Silken Rapture: Princes of the Underground, Book 2 Read online

  It would be a delicious agony to taste her everywhere.

  He flicked the turgid nipple with his lashing tongue, mesmerized by the hint of the flavor of her blood rushing just beneath the surface. He fondled her other small breast as he suckled, gently pinching and stroking one while he feasted on the other.

  Her moans and ragged pleas finally penetrated the thick fog of his arousal. He found himself hesitant to leave the breast in his mouth, so he paused and shaped her nipple lovingly between caressing lips. When he finally raised his head, her color had grown even richer. The nipple stood distended and stiff against the soft, pale curves of her breast.

  She made a desperate, gasping sound and he felt the tension in her bowed body. He gently ran his incisors over the soft flesh at the side of her breast and down over her ribs. When she began to shudder as she broke in climax, he held her with both hands, relishing every tremble, absorbing her essence. He nursed her through her orgasm, applying just enough pressure with teeth and tongue to heighten and lengthen her pleasure to its fullest.

  When she’d quieted, he set her back upon the floor and lay on his belly over her, his torso between her spread thighs. He spent the next half hour drowning himself in the sensation of her hips, waist and belly against his fingertips and tongue. He could never say why, but the pale harbor of her stomach had always enraptured him for some reason.

  His restraint had failed tonight, but now that he had failed in his control, he planned to relish every moment of his downfall.

  She told him what caresses she liked best and where she liked them the most. Not with words, but with the tension of her body and the tone of her sighs, whimpers and pleas. For most women, the scraping edge of his fangs caused intense pleasure, but Isabel was unusually susceptible, climaxing almost immediately at the caress. She’d already come multiple times, and her moans sounded increasingly frantic and dazed. So he refrained from using his teeth, instead utilizing his tongue and lips and fingers to excite her flesh.

  Everything blended for him into a symphony of sensation. He was lost. She was a goddess, the very essence of life sculpted in flesh, and he worshipped at her altar.

  This time, it was not her pleas and desperate moans that brought him out of his trance, but the flaring ache of his cock. Blood pounded along its length. He burned from the inside out. He’d been so hypnotized by the mysteries of Isabel’s flesh, he hadn’t kept track of his own body’s need for release.

  He was bursting, ready to erupt.

  He raised himself, straddling her at the hips, panting shallowly. Her eyes went wide when she glanced down and saw the state of him. His cock felt tight and heavy in his hand. He stroked the length once, and then twice, shivering as ripples of pleasure coursed through him.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed between gritted teeth as he began to come…to explode. Semen arced and landed on her belly. He groaned gutturally, in the grip of ecstasy. He shifted, shooting his seed onto her heaving breasts and the delicate cage of bone that protected her precious, fluttering heart. Still, his orgasm slammed through him in wave after powerful wave, and he pumped and pumped, his muscles coiled tight, trying to vanquish this clawing need, and desperate at the same time to have it go on and on and on…

  He fell down over her, holding himself up with his arms, panting. He seemed to require more air than his lungs could supply, and he sucked madly, trying to regain his equilibrium after being thoroughly shaken by the talon-sharp clutches of desire.

  Seconds later, he lifted his head and focused on her. She stared up at him with huge eyes, her reddened lips parted, her cheeks flushed with blood. His incisors ached dully with a need to pierce her, just as his cock pulsed out a mandate to penetrate her, to fuck her deep and hard.

  He thought of what he’d just done, however, and did neither of those things. Instead, he carefully began to use the silk to dry her of his semen. It lay on her thick from neck to the top of her pubic hair. He’d often fantasized about coating her in his essence. The primal, bestial part of him seemed as deeply pleased as his refined Magian temperament by the blatant evidence of his possession.

  When he’d finished, he gently slid her along the silk several inches, removing her from the semen-wet fabric.

  “Now your essence will truly be infused into the silk,” she murmured throatily.

  He glanced up, his gaze snagging on her curving lips.

