Page 84 of Given

My dress fell away, then my chemise and drawers. One of the priestesses brushed the side of my bare breast as she lifted my camisole over my head. The Sanctum was warm, but my nipples puckered, the pink tips hard points in the lower half of my vision. My breasts trembled as I drew rapid breaths. Gentle hands removed the circlet from my head. Another set of hands smoothed my hair back into place. I stared at Laurent with my heart thumping loudly in my ears and a strange tingling spreading through my limbs.

He broke my stare when a priestess brought him an obsidian dagger. He took it—and his demeanor changed. Like smoke shifting in the air, his movements grew methodical. Reverent. It was like he moved underwater, his body flowing with currents I couldn’t see. He turned to the altar and bowed his head. Murmured something in that sibilant tongue that made the fine hairs on my body stand on end. When he turned back, his eyes gleamed like moonlight. He drew one of the curtains aside.

“On your back, my queen.”

Fresh heat entered my cheeks. The curtains offered a measure of privacy, but they didn’t shield everything. The priests were a cluster of black robes and long beards along the back wall. The priestesses joined them as Laurent helped me onto the bed.

Dagger in hand, he climbed in after me, and for one terrifying moment I thought he might plunge it into my heart. But he wedged himself between my thighs and sat on his heels. Now I was spread open, my innermost secrets bared to his gaze—and the gazes of the priests and priestesses. My heart raced and my body heated.

And the warm air of the Sanctum caressed the moisture between my thighs.

The moment I felt it, a barrier crumbled. My nipples tightened even more, and a gasp escaped me before I could stop it. I was aroused in front of all these people. Maybe because of all these people, I realized with a mixture of shame and heat. A remnant of embarrassment squirmed through me, but it was nothing compared to the lust that throbbed in all the places I was supposed to keep private. Spread out like a sacrifice with Laurent poised over me, the dagger glittering in his hand, I felt lush and wicked. Nothing but sheer black panels separated the bed from the eyes of the priests and priestesses. They were a wall of black robes and gleaming eyes. On the other side of the platform, candles dripped red. The vampire skull grinned.

“Look at me,” Laurent said, and his voice rippled with power that snapped my gaze to his. It was the same as the night of the dinner. Varick’s words rose in my memory.“If he wasn’t king he’d be High Priest of the Sanctum.” If I’d had any doubts, they were put to rest now. Power crackled over my skin, delivering little shocks as if I’d touched metal after walking across one of the palace carpets.

Laurent held the blade of the dagger vertically against his lips and made a slow, shallow cut from the top to the bottom. Blood welled and dripped down his chin. A few drops splashed onto my chest. The scent of his blood hit my nostrils. My fangs lengthened in response. I opened my mouth and hissed.

His eyes went heavy-lidded. He spoke in his priestly language again, his blood-stained fangs showing. More blood dripped onto my breasts as he leaned over me and drew the blade down my lips, leaving a line of fire that matched the one building between my legs.

Vampires are mortal the same as men.

I wasn’t so sure I believed it now.

Gaze locked with mine, he gripped his shaft. Then he drew the dagger across his weeping tip, cutting the velvety-looking skin just above his slit. He smeared the blood and pearly white moisture over the swollen head. Then he covered my body with his and kissed me. Our tongues met in a tangled, bloody dance. My breasts smashed against his chest, my nipples growing even tighter. The sparks continued firing over my skin, but now they crackled down my throat as his blood entered my veins.

Arousal struck deeper. Harder. I whimpered, and the sound echoed around the small chamber, reminding me we weren’t alone. But the strange, potent desire that had taken hold of me reveled in it. Wanted it. I arched against his weight, spreading my legs shamelessly. His manhood nudged my entrance and slipped against the slickness there.

He trailed his lips down my neck, trailing hot blood that cooled as the air hit it. As he nuzzled my throat, I turned my head toward the priests and priestesses. Dozens of glowing eyes met mine.

Laurent struck.

The orgasm took me by surprise. I arched hard, crying out as my vision went blurry. The waves started in my neck and frazzled down to my hot, wet center. I rolled my hips, needing…more. Something.

He knew. He pulled his fangs from my throat but left the wound open. “Levu,” he rasped—and he thrust to the hilt inside me.

Another orgasm slammed into me, stretching my mouth wide on a soundless scream. The world tipped, then righted itself. He fell into a hard, fast rhythm, his thrusts making the curtains dance. The ladies of Rolund’s court always whispered about how painful sex was. How it was something to be endured. I felt no pain, only the exquisite, relentless rush of a never-ending release. Just as one wave crested, another built. With every thrust, his shaft stroked the slippery button of desire between my legs.

He held his wrist to my lips. “Bite.”

I clamped down. His blood gushed down my throat, making me scream against his skin.

“Levu,” he said again, then sealed his mouth over his previous bite and sucked.

Something wrapped around my chest, like invisible hands had circled my torso with a leather strap. It squeezed tight, cutting off my air. Then it released. But it didn’t disappear. It settled under my skin and stayed there.

Wind ripped through the room, blowing the platform’s curtains wide open. The priests and priestesses saw everything now. Laurent pumping between my splayed thighs. His fangs buried in my neck. My fangs embedded in his wrist. And they heard everything. The slap of his hips against my skin. The slick sound of the moisture between my legs. His grunts and my cries. Our labored breaths and the rhythmic rocking of the platform.

He released my neck as he pulled his wrist from my mouth. He swiped his tongue over the puncture marks, then levered himself above me. Sweat sheened his shoulders. The cut on his lips had already healed. I knew mine was only scabbed over. The flesh stung and pulled as I struggled to catch my breath. My breasts bounced wildly, and I whimpered as the sensitive tips scraped his chest.

He thrust harder, his movements growing uncoordinated. The tendons in his neck strained. After a few more punishing thrusts, he threw his head back and shouted. At the same moment, scalding-hot seed flooded me.

He stayed in position for a long moment, his mouth open, fangs scraping his bottom lip. Slowly, he lowered his head and met my gaze. The possessiveness and triumph I saw there stole my breath.

“Now we are wed, my queen.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

VARICK

---