Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

“Darius!” she wailed, trying to push backward, to take the length of him deep inside her.

“Promise me,” he growled softly, his hands caressing her hips, sliding over her buttocks to deliberately enflame her more. The sight of her, so petite and perfect, sent streaks of lightning whipping through him.

“I promise,” she bit out rashly, unable to think clearly.

Darius reached around her to cup her breasts in his palms possessively. He thrust into her mind even as his hips surged forward to bury himself deep within her. She was even hotter, softer, tighter than he remembered. He nuzzled her neck, his teeth scraping erotically. He felt her body grip him harder in anticipation, and, despite his every good intention, the wildness in him took over; his fangs lengthened and sank into her neck.

He took her hard and fast, thrusting deeply, his body surrounding hers as hers did his. He was in her mind, feeding her erotic images, his savage, primitive, bestial nature rising, a wolf claiming its mate, a leopard holding its female in a submissive position. At the same time he was Darius, taking her higher and higher, pushing their shared pleasure beyond human to ecstasy. Her body rippled with her release, driving him over the edge so that his hot seed erupted again and again into her depths.

He held her still, locked to her, not wanting to give up their physical connection, the taste of her. Reluctantly he forced himself to close the pinpricks in her neck. He had fed well before he had approached the camp, knowing he would take her before the night was over, knowing he might still, regretfully, have to kill Cullen Tucker. He did not want to risk inadvertently converting Tempest, to chance that something might go wrong.

He stroked her body, explored her every curve. His mouth followed the line of her spine, kissing the length of her back. “Do you have any idea how I feel about you, baby, any idea at all?” he growled.

Tempest’s legs felt rubbery. She wanted to lie down somewhere. They had been up all night the night before, and she had not so much as grabbed a nap. Suddenly, with all the intrigue, the work, and their shared, wild lovemaking, she was exhausted.

Darius knew it instantly. He slowly withdrew from her body, feeling slightly bereft. It shamed him that he could need her so much, hunger for her blood, the taste of her body, the feel of her surrounding him. He had to find a way to strike a balance between treating her gently enough to keep from scaring her off and forcing his will on her so that he could keep her always safe at his side.

Darius tenderly pulled her up against his hard frame, where Tempest slumped, blushing wildly at how wanton she had been, begging him to take her. She shoved her hands through her hair, and at once his palms covered her upthrust breasts, sending fire sizzling to her sensitive nipples and back to him again. She buried her face against his chest, too tired to stand on her own, and Darius instantly swept her up into his arms. She closed her eyes as they moved in a blur through time and space.

Whatever he said to the others, however he had made it happen, she was grateful that the campsite was empty, except for the bus when they returned, both of them stark naked. When she was making love to Darius, she felt totally free, totally uninhibited. But once they were back in the real world, her private nature reasserted itself, and she was painfully modest.

Darius carried her into the trailer to the sofa bed, placing her among all its pillows. “You will rest now, Tempest.” It was decree, an order delivered in a voice meant to be obeyed.

She caught at him as he went to move away from her, drawing him back to the bed, down beside her. Her hand stroked the hard angles and planes of his face, a gentle caress that totally disarmed him. Darius was instantly lost in the contentment, the sheer pleasure of having her with him. He lay down beside her, just for a few minutes, and pulled her into his arms.