Page 58 of Princess of Bael
“I still hate you,” I vowed against his mouth, the words leaving me on a moan.
“I know,” he whispered, his tone just as ragged as mine.
My fingers clenched the fabric of his sweater, threatening to tear it. His wings flared around us in response, cocooning me in a nest of feathers, my back pillowed by the spines of his myriad of books.
It was beautifully erotic, perfecting our embrace in a manner I couldn’t define. It just felt right, as though we were meant to be here, right now, just like this.
His palm slid from my cheek to my throat, squeezing as he deepened our kiss. His tongue resembled a brand, possessing my mouth in a way only a mate could.
I felt his claim to my very soul, our link thriving with renewed vigor, setting my blood on fire once more, just to be cooled by his own force.
The scales tipped, then righted themselves, then tipped again, only to be yanked back to a level state.
It was overwhelming, leaving me light-headed with wonder.
Is this what it feels like to have him siphon off my energy?I wondered, dizzy from the notion of him feeding off my essence.
His grip tightened on my throat, forcing my attention back to him and causing my eyelids to lift. I wasn’t even sure when they’d closed, too lost to his touch and kiss to recall much else.
Golden flares echoed in his vibrant irises, reminding me of the day he’d sealed our bond.Sunshine, I marveled.His eyes are like bursting stars.
“Sensuality isn’t our problem,” he said darkly, his opposite hand curling beneath me to palm my ass as he pressed his groin into mine. He used his thumb on my jaw to tilt my head back a little more while his grasp tightened enough to cut off my airflow.
Not that it mattered.
I’d stopped breathing when I’d met the intensity of his stare.
He said nothing, just held my gaze, waiting for some sort of reaction.
Did he want me to fight? To claw at his face and demand he release me? Or was he wondering if I’d let him suffocate me?
What game were we playing now?
Did I even want to win?
I tugged on his sweater, pulling him impossibly closer until our torsos were entirely aligned.
Then I leaned in to take his bottom lip between my teeth.
And bit down.
Hard.
He growled in response.
So I licked the wound and allowed him to see the blood on my tongue before taking it into my mouth and swallowing.
It was a feral instinct, one I didn’t regret because his essence tasted like ambrosia—sweet, succulent,divinity. I moaned silently, the sound cut off by his palm, my eyes falling shut.
And then his mouth captured mine again, kissing me with a ferocity that was borderline animalistic.
My lungs burned as he released my throat, allowing me to inhale. But it was all him and his scent, no true air, just Ezra giving me life.
He bit down on my lip in the next breath, drawing a sharp gasp from my throat at the spark of pain. His tongue soothed it almost immediately, my blood trickling into his mouth.
Hell’s wings, it was vampiric.
Except we weren’t Blood demons.
