Her mouth was a silken haven he was lost in, his blood roaring in his ears. Dayan held her tightly, possessively; she was his only refuge after a thousand years of utter loneliness. He lifted his head so that his mouth could drift in a dancing flame of heat and light over her skin back to her irresistible pulse. It beckoned him in an age-old call. She could hear his voice, a soft murmur, a whisper of sensuous command, and her blood quickened, heating in answer. His tongue caressed her skin, his teeth nipped gently, teasingly, erotically, and then she gasped as white-hot lightning arced through her, sizzling, streaking through her blood so that she was on fire. His mouth moved against her and he held her even tighter, fitting her to him almost as if they were making love.
It was like a dream, hazy and unreal, sensuous and erotic. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Corinne felt weak, unable to move, yet she didn’t want to, cradling his head to her, her hands in his wealth of hair, giving herself up to his hot, seeking mouth. She closed her eyes, the illusion of being made love to so real she could almost feel him touching her intimately. His voice was in her head, and somehow she felt his desire, the hunger in him, his intense pleasure. She never wanted him to stop. Her fingers slipped from his hair and her hands fell limply to her sides.
At once Dayan lifted his head, breaking the connection between them. Curiously, she felt warm liquid running from her neck along the creamy swell of her breast. She didn’t lift her heavy lashes to examine the cause, not wanting to break the magical spell of heat and desire. He lowered his mouth to pursue the liquid trail so that her entire body responded, clenching with pleasure. Corinne smiled that he could make her feel so much without any real effort.
“I left my mark on you.” It was a black-velvet whisper that moved through her body with the same heat as her blood. “I could not help myself.” He nibbled and teased the corner of her mouth until she obediently opened for him. There was a faint coppery taste as his tongue swept inside, claiming her for his own. Before she could give it any thought, he had taken possession of her soul, her body, so that she was no longer a thinking woman, but a living flame of need and hunger.
His hand came up to cup the weight of her breast, his thumb caressing her nipple through the thin material of her blouse. Flames raced through her bloodstream. His mouth left hers, his teeth nibbling her chin, down the side of her neck and along her vulnerable throat so that she arced closer to him. A soft moan escaped her as his mouth nudged the edge of her blouse.
“We have to stop,” she said softly, not convincing either of them.
Her heart was laboring far too hard. That, more than anything else, caused Dayan to gain total control of the demon battling for supremacy. He wanted so much to claim her for his own, to bind her to him. He wanted to secure her life by exchanging blood, not simply tasting the essence of what would be his. He needed her, but more importantly, she needed him. “You are right, honey,” he said with deep regret. “Follow my breathing pattern to allow your heart to rest.”
She was relaxed in his arms, her eyes closed, her body on fire, yet she felt as if she couldn’t move to save her life. She was inexplicably tired, drained. “I need to get things from my house. Medicine. Important things. If we really can’t go back for a while, we’ll need clothes.”
“Make a list,” he suggested again. He was moving through the night, his arms cradling her effortlessly, his strides long and easy. He was silent as he carried her toward the small house he shared with Cullen. Every now and then he bent his head to brush the top of her silky head with a kiss.
“I can’t make a list, Dayan, you know that. Some things are private. Lisa might let me get her things, but she would never let you go through her personal drawers.”