Page 35 of Trapped for Her Blood
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me,” I assure him. “I’m not under the influence of your blood anymore.” I stop.
“I’m not, am I?” My question is honest. I don’tfeellike I am under that blood spell anymore. I’m attracted to him, sure, and want the comfort of his arms and his kiss, but my desire is just that, desire, versus the desperate need I felt before.
“I will always be able to take advantage of you,” he says. “Because of what your blood can do. And that is not even considering my vastly superior strength and libido.”
His libido? Isn’t that as much as admitting he wants me too?
He’s only resisting me out of some kind of gentlemen’s code, and I kind of like that. I like that he respects me and is holding back because of our unequal power dynamic.
Oh, how I’d like to see what’s under the stiff walls he’s built around him. Looking into his eyes, I can sense his desire growing, mirroring the tenting in his pants.
“Zuben,” I say softly. “Now that everything’s out in the open. How would you be taking advantage of me?”
I cup his face. “It was you who brought emotions into this. I only wanted to kiss you. It’s not like I offered you my blood—or anything else.” I look down, suddenly feeling way too desperate.
“You are making very good points.”
“Good to know,” I say flatly. I’ve reached my limit on trying to seduce him. Clearly I suck at it. I stand and step over his leg. “Never mind. I’m going to check on Axe.”
Zuben reaches up and takes my hand. “He is asleep. I can hear him breathing.”
He rises, standing close to me, and with my hand in his, I look up into his eyes.
“It sounds like a very deep sleep,” he says softly. “His breathing is slow. His heart also is beating slowly. Perhaps he is in hibernation?”
“He’s still in bear form?” I continue to walk toward the tunnel.
“I am not an expert in shifters,” he says, following behind me, “but the sounds I am hearing are that of a bear, not a man.”
I turn back, and we collide. The tent in his pants brushes my belly, and I suck in a sharp breath at the unexpected pleasure. Pleasure and anticipation of what might happen if that tent were unleashed, what Iwantto happen.
“You must not fall in love with me,” he says.
“I promise.”
His long arms wrap around me. One pulls my body toward his and the other guides my lips to meet his.
Our kiss starts out as sweet as the scent and the taste of him, but also slightly careful, perhaps clinical, as if he’s exploring my mouth to learn how it works.
But I don’t mind. His soft kisses are delicious. Each nibble and press of his lips, each tiny lick from his tongue wakes new places inside me, building my desire and heightening my anticipation, my imagination of what it would be like to have sex with this considerate and elegant gentleman.
Slow, tender and luxurious, is what I imagine Zuben’s love making would be like, and it’s what my body is starting to crave the longer he kisses me.
I part my lips to welcome his tongue, but he continues, slow and gentle, as if teasing me, teasing himself, relishing the moment and making it last—like I’m an expensive chocolate, too rich to eat all at once.
The longer our kiss continues, the more I feel like I’m floating, like we’ve left the cave, like the kiss may have already gone on for hours or days, and as badly as I want more, so much more, I don’t want our kissing to end. Not ever. I could live the rest of my life kissing the gentle Zuben.
His body slides against mine, and his stiff cock pushes against my belly, reminding me that this could turn into more.
He moans into my mouth and his kiss deepens. Then as if shifting to a new gear, his tongue plunges into my mouth, and his lips grow firmer, more aggressive as they claim mine with more and more fervor.
I try to match his energy. I want to. I feel it, but can’t begin to measure up to his intensity or the practiced skills of his lips, not to mention his body’s. He’s lifted mine with one arm, pulling me tighter against his slowly pulsing hips that slide his hardness against my body.
I can barely breathe through the passion of our kiss and the heat of the friction between the protruding wool of his pants and the silk of my dress. His jacket has now fallen off my shoulders.
His lips move to my throat and he licks me there, his breath hot and his tongue’s movement erotic as it forms a tight point and traces up and down what I assume is my vein. Is he going to bite me? I hope so.
But then his mouth moves to hover over my ear.