  “I would have it infused into the miracle of your flesh,” he said, his voice quiet, but rough from need.

  “Then make it so.”

  So like Isabel, he thought, to challenge him in a whisper.

  Chapter Twelve

  Their stares remained locked as he worked his cockhead into her, fusing their flesh. Her cheeks flamed hot in arousal even as her body stretched to accommodate him. He pushed gently, but firmly. She whimpered when he slid home. He held himself off her with his hands, his knees bracing him, only their lower bellies and pelvises pressing tightly, skin sealed to skin.

  She longed to have him come down completely over her. He was a large man, and she was small, but she craved it nonetheless, the feeling of his weight pinning her down, of tasting the sweat on his skin…of absorbing him completely as they mated. She told him what she wanted in a shaking voice, but his arm, shoulder and chest muscles remained tense and bulging as he held himself off her.

  He began to fuck her, drawing his penis half its length out of her, stroking her deliberately, firmly. A cry escaped her throat at the intense pressure. She closed her eyes and turned her head, overwhelmed by the mounting friction. Every nerve in her body burned, demanding stimulation. She moved her head, the sensation of silk against her heated cheek mounting her arousal. Her mouth opened, the corner of her lips slipping against the liquid softness, kissing it.

  He fucked her harder now, their perspiration-damp skin smacking against each other rhythmically. She moaned.

  He paused briefly, placing his hand on her neck and turning her face upward. She opened her heavy eyelids. He stared down at her, his eyes wild, his face rigid, his incisors fully extended.

  “Come down over me,” she pleaded as he began to fuck her again, this time even more forcefully. His cock plunged into her without mercy. It hurt a little, but her clamoring nerves loved even that sensation spicing her pleasure. She’d become a glutton on sensation, craving him…

  “You tempt me beyond reason,” he growled as he pounded into her, the friction so taut, his possession so intense that it was as if he tried to ignite a fire between their straining bodies. His hand on her jaw moved. He plunged his thumb between her lips. She suckled him hotly, her eyes fixed on him in a plea. His mouth shaped into a snarl as he watched her. Her desperation mounted.

  She twisted her hands, struggling with the restraint at her wrists. Her hips pumped beneath him, matching his strokes, meeting the demands of his need. He was so focused on the image of his thick thumb plunging between her lips he didn’t notice when she broke free of her bonds.

  Both of their gazes sprung wide when she placed her bare hands on his shoulders. She had craved sensation, and now it slammed into her—he slammed into her, his fierce spirit, his loneliness, his longing…his suffering.

  “Isabel,” he shouted.

  She brought his rigid face into focus and realized she’d been screaming. She stopped, panting for air. The waves of sensation and emotion still pummeled into her consciousness, but they were lessening in intensity.

  Or else…her spirit was becoming accustomed to his melding with her own.

  “Drop your hands,” he demanded. He looked ominous at that moment, his lip curling over one sharp incisor, his eyes wild.

  She shook her head, unable to speak. She pulled him toward her.

  “No…” he moaned miserably. She continued to urge him, though, and he came down over her.

  Somehow she knew, in that moment, that her loving hands were more powerful than his vast, paranormal strength.

  The sensation of his weight on her, the scent
of his skin, of his arousal, steadied her in the sea of his torment. He placed his face in the nook between her neck and shoulder, giving her the impression he hid himself in shame.

  “Shhh,” she crooned. She placed one hand on the back of his head, shivers racking her at the exquisite feeling of his hair sliding between her fingers. She placed her other palm on the smooth skin that gloved the dense muscle of a buttock. She moved beneath him, sliding her pussy along the shaft of his cock, reminding him there was no room between them for shame.

  His growl near her ear sent another rush of convulsions through her body. He flexed his hips, fucking her with small, electric strokes, grinding down on her sex until the tiny shivers that shook her mounted to a full-fledged orgasm. She tightened around him as she came. She heard his low, rough groan near her ear.

