I closed my eyes to keep them from rolling back. As he gulped on my blood, tendrils of red running down his chin while his eyes remained closed, I lost myself just as much as he did.
His fingers gripped my forearm tighter. His head tilted and he dug in, getting more than his fill, until it felt as though he were penetrating through my soul.
I was ashamed to admit it, but I felt the rush of excitement, anticipation, and desire in places I hadn’t expected—places I remembered feeling with Lukain, between my legs and in my most sensitive areas.
Arousal made my blood burn with need. I let out a small whimper. Garroway pulled back just in time before the sensation could swallow me completely and cause me a mortifying climax.
It was a rushing flood of relief that filled me as the half-blood fed on me. My skin was coated in sweat once he was finished. His eyes opened and gleamed with new brightness, the crimson orbs twinkling.
I leaned forward. His lips, covered with my blood, looked so inviting. Even worse was when his tongue slid across his lower lip and finished lapping me up.
“Garroway . . .” I eked out. My lips pressed together before I realized what I was doing. Even after he stopped, the needful sensation didn’t vanish. It only grew stronger. The dampness between my legs was undeniable. I had to have him.
When my lips ghosted over his, I moaned. My hand fell to his lap, where an impressive protrusion had begun to throb. My nipples peaked as I pressed my chest against his, gathering him in my arms. The rushing blood in my ears drowned everything away, everything, everything—
“Sephania.”
His soft hands fell on my shoulders, gently prying me away from him. It was an agonizing rejection.
The lone word forced my eyes open. I stared into his dancing, glittering eyes, wanting nothing more than to lose myself in them. My palm glided over the hard, restrained mound between his legs.
“What . . . what is it?” I breathed. There was a peculiar look on his face, one of resistance and tension. “Do you not want me, Garroway?”
My voice didn’t sound like my own. It sounded like it was coming from a third spirit, watching this intimate situation play out, pulling the strings of me like I was nothing more than a puppet to be played with.
Garroway leaned closer. His warm breath washed over my ear. “As much as I want to desecrate this holy house with you, I don’t want you losing yourself to me on account of your blood.” He pulled me back slightly, eyes flaring with vitality. “I want you all on your own, in complete control of your mind.”
My dry lips fell open. I licked them, wetting them. My stuttering heartbeat slowed in my chest. I felt drunk and woozy. “You . . .” I tried again. “You have more honor than I, Garroway Kuffich.”
His lips twisted in a sad smile. “Not even close, lass. I simply know when I want something, and I know not to jeopardize that want over a simple bloodletting. Once you recover, you’ll come to your senses.”
“And if I still want you then?”
“Come to me. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
My breath hitched. His oath was all I needed to hear. I nodded in understanding. “How do you feel?”
His eyes glanced down to his lap, where my hand still precariously rested on his bulge. “Better already.”
I pulled my hand back like he was a burning furnace. “Shit,” I hissed. Red the color of his eyes flooded my cheeks. “Sorry.”
He looked amused. “Don’t be. To answer your question, I think I’m okay now. You were right, there’s something special about your blood, lass. I don’t understand it yet, it’s hard to explain—”
“You’ve only just drank.”
“I already want more. That’s a dangerous thing.”
“You can walk now? Shall we get going?” The spell was broken, though our voices were low and my need was still great. I respected the man for not accepting my advances, even if he clearly pined for them as well.
Garro winced. “Yes, erm . . .” His eyes trailed south to his lap. The painful-looking throbbing hadn’t abated. If anything, it had grown larger and more desperate, filling out his pants. “. . . Still can’t walk quite right.”
I barked a laugh. Then I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against his. “Once you’re ready then, we’ll get going back to Olhav.”
“The feel of your skin against mine isn’t helping.” His voice was choked.
I rolled my eyes as I reeled back, withdrawing my forehead from his. “Fine, you wicked bastard.”
He gave me a roguish smile. “There’s my girl. Keep talking to me like that and we may never get out of here, little honey badger.”
