Page 111 of Thirst
My breath snagged. He was so damn beautiful, every line of him honed and lean, from his sculpted shoulders to his narrow hips. A man who could fuck you into a stupor—or hunt you down.
The inky shark twisted around the side of his neck, its teeth bared, menace in a single, fluid shape. I traced its outline with a fingertip, then spread my hands across his shoulders, loving the solid strength beneath my palms.
When I brushed my thumbs over his nipples, the sound he gave—half groan, half growl—made my entire body clench in response. I needed to get closer, to touch him skin-to-skin. I stepped back and tugged off my sweater and T-shirt, leaving me in the red satin bra that had arrived yesterday in a chic black box along with matching panties.
“Sweet Lilith.” His gaze dropped to my breasts and the silky red material cupping them. “I knew that bra would look fucking perfect on you.”
I reached for him, but he caught my hands, pressing a kiss to each palm—a tantalizing promise—before lowering to his knees for the second time that night.
This time, though, he wasn’t asking for anything. He was there to take.
A muscular arm looped around my waist, pulling me toward him and a little off-balance so that I had to grip his shoulders to stay on my feet. “I have to taste you,” he muttered.
He pressed a kiss to my sternum, then closed his teeth on the thin satin, biting first one nipple, then the other, just hard enough.
White-hot bolts of lightning shot down my spine. I whimpered and twisted against him.
He tightened his grip, keeping me still. He took his time, nuzzling, biting, licking, sucking—slow and deliberate, until I was close to breaking.
“Cain,” I said. “I need?—”
He lifted his head. “Close your eyes.”
I obeyed, head tipped back, body tense with anticipation. He swept an arm beneath my knees, the other cradling my shoulders. I let out a startled chuckle as he carried me into the bedroom.
He set me down next to the four-poster and lowered his brow, mock stern. “What, you don’t think I can be romantic?”
A voice command and lights glowed on around the bed’s teak canopy, filtering through the draped gauze like stars just before dawn. A second command, and music spilled into the room, low and lush, the kind made for slow dancing and promises.
I touched his cheek. “Very romantic.”
He framed my face in his hands and kissed me with a laser-like focus, tilting my head just so, moving his mouth deliberately, drawing me deeper until I was clutching his shoulders, every nerve alive, my knees turned to water.
He removed my bra, tossing it at a nearby chair, then said, “You deserve romance.” His palm glided up my ribcage to close over my breast. A calloused thumb brushed over the nipple, the roughness good…necessary. “I should’ve given you more. I’ll work on that.”
I shook my head. “You don’t have to. I—the things we’ve done—I would think about them for weeks after. Wake up, touching myself.”
His cheek creased. “Good,” he said. “I’m glad you suffered as much as me.”
He’d suffered?
The thrill that gave me merged into pleasure as he kissed his way from my lips to my throat, sucking on the sensitive spot where my shoulder met my neck, his mouth hot and wet.
I caught his head, holding him to me. Almost afraid I was still in the cell, dreaming this—the bed and the lights and the music; Cain; the careful way he was touching me…romancing me.
“More?” he asked against my skin.
I drew in a lungful of his earthy scent. This wasn’t a dream. It was too real, too detailed—and I thanked the Goddess for that.
“Please,” I said, the word dissolving into a moan.
His answer was a scrape of his teeth over my already sensitized skin, his fingers busy at the waistband of my jeans. When he had it undone, he lifted his head and stripped away the rest of my clothes, leaving me in high-cut red panties.
His gaze moved over me in a look that was pure hunger. The kind of look you don’t just see, you feel, like a heated lick over your skin.
He thrust his fingers beneath the satin waistband, cupping my mound in a firm, this is mine hold. “Tell me you haven’t had another man since Paris.”
I shook my head, my attention on where his hand was.
