He grabbed her by the hair and rutted on her. She cried out and clawed at his back, trying to draw him in deeper as she lifted herself for every thrust.
“Are you going to bite me or not?” he snarled.
She bared her teeth at him. She looked as crazed as he felt. Then she twisted at her torso and sank her teeth into his biceps. She bit him so hard he felt her little teeth break the skin.
Delight suffused him, along with a fierce, feral satisfaction. Still fucking her, he slid an arm underneath her shoulders to lift her up. Then he bit her too, sinking his teeth into the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. He pumped in, and in, and she clenched her arms and legs around him as her body jerked and shuddered, and he felt her climax in a ripple of intense contractions.
She brought him along with her. Bending his head to the pillow beside her head, his own climax spewed out of him convulsively. As she shivered and groaned, it pulled more of him, wave upon wave of frenzied pleasure.
Gradually they stilled, their bodies slick with sweat. Her breathing sounded in his ear, ragged gasps like shallow sobs. As he buried his face against her, she hooked an arm around his neck to hold him loosely.
She had linked her ankles together at the small of his back. He lifted his head and looked down at her. She gave him a vulnerable, luminous smile. Her expression was utterly gorgeous. When she started to open her legs to let him go, he gripped her thigh.
Her breath hitched.
He whispered against her lips, “I’m not done yet.”
Chapter Eight
He broke her wide open, until something raw and trembling and utterly new crawled out of her old, outdated skin, and it was more fierce and possessive than she had ever been before.
She watched out her window as predawn gradually lightened her bedroom. Then she curled on her side facing Sebastian. He slept stretched out on his stomach, his head half buried by pillows. Even though the room was chilly, he had pushed the blankets down to his hips.
Her gaze followed the peaks and hollows of his wide shoulders and biceps and down his muscled back. His tanned skin bore the marks she had made on him, long scratches on his back and the reddened bite mark on his arm, already fading.
She lifted the covers to look at herself. He had marked her too. Bruises dotted her hips and thighs, and the bite he had given her, at the juncture of her neck, felt tender and sensitive to the touch. But she was only human, and the marks on her body would not be as quick to fade.
She slipped a hand between her legs. She felt throbbing and sore below too. He had spent himself on her again and again, and he had wrung more climaxes out of her than she had ever thought possible. And she was fiercely glad for all of it.
She also knew what that could mean. It was possible—just barely possible—that he might be beginning to mate with her. It was too soon to know, of course. It was too soon for everything. Only time could tell if he would mate with her, or if he would pull away, or if this complete, full-blown obsession she had developed for him would turn out to be love.
But she thought, at least in her case, that it was the beginnings of falling in love. She really thought it was. He was fine and fierce, complicated and quite extraordinary, and the strength of emotion and vulnerability he had shown to her surpassed anything she had ever experienced from anyone else. He engaged all of her senses, emotions and intellect in a perfect trifecta.
Yes, I think I could grow to love you, she thought, as she looked at the back of his tousled head. I think I could grow to love you so much, I would do anything, give up anything, for you. So don’t back away from us. Give us time.
Of course she didn’t say any of that aloud. A sensible, sane person wouldn’t dream of saying any of that after spending just one single night with someone, however extraordinary that night had been.
So the new, trembling, fierce thing inside of her would keep silent for now, and watch, and pretend to be sensible and sane.
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. He stirred and rolled over, his tough face eased from sleep, and he gathered her into his arms. She went gladly, curling her tired, sore body to his. He cupped the back of her head, fitting her to his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She stroked her flattened hand along his lean chest, which was bare of hair.
Then she drifted with him, lightly along the edge of sleep, until the smell of brewed coffee wafted up from the kitchen, and the morning sunlight shone full and bright.
Breakfast was another quick, simple affair of coffee, leftover chicken, cheese and crackers, and fruit. After carefully inspecting the sealed jars in the huge pantry, Derrick declared that he might have fresh-baked bread for them later in the day.