The Dark Prince (The Dark Light Series)(14)

Dorian smirks devilishly, noting my confused expression. “Don’t be shy on my account. Pleasure yourself.”

“I’d rather you do that,” I reply coyly.

Another growl escapes. “Gladly.”

Dorian kneels at the foot of the bed, grabbing me by my hips and swiftly pulling me to the very edge. He spreads my thighs and places them on his shoulders, drinking in the sight of my glistening flesh. Soft, wet kisses decorate my inner thighs, driving me mad with expectation. He runs his teeth along the inside of one thigh then bites down right before reaching my swollen clit, causing me to yelp in surprise. The yelp develops into a moan as I savor the tingles that follow along the path of Dorian’s touch. He repeats the ritual on the other leg and this time I groan in ecstasy. Every kiss, every bite leaves a new depth of sensation. Pain evolves into a pulsation; pleasure erupts into prickles. And as quickly as they began, they spread, alighting every nerve with a singeing heat that causes me to cry out, my back arching off the bed.

“Just feel, Gabriella. Just feel what I can do to you with just a kiss.”

Dorian laves my throbbing folds with his tongue and I completely lose it. Just one touch with his mouth and I crumble into a mewling mess of whimpers and pants. It’s as if I’ve never been touched before, like my body is raw and utterly open to him. I’m barely able to control my erratic breaths when Dorian covers me with his mouth, sucking and licking me until I am practically choking on my own sobs.

“Oh God!” I cry. “Dorian, please!” My body shudders again, my thighs twitching uncontrollably on his shoulders.

“What, little girl?” he says against my swollen clit, sending vibrations to the already hypersensitive flesh.

“I…I…can’t,” I stammer.

“You can’t what?” Dorian juts his tongue inside me, lapping up my warm nectar. “Mmmmm.”

“Ugh!” I nearly scream, unable to come up with anything intelligible. It feels so good but too good. Unnatural. Yet, our insane chemistry just comes naturally.

Dorian buries his face between my legs and consumes me enthusiastically, expressing his satisfaction with my flavor with a stream of deep groans. It’s like he can’t get enough, and I continually feed him with wave after wave of fresh, silken honey.

“Stop! Please! I can’t take anymore!” I beg hoarsely. Tears stream down the sides of my face, my skin flush and burning. “It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.”

Dorian finally pulls away, leaving twin bites on the inside of each thigh before standing. He licks his glistening lips, unwilling to let a drop go to waste. His eyes flicker as he observes my trembling frame amusingly.

“I’m not done with you yet, Gabriella. I still want you.” He takes a step forward and rests a knee on the bed, right between my legs. “Don’t be afraid.”

Dorian holds up his palm and it is suddenly enraptured with a bright blue haze. But before I can even wrap my head around it or question it, he pushes it forward a bit. And somehow, in a way that I can’t even begin to explain, my entire body moves to the middle of the bed involuntarily like I am a naked, quivering marionette and he is my puppet-master.

I scream with shock and confusion. “What the hell, Dorian? What are you doing me? Your hand…” I can’t even begin to rationalize what I’m seeing, what I’m experiencing.

“Don’t be afraid,” Dorian repeats, taking a few steps back. “Trust me. I won’t hurt you.” He spreads his fingers apart, and again my body complies, splaying my limbs out flat against the satin comforter. “Look at me.”

His hand makes a beckoning gesture and my head elevates from the bed, slightly bending forward so I am forced to meet his eyes. I can’t move, my body completely manipulated by the simple movements of Dorian’s single hand. And then I see it; I see him. His darkness creeps onto his face, masking his once beautiful, exotic features. The creature before me is not my Dorian. He is threatening, sinister, and so insanely sexy. And as confusing and frustrating as it is to admit, I am scorching hot for him.

His fingers begin to dance as if they are stroking the keys to an imaginary piano. His movements incite the tiny tingles, inflaming every nerve ending, from my fingertips through my swollen breasts to the apex of my thighs. I gasp loudly, my eyes fixed on Dorian’s as he continues to tickle the invisible ivories. His strokes increase, and so do the pleasurable prickles, igniting from a spark to a wildfire, quickly spreading to every inch of my body. I want to scream, writhe, thrash. He is torturing me from the inside out and I am slowly dying a hundred delicious deaths.