Maybe it was his use of resonance when he spoke, she wasn’t sure, but she leaned back, planted her hands on his shoulders, and drove her fangs hard into the vein waiting for her. She began to suck on his neck, deep pulls, taking his blood into her mouth and down her throat.
He held her in place, her legs dangling as she worked his throat. He adjusted slightly to hold her with one arm around her waist. With his free hand he glided down her back, slipped beneath the low waistband of her skirt, and when his fingers found flesh—because she wore only a thong—he groaned and pressed her against him.
She slowed her drinking, because what she needed now shifted. He was a hard length against her abdomen. With his blood in her belly and firing her veins, desire streaked through her body, pinching at her breasts, teasing between her legs.
She needed Leto and she needed him now.
Leto had never experienced anything like this in his long vampire life. The last thing he’d expected was for Grace to become so jealous that she’d actually had to leave the games. But as soon as he saw her fangs, he’d understood that she was completely and beautifully out of control.
So here he was, having her draw on his neck. Though her deep pulls had slowed and it was clear her original ferocity was dialing down, everything about this moment was so at odds with the sweet, reverential woman he’d always known Grace to be.
The truth was, he loved it, and the beast in him was yelling at him to finish this the way he needed it finished.
At last, Grace removed her fangs and pulled back enough to meet his gaze. Her gold-green eyes glinted in the dark forest night. She had run far enough away from the games that silence surrounded them. He was alone with her.
Very alone.
“My turn,” he said, his voice deep.
She nodded. He pulled her up against the nearest tree. The rough bark would hurt her but he had a plan. “Get rid of your skirt and thong.”
“Okay.” A moment later he felt only flesh against the palm of his hand.
With a thought, he lost his kilt and briefs. “Put your arms around my neck and hold on.”
She did. “God, I need you.”
“Same here.”
With one hand, he lifted her left thigh. She lifted her other leg and he supported her underneath. He angled himself and pushed. He found her so wet that his knees buckled as he groaned.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m strong and I can hold you like this.”
“I know.”
Bending his knees, he began to drive into her. It wasn’t the most elegant position but by God it worked, because he was inside her and that’s exactly where he needed to be.
She moaned against his ear, then his temple and his neck. There was nothing like strong muscles to get something organized and working just right.
But he needed just a little more resistance so he folded his kilt into his hand, placed the kilt behind Grace, backed her up against the tree, then seated her against the leather. He moved into her again.
Yes, that’s better, she sent.
Reassured and with her anchored, he could push the way he wanted to. She kissed him. He tasted his blood, and because she was crying into his mouth, he started pumping hard.
Leto, come. Please. Aloud, she said, “Please. Now.”
She threw her head back and then he understood. She was coming, and that brought his orgasm streaking through his cock. She gripped his hair and grunted, holding back her cries because anyone could be in the forest right now.
He came and came. His cock jerked inside her, and she threw her head back again, hitting the tree and resting there.
She was breathing hard. So was he. He could feel her clench around him, and it was a wonderful sensation: that he was inside her when he hadn’t planned to be there quite yet, that he was connected to her like this, to Grace, to his breh, that she had been so overcome with jealous rage that she had run from the games, into the forest, probably trying to escape all those possessive feelings.
He knew how she felt. The breh-hedden was a tough master. If he’d been able to follow after Casimir, he was pretty sure he would have killed him for taking Grace away.
Kissing the side of her neck, he said softly, “If the situation had been reversed, if you had been cheering for another man, I don’t think I could have borne it. I will try to temper my actions toward Brynna.”
But Grace pulled back. “I don’t want you to have to do that. I feel like such a cretin. I don’t even know myself. It’s the breh-hedden.”
He shook his head. “Not entirely. I’ve talked to both Thorne and Jean-Pierre. They’ve both said that essentially you just become more of who you really are.”
At that, she seemed to relax, though she frowned. “Is this who I am? A jealous monster?”