A woman who ached for a man’s touch.
No, she abruptly corrected herself, not just a man’s touch.
Santiago’s touch.
Only his.
Banishing the voice that warned she was about to make a decision that would alter her life forever, Nefri slowly turned, offering him her back.
Why shouldn’t she indulge her needs just this once?
Every other clan chief managed to have a robust sex life and function as a leader. Being a control freak didn’t mean she had to take a vow of chastity.
Did it?
“Ah, the mark of Cú Chulainn,” he murmured, referring to the tattoo of a dragon that flowed down her back. It revealed that she had gone through the battles of Durotriges to earn the title of master. Clan chief. “Very sexy.”
“Sexy?” She frowned. Most vampires found the mark a source of intimidation, not arousal.
“Relax, Nefri,” Santiago murmured, his lips tracing the outline of the tattoo even as his clever fingers began to soap her back. “I promise this is going to be magic.”
“Magic?” She closed her eyes, forcing her rigid muscles to ease. “Are you always so confident in your ability to please a woman?”
His lips shifted to the base of her neck, his hands skimming down the curve of her waist.
“Confident in us,” he corrected her, his fangs scraping over her tender skin. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel the explosive chemistry between us. It’s . . . magic. There’s no other word.”
She made a choked sound, her head tilting to the side in an unspoken invitation.
It was magic.
Enchantment at its most primitive level.
“It’s been . . . a long time,” she admitted, unsure why she needed him to know.
“Then let me take care of you,” he whispered against her skin, his hands trailing around her waist before gliding up to cup the fullness of her breasts. “Tonight you don’t have to be in charge.”
Easy enough for him to say, she wryly conceded. Her need to be in control was a fundamental part of who—
The thought, in fact all thoughts, were shattered as his thumbs brushed over her straining nipples, sending an electric current of sensation jolting through her.
Oh lord. Yes. Her toes curled. If this was how he took care of a woman, then she was all for handing him control.
He kissed a path up the tender curve of her throat, nuzzling below her ear while his fingers continued to torment the sensitive tips of her nipples. The air was filled with cherry-scented steam and raw male desire, wrapping them in a mist of privacy.
As if they were in their own world, she hazily acknowledged, her hands lifting to steady herself against the black tiles of the shower.
“This is dangerous,” she muttered.
“Yes,” he instantly agreed, giving the lobe of her ear a nip before he was stroking his lips downward. “But inevitable.”
Perhaps it was, she silently agreed, her back arching as his mouth continued its downward path, following the line of her spine. His touch was cool, but it seemed to brand her skin with fire, making her shudder in pleasure.
Astonishingly he went to his knees, his hands sliding down her hips before he was firmly tugging her legs apart. Unable to resist temptation, she turned her head to glance over her shoulder, a strange emotion piercing her heart at the sight of the male kneeling behind her, his power barely leashed as he tilted back his head to meet her startled gaze.
He looked like a pagan god with his stark male beauty, emphasized by the water that shimmered on his bronzed skin.
Holding her gaze, he leaned forward, using his lips and fangs along the lower curve of her back as he continued to inch her legs further apart.
A soft moan was torn from her lips. There was something unbearably intimate in watching him pleasure her. As if his touch was reaching someplace deep inside her.
Nibbling down the curve of her hip, he made a sound deep in his throat as he at last reached the smooth skin of her inner thigh.
“Deliciosa,” he murmured. “You taste of sweet jasmine.”
It was the sensation of his lips moving against her most responsive flesh that made her eyes slide shut in sinful pleasure. She hissed, her knees going weak. This was so good. Exactly what she’d been craving.
Then, while she was still adjusting to the light caress, his clever tongue was sliding through her tender cleft and the tingles of anticipation became a tidal wave of bliss.
“Santiago,” she groaned, her forehead pressed against the slick tiles.
“I’m here, cara,” he reassured her, his hands holding her hips steady as he continued his exquisite assault. “Let yourself go.”
Let yourself go . . .
Such simple words, but for a woman who maintained a rigid clamp on her every emotion, they were as difficult as telling her to walk into the sunlight.