Bitten by Ecstasy: 2 (Dark Judgment) (17 page)

“What—” she gasped.

Bastien covered her lips again, swallowing the question and her confusion. He moved, maneuvering her deeper into the corner without lifting his head or easing the pressure between her legs. While her mind had yet to catch up with what was happening, her body coasted on a much faster learning curve. Or maybe it was instinctual. Her hips rolled, rubbing her swollen flesh over his thigh. Delight shimmered through her, over her. She shuddered. And did it again.

Oh
.

She burrowed her fingers in his long, heavy hair. She clutched the white-blond strands, holding his head steady as she cocked hers to the side, experimenting. A shiver danced down her spine.
Oh yes. This angle is nice.
His tongue speared, danced, tempted. And she surrendered.

His big palm cradled her cheek. The tough pad of his thumb grazed the skin under her bottom lip before trailing down her jaw and neck to her breast. The first rake of his fingernail over her nipple sent a shot of pure pleasure to her sex. She jumped, whimpered.

“
Shhh…
” he soothed, lifting his head. His lips were fuller, red and wet from their kiss. His eyes, still an eerie but compelling blend of emerald and crimson, narrowed. “
Your pleasure belongs to me. Not them.
”

He brushed her lips with his and when he pinched her taut peak, she gritted her teeth, restraining the needy sound welling inside her. His slightly rough, rawer touch was different from her own experimental flicks. She couldn’t control the arch of her spine or the jerk of her hips, though. And Bastien didn’t seem to want her to.

A rumble emanated from him, and his approval of her involuntary response glowed like a warm flame down their telepathic link. Her tentative exploration in the shower hadn’t prepared her for…for this. With just a kiss and a caress, he’d catapulted her into a sensual world she hadn’t known existed outside the clandestine, drunken gropings and couplings she’d witnessed in dark alleys or against the sides of buildings. Yet those fumblings, hurried movements and grunts didn’t resemble this alternate universe Bastien introduced her to. This differed from those like a gentle morning mist differed from a tearing, stinging rain.

His hand cupped her breast, squeezed and molded her flesh. Talented fingertips circled and plucked the rigid tip until she almost howled with frustration and pleasure. He lowered his mouth to her neck. Teeth too sharp for normal canines scraped her throat.

She stilled, panted. The painful yearning that tortured her while watching Bastien feed from Cyra’s wrist sliced through her again. It almost overtook the desire drumming in her blood. Over the centuries, she’d bit into the necks of countless vampires, had drunk their blood. The act had been as sexual as ordering fish ’n chips from a pub. Never had she considered it a connection, a bonding…an intimacy. Her grip on his hair tightened. She pressed him closer.
Pierce me. Taste me. Take from me
.

As if he’d heard her silent plea, his teeth closed around the tendon in her neck. Not hard enough to break the skin, but firm enough she hoped the sharp tips would breach her throat… Her breath hitched as uncertainty, need and anticipation warred inside her. She’d never been fed from—before Bastien the thought would’ve been abhorrent—but now she wanted to know, to feel. She strained upward, attempting to create more pressure.

Air whistled from between her lips. Her heart raced. But Bastien only licked her skin, sucking it tenderly before releasing her. Disappointment pricked her. A whisper-soft caress slid along the walls of her mind as his hand abandoned her breast and slid down her abdomen. He dropped his leg, cupped the back of her thigh and hooked her knee at his waist, spreading her wider, opening her farther. The throbbing in her sex increased. The small opening at the bottom of her folds spasmed. Grasped, released. Grasped, released.

A cool, ventilated breeze kissed the skin of her bare legs. She glanced down. Her skirt was bunched high, almost revealing the place aching so terribly.

“
Bastien
,” she murmured and caught the question in her voice. “
Bastien, I—
”

A blunt-tipped finger slid through her wet crease, thrust into the narrow core of her body as a hard caress passed over that secret place at the top of her sex. A cry she couldn’t contain ripped free from her lips.
Oh Lady
. Oh damn. Pleasure so like the startling delight she’d drawn from her body bolted through her, converged in her sex like a steadily expanding supernova. This ecstasy he pulled from her flesh—from her soul—was sharper, heavier, just…more. It filled her until, once again, she hovered on that unknown precipice. Except instead of knocking on the door and pulling her back from the ledge, Bastien shoved her over. She shot into a dark pleasure-soaked abyss. Then she slammed into the bottom. And detonated.

The power of it scared her.

Sweet Nef
, she wanted it again.

