Free Edge of Hunger by Rhyannon Byrd Page A

eating kiss, savoring her throaty moans against his tongue like a breathless stream of promises. Wrapping his other hand around her hip, his fingers biting into her flesh, he powered himself into her as if his life depended on it. Each heavy, possessive thrust fed a part of his soul that was greedy for every part of her, as if he could break her open and claim the pieces for his own.
    "Look at the reflection," he commanded against her lips in a dark, husky whisper, sharing her breath, her nipples hard against his chest, dragging against his skin as he moved over her, inside of her.
    She panted, shaking her head.
    "Look at the goddamn reflection, Molly."
    His fingers tightened in her hair, turning her head for her, and she stared at the explicit image emblazoned upon the wall of windows that took up an entire side of the room.
    "I bet you've never had that particular look on your face before," he rasped with a low, wicked rumble of laughter. "Not Little-Miss-Molly-Do-Right. You're too shy. Too buttoned-up. Except with me. You know how hot that makes me?"
    She shook her head again, gasping, and he said, "I get off on knowing that I'm the only man who can crack that cool, pristine surface of yours and make you go wild. Make you scream and claw at me, completely out of control."
    And it was true. At the moment, her small nails were dug into his biceps so hard, he knew crescent marks would be left behind on his skin, a testament of her passion.
    Her eyes drifted closed as the intensity cranked higher, her body writhing, drawing closer...and closer to the edge, before she suddenly turned her face away from him. She was holding it back, denying her body what it wanted. Fighting it. Hiding from it. Hiding from him.
    Grasping her chin, Ian pulled her back. "Eyes open, Molls. I want to see it happen. Want to watch your face when you go over."
    "No..."
    "Oh, yeah." The words were gritty and thick with lust, with pleasure. "Stop fighting it."
    "You'll leave me again," she said quietly, her lashes lifting, revealing eyes that glistened with tears, the look in their mysterious depths making his breath catch, while something in his chest clenched with pain. In that moment, Ian had the strangest feeling that even though she was the one pinned to the floor, she held all the power, and there was nothing he could do to reclaim it.
    Lowering his mouth to the moist hollow of her throat, he told her, "I won't. I won't leave you."
    She drew in a deep, shivery breath, clutching his back, her hands cool against the scalding heat of his body, and broke with his next down stroke, the tight, rhythmic pulses of her orgasm pulling him in, holding him, refusing to let him go. His tongue flicked against the damp heat of her skin, wanting the salty sweetness of her flesh, needing it...craving it, and the next thing he knew, his fangs were buried deep in the side of her throat, near her shoulder. A sharp, hoarse scream pierced the air, the roar of his heartbeat deafening and fast in his ears, while the warm, heady spill of her blood filled his mouth, thick and hot and seductively rich.
    This was what he craved. This claiming of both her blood and her body. It was the one thing that satisfied that gnawing emptiness in his soul. The one thing that made him feel almost at peace, as if he was right where he belonged.
    The thick pleasure slipped down his throat, his mouth working with greedy intent against her skin, needing more...and more, the hunger growing more insatiable than it had been before, suddenly frightening him with its power, its urgency. Ian fought himself for what seemed like endless, drugging moments. Wicked, decadent pleasure pulsed heavily in every cell of his body. Finally, he managed to rip himself away, terrified he would drown in that dark, destructive burn of gratification and drain her dry.
    Can't...Can't lose her.
    Ian screwed his eyes shut against the haunting beauty of her blood spilling gently from the puncture wounds, slipping across