbed herself against his hand, he wanted his mouth on her and his tongue up inside her so he could swallow what he had given her.
In fact, if she hadn’t been locked against him so tightly, he would have moved into position right away, heading down her body and finding her with his lips. But there was no going anywhere at the moment. Not until both their rides were over and their muscles had unlocked from their bones.