Blood Ties Bundle: Blood Ties Book One: The Turning / Blood Ties Book Two: Possession / Blood Ties Book Three: Ashes to Ashes / Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night. Jennifer Armintrout

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      But it’s something you’ve chosen. You’re in control.

      How easily I could lie to myself. I was as far from control as California was from Connecticut. Even the touch of my hair as it brushed my back turned me on.

      Cyrus pulled me into his arms, his naked skin made somewhat warmer from desire. “You look better than I thought you would,” he practically purred as he swept a hand down my back and over the curve of my buttocks.

      Goose bumps rose on my skin. “How did you think I’d look?”

      He traced lazy circles over the rise of my spine as his hands moved over my back. “I don’t know. Perhaps harder, more manly. You always hide beneath such masculine clothes.”

      I pushed against him, my breasts spilling over the cups of the bra as they pressed against his chest. He dipped his head and ran his tongue across the seam between the fabric and my flesh. “But not tonight.”

      Sliding the straps down my arms, he leaned away, exposing my newly uncovered skin to the cold of the room. His eye darkened as he reached for the front clasp of my bra and released it.

      I wanted nothing more than to yank the blankets up to my chin and hide from his severe evaluation, but he threw them aside so his view was entirely unobstructed.

      He said nothing, unsure of what I expected to hear. He took his time looking me up and down until I thought I’d scream just to break the tension.

      Slowly, deliberately, he glided a sharp fingernail from the hollow of my throat to the top of my panties. I arched my hips shamelessly, and he slid his finger beneath the satin, slicing the garment with his nail. Then he took the two halves of the fabric and ripped it completely away from my body.

      “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been with one of our kind?” he whispered, lowering his head to nibble my stomach.

      I didn’t particularly want to know about his past conquests, but I asked, anyway. “How long?”

      “Over half a century.” He parted my legs, running the tips of his nails leisurely up and down the insides of my thighs. “Sex with humans doesn’t compare.”

      With a flick of his wrist, he made a shallow cut just above my knee. I hissed at the pain of it, then moaned when he lifted my leg and closed his mouth over the blood that welled there.

      When he withdrew, red smeared his lips. He leaned to kiss me, and I zealously sucked my own blood from his mouth. How strange that such a short time ago I’d feared the consumption of blood. Now I thought nothing of it.

      “You taste as good as I remember,” he murmured against my cheek. His hand skimmed farther down my thigh, and he made another cut, this one deeper.

      My body burned as he slid down to lap at the new wound. His hair brushed against my aching sex, a cruel tease.

      This wasn’t what I had expected. I’d never really enjoyed sex much before. It was a thing that naturally happened in a relationship, but I’d never felt I needed it. Not like this, feeling as though I’d die if he left me right now, or at least cling to his legs whimpering and begging for more. He set out to seduce, to savor each moment, and I found myself enjoying the sensation of his icy lips on my skin. His wicked fingers stroking my legs. His hard body against mine.

      He made a cut in the sensitive seam where my leg met my body, and “accidentally” bumped his cheek against my mound when he moved to suck away the blood. My legs twitched and tightened around his head.

      “Could it be you’re actually enjoying yourself?” he asked in mock surprise.

      I closed my eyes, unwilling to see his satisfied expression when I spoke. “Yes.”

      He nipped at my chin. “Tell me you want me.”

      Closing my eyes, I breathed, “I want you.”

      “Not the sex, Carrie. Tell me you want me.” His words snapped my eyes open. His face was filled with pure, undisguised longing. He wasn’t asking if I desired him. He was asking me to love him.

      He needed me to say yes. His desperate fear of rejection saddened me. But the piece of me that was still unaffected by the blood tie held me back. It was the piece of me that hadn’t been touched by anyone. I wasn’t about to surrender it. “I’m sorry, Cyrus.”

      I thought he’d push me away, put an end to the encounter. Instead, he became more focused, kissing me harder and with more passion than he’d ever shown me before. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, threatening pain with his razor-sharp nails and pleasure with his gentle touch.

      He traced a path down my body with his tongue, until he reached the hot, slick entrance he sought. Parting me with his thumbs, he blew a gentle stream of frosty breath across my quivering flesh. I tried to lift my hips against his mouth, but he pushed me down on the bed. Before I could protest, he was on top of me, pressing the rigid length of his cock against me. He yanked my head back with my hair. “Tell me you love me.”

      I was speechless. I feared the actions that would be wrought by the fury etched on his face.

      “Lost your voice?” He reached between our bodies and roughly shoved two fingers inside me. I shrieked in pain as his sharp talons plowed through my sensitive flesh, but he covered my mouth with his other hand. “Well, you can scream easily enough.”

      As suddenly as his touch had turned violent, he became gentle. His fingers, still buried deep within me, no longer tore at me. They stroked, as if seeking to repair the damage done. The fleshy pads of his fingertips massaged and delved, swirling over the hypersensitive spot that had eluded all the other men I’d been with. I bit down on the hand that still covered my mouth to keep from moaning.

      I should have fought him, should have defended myself. But I couldn’t. His excitement fed mine. He pulled his hand from my mouth to hear my sobs of pleasure.

      He withdrew his fingers. I saw my blood on them, mixed with the wetness of my arousal. Cyrus brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, holding my gaze as he did so.

      Tell him to stop, my rational mind cried out as the prison of my body panted, waited, begged to come with words I’d never imagined saying. When Cyrus ruthlessly thrust into my torn flesh, I screamed in grateful agony.

      His face was a study in blasphemous rapture as he flexed his hips, driving himself deeper. Cyrus was hard and cold inside me, like glass, and was nearly too much for my overloaded nerve endings.

      “Bite,” he gasped, leaning his neck close to my mouth.

      I shook my head, trying to regain some of the control I’d lost. He slapped me across the face, and I flinched. “Do it!”

      I opened my mouth, trying desperately to summon my transformation, but it wouldn’t come. He growled in frustration, so to avoid another blow, I bit down hard on his neck with blunt, human teeth.

      He yelped in surprise, and no wonder. I felt the force of the pain in my own throat, and it wasn’t pleasant. A fresh surge of his lust seared my veins.

      “Drink.”

      As the first drops fell to my lips, I came. My body shuddered and my legs twisted СКАЧАТЬ