There was also the issue that he was so far down into an energy wormhole that he wasn’t sure whether even that would be enough. Another fun fact? He didn’t think he could stand up to pull a pair of jeans on. So how in the hell was he going to go to the Iron Mask and—
The soft knock was repeated.
Pushing his hand under the covers, he shoved his erection around so that it would lie as flat as possible—and the contact made him grit his teeth.
You’ve got to do this with her, he told himself. Once and never again.
“Selena…” Shit, the sound of her name leaving his lips made him feel like his hand was back on his cock.
Oh, wait, he hadn’t taken the damn thing off.
As she opened the door, he whipped his arm out from under—and glared at it to stay put.
Sweet Mary, Mother of God … to quote that Boston cop.
She looked as beautiful as always in that white robing with her hair up, but his starvation turned her into a transcendental vision—that went right to his hips. His pelvis immediately started curling, his cock begging for something, anything from her.
This was a bad idea, he thought.
And sure enough, Selena hesitated in the doorway, glancing around as if she recognized the charge in the air.
It was his last chance to send her away.
He didn’t take it.
“Close the door,” he said in a voice so deep it warped.
“You suffer.”
“Close it.”
Click.
There was only a single lamp on, that one by the chaise longue, and the butter-yellow light seemed to act as a sound buffer, everything inside the room amplified, everything outside silenced.
Then again, maybe it was the color of her eyes doing that.
As she approached, she pulled up her sleeve, exposing her pale wrist. And in response, his fangs didn’t descend so much as punch out from his upper jaw—and shit, he didn’t want what she was going to offer. He wanted at her throat … he wanted her naked and underneath his body, his canines in her neck as his cock—
Moaning, he kicked his head back and gripped the duvet in his fists.
“Worry not,” she said in a rush. “Here, take of me.”
In spite of all the air in the room, his lungs began to starve for oxygen, shallow breaths pumping in and out of his open mouth.
And then her hand brushed his arm, and he moaned again, trying to twist away. Gritting his teeth, he knew this was a very bad thing.
“Selena, I can’t … I can’t do this…”
“I don’t understand.”
“You should leave…” Fuck, he could barely get the words out. “Leave or I’m going to…”
“Feed,” she cut in sharply. “You need to feed—”
“Selena…”
“You must take my vein—”
“—you’d better go…”
They were talking over each other, getting nowhere, when she took charge of the situation. At first, he thought his brain was playing tricks on him—but no, that was the scent of fresh blood in the room. Hers.
She’d scored her wrist.
Big mistake.
With a roar, he went for her—and not her wrist. His hands unlatched from the wadded sheeting and he grabbed her, taking her by the shoulders and flipping her across his lap to lay her out flat on the mattress.
He mounted her a split second later, the duvet folding up between them, his hands pinning her wrists up on the pillows by her head.
One look in her shocked eyes stopped him dead. And yet he couldn’t get off her.
Screw panting; he was breathing like a freight train, his body hard all over, his muscles twitching. “Shit…” he moaned as he dropped his head.
Get off of her, he ordered his body. Get the fuck off of—
The undulation beneath him took a moment to register. And then he realized it was her. She was … moving against him, and not as in she wanted to get free. Her eyes, once alarmed, were now glazing over, her lips parting as she arched into him.
She wanted him. Fucking hell, her scent was flaring into his nose, her blood running fast and hot as his own.
“Selena,” he groaned. “I’m sorry…”
“For what,” she said roughly.
“This.”
He struck her throat, fangs sinking deep, blood rushing onto his tongue, down his throat. And as he nursed at her, his body pumped against the wadded duvet, desperately trying to find her core through the layers of sheeting, his cock throbbing, the friction making everything worse.
As he drank hard, a growl reverberated out of his chest, filling the air with the sound of a male animal getting what he needed—or at least, part of what he needed. And in a way, maybe it was good that he was so blood starved. Otherwise, the sexual urge would have taken precedence.
As long as all he did was feed? They could come back from that.