  When she came back to herself, he was fucking her in earnest again. He took her breath, his possession was so primal. His weight crushed her, but she wanted it…loved it. They lay heart to throbbing heart, their bellies flush, his head next to hers, his breath hot on her throat. She filled her palm with the pounding muscle of an ass cheek, urging him on, begging him without words to take his fill.

  She stretched her throat.

  “I am yours to take,” she gasped as he drove into her.

  She cried out at the feeling of his teeth piercing her. Their bodies both went rigid. His cock swelled in her and jerked. Pain spiked through waves of pleasure. She stared up at the ceiling, blinded by the feeling of him coming deep inside her while his lips moved against her skin as he took her blood. His shudders became hers as she joined him in a mindless moment of communal bliss.

  His muscles went lax and he collapsed. The air in her lungs whooshed out of her. He mumbled something and tried to raise himself, but she pushed down gently on his head.

  “Don’t move,” she whispered. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all. I love your weight on me.”

  His grunt sounded doubtful, but he seemed too exhausted to argue with her. He pressed her to the thick carpet and soft silk. She scraped her nails against his scalp and caressed his back, feeling him shiver in her arms.

  “I don’t know how these things work, exactly, in your world,” she murmured. “I know I’m only a mortal woman, but that doesn’t make my experience any less valid. I won’t lie about it. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I have fallen in love with you, Blaise.” His ragged breathing ceased for a moment, but then resumed as she stroked him, trying to ease the unrest her words had wrought.

  She fell asleep to the lulling sensation of his breath evening against her neck.

  He lifted his head and watched her as she slept. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, motionless, studying every curve, every plane, every nuance of her face. They were still locked together. He felt her heart beating steadily along the shaft of his embedded cock. His own heart followed her lead, until they gently pulsed together as one.

  Her lips moved as she murmured something in her sleep. Her mouth curved into a sleepy smile. He lowered his head and kissed her lips fleetingly, wondering at the miracle of her.

  She had touched him with her knowing hands…and she smiled.

  She’d said she loved him. Women had said it frequently to him over the centuries, usually in the aftermath of pleasure. He understood his nature gave him this power over humans, the ability to inspire obsessive love. It had never really meant anything to him.

  He wanted it to mean something with Isabel. She was different, wasn’t she? Was it even possible, that he could be loved by a miracle such as her?

  He placed his mouth on the small wounds on her neck, closing his eyes in quiet rapture as he licked her, tasting her singular flavor before his essence healed her. The wound closed beneath his laving tongue.

  He carefully withdrew from the tight embrace of her body, grimacing at the lack of her warmth. He turned her in his arms. She nestled against him, her cheek against his chest.

  He watched over her until his inner clock told him it was dawn. As the minutes and hours passed, something began to grip at his heart like cold fingers. The mindless, rapturous moments of their lovemaking seemed to grow more and more distant, more ephemeral, even as he tried to keep them fixed and vibrant in his memory. It was like trying to hold on tight to a dream. The fragments melted through his grasping hands. Was he experiencing some hint of the misery he subjected Isabel to, night after night when he made her forget?

  Blaise had no experience with faith…with believing in the impossible.

  “Isabel,” he mouthed.

  She moved restlessly in his arms as if she’d heard an apology he couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud. His hand hovered over her temple for suspended seconds before he touched her. He closed his eyes tightly, willing her to forget.

  When he’d swept her mind clean of what had occurred between them that night, and sent her into a profound level of sleep, he released her. He wiped his cheeks as he sat up and stared at his fingers in numb bewilderment. They were wet with tears stained pink with blood. It had happened to him once before, that he’d shed tears mixed with the blood of his victim.

  He rose and lifted Isabel’s sleeping form off the ivory silk.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Time stretched for Isabel, hazy and full and sweet.

  She languished on the soft sofa in her bedroom suite, a copy of Antony and Cleopatra dangling from her limp fingertips. Royal watched her from his post next to the crackling fire, his head tilted.

  “What’s this?” Margaret’s voice penetrated her lassitude. “You haven’t eaten hardly a thing. How long is this going to continue, young lady?”

