development perfectly balanced from sternum to shoulder cap. His chest hair was sparser than a European's, sheer dark swirls that clung to his flawless olive skin. His nipples were flushed and delicately erect. Yearning to pinch them, she curled her nails into her palms.
"Drink," he ordered in a tone that brooked no denial.
She had not the willpower to resist. With a moan she pressed her mouth to his neck, open, breathing heat and soul-deep need. His grip tightened on her shoulders but he did not push away. She licked him, dragging her tongue up the beating vein until a shiver swept his frame. He was hers now. She set her teeth against him and bit down.
Blood flowed, filling her mouth with power and life and will as strong as sugared ginger to her tongue. Here was vigor. Here was hot male strength. Enthralled by his taste, she drew on him, wrapping her arms with grateful fervor around his back. Oh, it was good to be close, better than good. Martin seemed to agree. Gasping her name, he slid his hand down her arching spine. She knew he was losing control but she could not hold back. She pushed even tighter to his chest. Her breasts flattened beneath her robe, her nipples as hard as his. When she writhed against him, he murmured what sounded like a prayer.
It was almost all she wanted, this evidence of his desire. Strength rushed into her with each swallow. She wanted to take him inside her, every throbbing, rigid inch. Desperate to touch his skin, she pushed her hand under his robe. The small of his back was smooth and dewed with sweat. She gripped his narrow buttock. His moan was even sweeter than his blood. Greed swamped her: to have him, to drink him down. Her heart pounded violently in alarm. With a groan of reluctance, she tore her mouth away.
"No," he said, a hiss that drew her eyes to his. His pupils were shining jet within rings of azure flame. She could tell he was dazed but not as deeply as most humans would have been. His protest was not the effect of any thrall. She had not taken anything he did not freely give. As if to assure her of this, he cupped her blood-flushed cheek.
"Let me make you strong. You haven't taken half of what I can offer. Here." He pressed her palm to his breast, his voice sinking to a growl. "Bite me here. Slowly. I want you to make it last."
A rush of moisture squeezed from the tender hollow between her legs. "Slowly," she repeated, the word shaking on her lips.
He nodded, shyness in it, but pride as well. His chin lifted in silent challenge. He did not care how others did this. He was asking for what he wished, drawing the veil from secrets most lovers hid. She thought she had never been so moved by someone's trust. She knew she could not refuse. "Just a little more," she agreed, then flashed a grin. "By sips."
She bit him slowly this time, letting him savor the dull cold sting of breaking skin. From what she had seen of his country, not to mention the discipline of the monks, she was not surprised he would welcome a little pain. It was a test to him, a hurdle to rise above. True to her expectations, he shuddered with enjoyment as her tongue swept his tightened nipple. Knowing he liked this, she suckled him as she drank. His breath came more harshly and his muscles tensed. His aura pricked like fire where it touched hers.
But she wanted to offer him more than this. She moved her second hand to the bend between his torso and his thigh. He flinched but did not withdraw. Slowly, giving him time to stop her, she shifted her caress to the rigid swelling where his erection pushed out his robe. Its crown bumped against his belly, its long thick ridge an invitation to measure how much he'd fill. A plenitude, she decided, her body softening deep inside. He was already too hard to get any harder. She could tell from the way his shaft resisted her gentle squeeze. He sighed at the pressure as if he'd been waiting an eternity to feel it. Taking this as