Muted cries and moans clawed at her chest, spilled past her lips. She dragged her hands from the thick fall of Bastien’s hair and clutched his shoulders.

Slowly, Bastien raised his head from her neck, stared down at her with unblinking eyes gone completely red. And inhuman. Large pupils like flaming orbs enlarged until they completely swallowed the ruby irises. He didn’t utter a word, not aloud or mentally, but a strong, wild surge ricocheted down their telepathic link—tumble of fierce energy jumping and snapping along the neural path. And in that moment she knew his beast. His hippogryph watched her out of eagle eyes kindled by hunger.

“Bastien.”

The sound of his name seemed to break him free of lust’s fiery grip. His eyes closed as he exhaled a harsh breath. Seconds crawled by before he lifted his lashes, meeting her gaze. The hippogryph was gone, his pupils returned to normal size. And while flames lurked, more green occupied his stare than red. Gentler than she would have believed him capable of at that moment, he removed his finger from her sex. She gasped, the caress sending tingles along sensitive nerves lining her channel.

Hunger flared bright and hot again and, for an instant, she thought he might slide a finger back up inside her. She tensed. And wondered if her face exposed the anticipation tickling her stomach.

Bastien’s expression hardened and he removed his touch and her hope. With brusque movements, he lowered her leg and righted her skirt. He stepped back, placing space between them.

As her hands fell from his shoulders, she immediately missed and craved the unyielding crush of his body, the rough silk of his hair between her fingers, the slick press of his mouth. She wanted it all back. Wanted more of what had transpired between them. One glance around the room revealed in exact detail what that “more” entailed. But it didn’t include screwing with vampires on a floor or couch.

No. If any screwing was going to happen, it would be with Bastien. And only Bastien.

“We’re done,” he bit out.

With this den of sin and sex?

Sure.

With what he’d started in this corner?

Not by a long shot.

Shame had a caustic flavor, like bitter berries dipped in battery acid.

Rage was like a high-octane cocktail of anger and fear garnished with guilt.

Together they were a combustible combination of
fucked up
.

Both churned in his stomach, sour and so close to exploding there should have been a ticking clock on his forehead. Snarling, Bastien shoved his fingers through his hair, fisting the strands as if they were the only things keeping him grounded.
Too little, too late
. He’d lost his tenuous grip on sanity the moment Sinéad kissed him in the middle of an orgy.

He growled. Scrubbed a hand down his face. And inhaled the scent of Sinéad’s pussy on his finger.

Shit
.

He closed his eyes as a convulsive shudder passed through him. Lifting the hand to his mouth, he slid the finger between his lips, curled his tongue around it. Even an hour later her essence lingered. Made him crave more than just the sensory memory of the cream that had flooded her slick, swollen lips. He wanted to dive into the source, have the smooth walls of her pussy milk his tongue and all her sweet juice quench his desperate thirst.

Sliding the finger free, he shook his head, disgusted. He had a feeling Sinéad should have a Surgeon General’s warning label plastered on her back.
Sinéad is a drug that may be addictive
.

Her response had blown him away. She’d writhed against him, her slim hips jerking and riding his fingers like the stripper who’d worked the pole in the den. Her whimpers of pleasure had seared his ears and mind even as her sex convulsed in her first orgasm. Sinéad hadn’t admitted to it, but he’d known. Surprise had flashed like white lightning in her wide, silver eyes. Wonder had rippled across her lovely features seconds before passion tightened them.

No, he hadn’t needed her to tell him it had been her first orgasm, her body had confessed it.

And an entire room full of vampires had witnessed it.

Shame and rage surged full force once more, scalding his chest and throat. His fingers tightened into fists and, though his talons ripped past his fingertips, he didn’t try to retract them. He welcomed the bite of pain as the razor-sharp tips pricked his palms—it didn’t center him, but punished him. He squeezed his fists harder.

That should have never happened—her first moment of pleasure shouldn’t have been fodder for an audience of jaded, prurient creatures. It should have been special, intimate. It should have been private, damn it!

Yet he’d been the one to expose her.
His
responsibility was to protect her. He’d failed. Miserably. What would Nicolai have done? Bastien couldn’t imagine Nico bringing Tamar anywhere near a place like Heaven’s Gate, much less allowing them to be surrounded by the enemy and becoming the erotic hors d’oeuvre for vampires. The warrior would have taken out every creature in the room soaked in lust and blood.

But then Nico was a warrior and Bastien was…not.

But there was another shame aggravating his conscience like a stone in the bottom of a shoe. Not one time while he’d had Sinéad pinned between his body and the wall—her mouth taking his in a kiss that made his balls ache, her pussy riding his thigh like a jockey—had Alesia entered his mind. Not. Fucking. Once.

