Recognition hit him like a direct order. Go deep inside her until he was fully enveloped by her most divine secrets. That's what he was supposed to do. And he was supposed to do it twenty minutes ago.
But he couldn't move.
She drew her finger out and he'd never known a sound to create such hunger, but it did, a ravenous urge to devour. Devour her. The concept alarmed him as much as it excited him. She stroked over the pretty pink flesh at the very top of her slit and the whimpers and moans she added felt like a direct assault.
Francis fought to get enough oxygen and his ears rang. His harsh breaths forced her scent into his lungs, her taste onto his tongue. A rumbling growl filled him, foreign and yet familiar. His father. He'd heard him do that before. His thought to be concerned for her vanished as she undulated her hips while rubbing herself, her moans and whimpers becoming louder and more desperate.
Like she needed something more. Something he was to give her.
And yet he still couldn't move. He was incapacitated by the sounds of her pleasure, branded by the vision of her body before him, open to him, for him. It was redefining his being, her scent was signing its name on his soul, filling every supernatural fiber with its divine code. Till the end of time. Abigail is mine. All mine.
She suddenly sat up and made her way on hands and knees to him. He could only fight to hold himself together. By now, there was an official war between him and his ruby. It was volatile and dangerous, wanting to connect to this new desire, to help him with it, begging to, but he was terrified how it might. At the same time, his body wanted to fulfill the raging instinct to take her now. Take her with a merciless absolution.
He could only wait, her prisoner, as she knelt just before him, staring into his tormented gaze. Then she brought her finger to his lips. He didn't have to be told to open for it. With a vicious hunger, he grabbed her wrist and held her hand still as he licked and sucked the divine essence off of it. She rewarded him with a beautiful shocked whimper.
Francis choked on a groan when her other hand found his ferocious need and stroked with a maddening delicacy. That growling sound returned and she stroked harder.
"Oh God, you're fucking sexy," she whispered.
He wasn't sure what that meant but it seemed good to her. She began working his coat off of him and he could only watch still. Would he ever be able to act? As soon as he felt like he wouldn't kill her, he would. He hoped.
He removed his white shirt after she got his jacket off, wanting to help with something. "Oh my God." She stroked his chest and abs with eager fingers as she stared at his tattoo. It was a crucifix like Kassern's, covering his entire front, the bottom tip ending at his manhood. His was not an actual doorway but real ruby filled it. She leaned and kissed along the edge of the ink, then looked up at him, licking her lips, hunger making her eyes dark and luminous.
She kissed her way back up his body until she stood in the bed, her muscled stomach before his face. He wanted to do so many things to her. He raised his hands to touch and she took them and placed them on her firm backside. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist, pressing her folds against his abs.
Francis' ruby heated under his skin, right where she pressed herself. Please don't hurt her, he prayed. But the way she gasped and pushed into him more said it wasn't hurting at all, quite the contrary. He could scarcely think or stand. He moved until his back found the wall he could sense behind him. She gripped his waist with her strong inner thighs and took his face between her hands.
"You're so beautiful." She tasted his lips with soft delicate nips. "So beautiful."
Francis opened to taste back.
"You kissed me last night," she whispered, "I know you did, it was you." Her tongue now stroked and tasted along his lips, then dipped in his mouth, driving his hunger until he was fucking starving.
Chapter Thirty
Taste. Francis had to taste her. There was no thought to how and where, just his mouth on her skin, sucking, licking, her neck, her shoulder. He turned and placed her against the wall and she arched her back, pushing his head to her breasts. He opened hungrily, filling his mouth with as much as he could, sucking hard, licking the plump tip. She pulled his hair and he nipped with his teeth in response.
"Francis!"
Oh God, angelic, her voice was so fucking angelic. He moved to the other breast, needing to administer the exact same, to keep perfect pleasure balanced in her universe.
"God, suck my clit, please!" She pushed his head lower.
Clit?
He searched his mind for the meaning of that word. The direction she pushed told him its general location. He lowered to the floor and lifted one of her legs up and pinned it to the wall. Winded with hunger, he stared at those delicate secrets. Apparently he stared too long. Abigail took hold of his head and pressed his mouth on her. My God. He used his thumbs to hold her folds open. That tiny bud she'd rubbed earlier was hard. He licked it and she gasped and began to pull and push his mouth on it while she twirled her hips.