  Isabel blinked her heavy eyelids and tried to sit up, but her limbs felt so heavy she fell back to the cushions.

  “This can’t go on. Her appetite has decreased daily since she’s come to Sanctuary, and this lethargy has gone on for well over a week. She’s ill,” Margaret said, sounding angry.

  Isabel couldn’t quite grasp on her thoughts, couldn’t quite focus on them. It felt as though she were trying to grab a will-o-wisp in a dense fog. Even through her haze, it struck her distantly that it was strange that Margaret sounded as if she was angrily accusing someone of Isabel’s tiredness, even though there was no one else in the room but her and Royal, and no one was responsible for her laziness but herself.

  “It’s okay, Margaret. I’m not sick. I’m just sleepy,” she murmured. Her eyelids closed. She was so comfortable. It was too difficult to stay in the waking world. She only wanted to escape to her dreams…to her beautiful dreams.

  “You must do something,” Margaret said fiercely.

  “I don’t feel li’ doin’ anything but sleeping and seeing ’im again,” she mumbled.

  She drifted. Someone pushed up on her shoulders. Her eyelids felt like two bricks rested on them, they were so heavy when she tried to lift them. She saw a blurred image of the elaborate, carved mantel and a cheery fire flickering in the hearth.

  Once again, her dreams beckoned. Her muscles went lax.

  “Don’t you dare go back to sleep,” Margaret said loudly near her right ear. Isabel blinked and turned her head. Even that felt as if it took more energy than swimming in warm, thick honey.

  “Here.”

  She looked downward, her eyes crossing when she felt a cup press to her lower lip. She sputtered, nearly choking, when Margaret poured a great quantity of black tea into her lax mouth.

  “It’s hot!” she shouted, back arching like a scalded cat’s. She glared at the plump, gray-haired woman sitting next to her, her mouth gaping open. She wouldn’t have guessed Margaret had such a nasty streak in her.

  “That’s better,” Margaret said grimly. “Here. Drink some more.”

  “I will not. You practically burned off my tongue,” Isabel complained. She pinched the tip of her scorched tongue beneath her gloved thumb and forefinger to exhibit her point. Her eyes went wide in shock.

  “Bwaise,” she slurred. Bl
aise stood there next to the couch, seeming tall as an oak from the perspective of her sitting position. For some reason, it didn’t strike her as strange at all that he wore only a pair of jeans. She saw a thin, supple strap of leather just above the low-riding waistline. She glanced up guiltily into his face when she realized she’d been gawking in fascination, gripping her tongue like an idiot the whole time.

  When she met his agate-like eyes, it was as though he’d just shouted a message to her across a wide chasm.

  Her legs collapsed beneath her when she stood abruptly, her arms outstretched toward him.

  The room was suddenly sweeping past her vision, and she felt stable and in motion at once.

  “Here…put her in the bed,” she heard Margaret say from a great distance.

  “I will have a human doctor brought to her,” he said.

  “Blaise,” she mouthed soundlessly when she heard the deep voice and familiar, rough accent. Her mind couldn’t quite grip on anything solid. The soft mattress and luxurious bedclothes gave beneath her, beckoning her into sleep…but she did not want to sleep. Not now.

  He was here…in the waking world.

  She clutched at a hard, rounded shoulder muscle, but her fingers fell away, uselessly.

  “You have been taking her blood,” Margaret said accusingly.

  “Yes,” came his bleak reply. “But I don’t think that’s what’s weakening her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s a miracle. I have drunk from her—I could not stop myself. I never took too much, and she is so strong, her vitessence is almost immediately replenished. I’m seeing her life force right now as we speak. Her vitessence is as strong as ever…stronger.”

  “Then what’s wrong with her?” Margaret demanded.

  Isabel waited for the deep voice she craved, and when it did not come immediately, she drifted.

  “Delraven?” Margaret prompted. Isabel shifted her head on the pillow, willing herself to rise into consciousness.