Page 33 of Forsworn By The Vampire
"Angel..." My name was more of a growl than a spoken word, and barely discernible.
Saying what I did was the only way I could think of to distract him, and hot damn, it appeared to have worked. Not that it wasn't true. I did want to fuck him. I really, really, wanted to fuck him. And I know what he said about wanting to hurt me. I just found it hard to believe that he'd actually do anything to physically harm me. Not if we were truly mated. Wasn't there some kind of stipulation in that to keep me safe and healthy? I mean, if I'm the only food source for him now, it would make sense. And maybe that was naive of me in a way, but I was also no innocent girl. And I wasn't afraid of a little pain if the payoff meant I'd have the best orgasm of my life.
Leaning toward him until his delicious mouth was only inches from mine, I whispered, "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll back off." I was pushing this way too far, but I just couldn't go back to my place tonight. It was late, and there were too many corners on these old streets where I could be caught alone. And honestly?
I was scared shitless.
Scared the djinn was watching me, just waiting for his opportunity to finish the job he started in the cemetery. I should've brought my car, but at the time, I hadn't planned to be at the club as long as I was, and I preferred to take public transportation whenever I could. Cars were bad for the earth.
But more important than any of that, I just felt safer with Jamal around. Which was ridiculous. There wasn't anything he could do to that bastard, Marcus, that I--a witch with magic more akin to his--couldn't.
"You know I can't do that," he finally admitted. "It would be a lie."
Thank the gods. "Then why are you fighting me?"
He flashed his fangs, but instead of scaring me away, it only proved to me how much he wanted this to happen between us too, and I clenched my thighs together, trying to ease the ache between them.
Jamal twisted on the couch, leaning toward me. I expected him to kiss me again, but he didn't. Instead, he ducked his head, and I heard him take a deep inhale, then release it with a moan. I felt the scrape of one fang on the tender skin of my throat. My own breath caught in my chest as my heart began to pound. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head away to give him better access and braced myself for his bite.
"I love the scent of you." Chills ran down my spine as his deep voice rumbled against my skin. To emphasize his point, he ran the tip of his nose along the artery in my neck where my pulse fluttered rapidly. "I can smell your blood. The sunshine on your skin. And the wet heat between your legs. If I touched you right now, my fingers would come away soaked."
He wasn't wrong. "I want you to touch me." My lips parted. I couldn't get enough oxygen. Although he was so close, I could feel the heat of him through my clothes, his hands remained on his thighs. Slight brushes of his fangs and hair as he nuzzled my neck were the only contact he made. I wanted to reach for him, but I was afraid to move. Afraid to make any sudden movements because I didn't know how he'd react.
He inhaled deep, taking me into his lungs, and a shudder ran through him. "I know you do," he told me.
Yet still, he wouldn't do it. I tried to think through the haze of pure lust that was fogging my brain. What had he said earlier? He wouldn't be a slave to me. "Jamal."
"Hmmm..." His voice was deep and laced with hunger.
Slowly, I reached for his hand and brought it across both our laps, inch by careful inch. Spreading my knees apart, I pressed his palm between my legs. A hiss slithered across the skin beneath my ear, and he cupped his hand around me over my jeans. I wanted them off. I wanted us skin to skin. But I dared not move, afraid he would skitter away.
The heel of his palm pressed against my clit and a moan escaped me as I slowly, slowly, leaned back against the couch.
Opening my eyes, I found him watching me. "You don't know what you're asking of me," he whispered. His dark eyes were filled with hunger. But there was more there. There was anguish.
"All I know right now is that I feel like I'm going to burn alive from the inside out if you don't touch me." My breaths were fast and shallow, every muscle in my body tense as I fought the urge to lift my hips into his hand.
He removed his hand from between my legs and I reached for him without thinking, a cry leaving my lips. "No! Don't stop."
A laugh burst from his lips, but it didn't sound happy. "Oh, Leeloo, it's too late for that," he told me as he stood and stared down at me through eyes so dark he looked like a demon come to drag me to hell. And I must be his fallen Angel because I went with him willingly when he scooped me up from the couch and carried me back to his bedroom, setting me on my feet beside the bed.
He cursed at me as he stripped me of my boots and clothes until I was standing before him in nothing but a set of black lacy bra and panties. He tried to warn me away one last time as his hands tangled in my hair and he yanked my head back, exposing my throat so he could run his tongue along my pulse. But instead of stopping him, I slid my hands beneath his shirt, moaning when I felt his smooth skin and the ripple of muscle beneath my sensitive fingertips, a war raging within him until his big body was trembling with the effort it took him to hold himself back.
I could feel his anguish ripple through him almost as though it were my own. I heard it in the sounds he made and the way his fingers dug into my skin. He was fighting with himself. And he was losing.
With a cry of surrender, he fell to his knees before me, and my heart broke into a million little pieces as he wrapped his strong arms around my hips and pressed his lips to my stomach.
I stared down at the top of his head. I didn't understand why he felt the way he did about us, but I knew I didn't want him like this. Broken and weak. "Stop," I told him. "Jamal! Stop!"
Immediately, he froze, pressing his forehead to my womb, his nose against my sex and his chest heaving. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"I just..." What? I can't stand the thought of you suffering like this? I held his head against me, fighting a battle of my own as I tried to get myself under control. My breasts felt heavy and swollen, my legs shook, and it took everything I had not to press his mouth against my pussy and beg him to ease the ache there with his tongue. The thing was though, through our bond or whatever, I felt the way every single cell in his body tried to resist what he was doing, and yet no matter how he fought it, he couldn't keep himself away from me. His instincts weren't giving him a choice.
He had no choice.
That's it! That's what he needed. It had to be his choice. Not mine. Not the gods. Not the mating bond. HIS.
Now how did I do that?