Dismayed—and not a little sickened—he stalked to the sliding glass door leading to the balcony. His claws clacked against the metal rim as he yanked the door open. Warm air rushed in, danced over his face and tickled his hair. It invited him to come out, join the night and fly free of his fury and revulsion.

“Bastien.” He stopped, his foot already over the threshold, but didn’t turn around. Couldn’t face her. “It’s not your fault.”

The growl rolled up and out of him before he could hold it back. He whipped around, lip curled. “Get out of my head…emotions…whatever,” he snapped, slashing a hand though the air.

Sinéad snorted and crossed her arms. The pose boosted her smooth breasts over the top of the black corset, the sensual sight reminding him of how one of the soft mounds had filled his palm, how taut her nipple had hardened under his plucking fingers. How her blood had rushed hot and delicious through the delicate network of blue veins, blushing faintly under her creamy skin.

He tore his rabid stare away from the provocative picture. Shit, she threatened to shove him over the edge into a needy, dark oblivion he wouldn’t have the power or desire to crawl out of.

“It doesn’t take an empath to discern what you’re thinking or feeling, hippogryph,” she drawled. “I can see it all over your face. Just like I knew you were willing to throw away our one chance at infiltrating Faolan’s circle before we even entered.”

“And I was right, damn it.”

“Yes,” she agreed, nodding. She moved forward, closing the space between them in three long strides. Her smaller hand wrapped around his fist, her fingers slipping between his palm and curled talons. “You made the right decision to go forward. But that’s not what this is about, is it, Bastien?”

He groaned. It sounded rusted and scraped his throat raw. “I failed.”

She cocked her head to the side. “How do you figure?”

He scoffed, caught between disbelief and disgust. “You should’ve never been exposed to the scene we entered tonight. You shouldn’t have been exposed to them.
I
did that.”

“And I had nothing to do with it, right?” Her lips curved into a wry smile.

“Shit.” He retracted his claws then yanked his hand free. Thrusting his fingers through his hair once again, he dragged the heavy strands away from his face. His lips twisted into a sneer, full of the self-directed loathing bubbling and seething inside him. He pivoted on his heel and stalked across the room. Away from her scent, away from the tempting swell of supple flesh and, mostly, away from the understanding softening her beautiful features.

He didn’t want her compassion—didn’t deserve her sympathy.

“It was my hand shoved up your damn skirt, Sinéad,” he growled. “My fingers fucking your pussy.”

Her swift intake of breath echoed in the room, but damn if he could retract the words. Just uttering them brought back the slick, tight clasp of her sex. How the wet, snug channel had clutched at him like a suckling mouth. He ground his teeth together so hard it wouldn’t have surprised him if white enamel dust puffed from his mouth.

Unable to stop himself, he lifted his arm, brought his fingers to his nose. Inhaled. And felt like a pathetic sap. His arm dropped to his side.

“I know,” she whispered. A weighty, tension-filled pause vibrated in the room. He bit back the primal roar his beast let loose. It filled his chest, pushed at his throat, demanding to be heard. It pounded in his head like a crashing wave and yet the next gently spoken words sliced through the din like a sword hot from the fires of a forge. “Even now I swear I can feel you inside me.”

His heart stopped. His hippogryph stilled.

Slowly, he pivoted. He had to see her—had to look at her face when she said those words. See if the hunger in her voice was reflected in her stunning, quicksilver eyes.
I can feel you inside me.
Those simple syllables created the most confusing, violent emotions to whirl and tumble in his chest, to tighten his stomach.

Stroke his cock.

Sinéad stood next to the foot of the bed, the faint tinge of red on her cheeks incongruous with the wickedly sinful outfit of black leather and silk. He could imagine how hard it was for a female unused to passion to confess it. Yet she had, not only with her admission but with those glorious eyes. They shimmered with heat like dry lightning foretelling a coming storm. And it was for him. For his touch.

That in itself was a miracle.

“You can stop blaming yourself, hippogryph,” she whispered. A slim hand hovered over her abdomen. It fisted. “I wanted what you did to me. I want more.”

He lunged for her, a growl rumbling in his throat. But just as he reached her, he drew up short. Ignoring her soft gasp, he wheeled around and marched to the dresser next to the bed. He snatched up his cell phone and hurriedly tapped a message on the screen. Within seconds, the subtle vibration of another phone reverberated in the silence. Sinéad frowned and glanced down at her cell on the mattress. She picked it up and he studied her face as she read what he’d texted.
I’m about to kiss you.

Surprise passed over her features before a huge smile played across her lips. She obviously remembered her previous forewarning about making sudden moves on her. Sinéad’s eyes rose from the phone and a laugh that seemed bigger than her petite frame rolled out of her. Grinning, Bastien tossed the cell back to the top of the dresser with a clatter before he vaulted over the bed in one leap and soundlessly landed in front of her.

Capturing her face between his palms, he lowered his head and covered her smiling mouth. He swallowed her chuckle and grunted in satisfaction as her hilarity morphed into a needy moan. She jerked hard in his hold, but then relaxed, her petite body molding to his. Her hands clutched his shoulders. Pleasure surged at the tiny bite of her nails as she clung to him. With a hiss, he thrust his tongue between her parted lips and drank from her mouth. This time he groaned. The taste of her—the taste of a fresh Irish morning—was habit-forming.
She
was habit-forming.

Her tongue curled around his in a sucking motion that gripped his stomach muscles and echoed on the swollen head of his cock. His hips punched forward, his cock grinding against her soft belly.
Oh fuck
.
He snarled, his control slipping away like tendrils of smoke. The razor-sharp tips of his talons pricked beneath his fingertips, demanding to be let free. His hippogryph ached to claim this female as the man did.

Bastien wrenched his mouth away from Sinéad’s and tipped his head back on his shoulders. He fought the partial change. That was a door he couldn’t open…especially since he didn’t know which of the creatures existing within him would emerge.

Small palms glided down the front of his chest and hesitated at the band of his pants before sliding under the hem of his shirt. He flinched at the first caress of her fingers over the bare skin of his abdomen. His hands shot out, cuffed her wrists, halting her progress. The knee-jerk reaction plunged the room into a subzero, deafening silence.

Desire bled from his veins, purged by the cold snap of fear and shame. His facial scars didn’t seem to bother Sinéad, but the one time she’d seen him naked had been in the dim shadows of early morning. She couldn’t have truly glimpsed the road map of hardened ridges and whorls marring his chest and stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. Disgust would twist her lovely features. Pity would erase the need from her gaze. And seeing it would shatter something in him. He couldn’t find the courage to risk the pain.

His eyes opened as Sinéad snatched free of his hold. Her lips straightened into a firm, grim line. Thunderbolts crackled in her gaze as she reached behind her. As if in slow motion, her hand reappeared, one of her black-handled daggers in her grip. His eyes traced the short length of the curved, steel blade shaped like a miniature scimitar. Deliberately, her eyes never breaking contact with his, she brought the tip to his throat, paused…then slowly drew it down the center of his chest, coming to a stop at his waist.

The cool air of the room’s centralized air brushed over him—and fluttered the cleanly sliced edges of his shirt apart.

With a flick of her wrist, the knife flew across the room and embedded itself in the wall above the headboard, only the guard and grip visible.

Stunned, he stood motionless. The savagery—the fucking hot
ferocity
—of her defiance tasered him, the shock leaving him trembling yet unable to move.

Her eyes glittered up at him like diamonds cast across a gray sky. Even as she lowered her head to his chest, she didn’t release him from her gaze. Even as her perfect lips parted and her teeth clamped down on a thick scar that ran from under his chest bone and ended inches above his navel, she held him prisoner, practically daring him to glance away. Even as she sucked on the numb flesh, flashes of silver and fire challenged him to deny the acceptance—no, the
pleasure
so clear in her unwavering gaze.

Hands trembling, he threaded his fingers through the long, chocolate strands tumbling around her face and shoulders. He pressed his fingertips against her skull, holding her closer. What he wouldn’t give to feel the sting of her bite on his flesh. The deadened nerves under the dense scar tissue prevented him from experiencing the nip of teeth and the lash of her tongue. He wanted it. A groan of frustration rolled out of him and his fingers flexed on her scalp.

As if interpreting his silent need, she swirled her tongue over the hardened mass of flesh then settled her mouth on him again, this time catching the unmarred skin surrounding the scar with her teeth as well. She tugged and the sensation arrowed straight to his cock. His hips punched forward and her moan over his damp skin nearly careened him from aroused to I-need-a-cigarette territory.

“Harder, sweetheart,” he demanded—
pleaded
—as he cradled her head and pressed her closer.

With a sexy growl that drove his beast wild, she clamped down, drew on him with a suction his cock envied. Her tongue flicked over the sensitive skin around the scar, back and forth, until she released him with a soft pop.