Free Demon Chained (Shadowfae Chronicles) by Erica Hayes

quickening in my blood. He averts his face, shy, his claw still caught on his teeth like he doesn't want to let it go, and if I didn't know he was screwing with my mind I'd swear that bloody blossom in his cheeks was a blush.
    I drag his chin back around, my fingers digging in. "Are you listening? Don't. Fuck. With—"
    Gavain twitches, light like a butterfly, and before I can go what the fuck? he's on me, thighs straddling my hips, a dark water stain spreading on his jeans. The shower gushes down on him, soaking his shirt, pasting his hair flat on his narrow face and rinsing bright fairy sweat down onto me. I stare up, at his oh-so-scratchable body and mad-drunk fae eyes, and my blood quickens, pumping through my organs, even swelling my cock, not quite to hardness but at least to a semblance of life.
    Suddenly, it's hard to breathe.
    This is like some weird dream. I can't say I've never imagined it, him and me. More than once, actually. Usually involving scratching and biting and shackling him to my bed with wire. But I always thought I'd have to make the moves, hold his hand, tell him what to do.
    Apparently not. "Um. Look—"
    Gavain curls closer, his breath hot on my lips. "Don't say another fucking word."
    God, I want to kiss him. I want to feel that slick warmth, taste his lips, drown in raw sensation. I don't care about him, don't care if I bruise his pretty face or make him cry. I don't even want him, not really. I just want, skin and sex and heat and all those delicious things I can't ever have. I want to feel alive.
    But I can't. It's too wrong. Even I'm not that much of an asshole.
    A shudder creeps over me, and I twist my face away. He won't like kissing, not the way I am. But he grabs my hair, yanks me back to him and seals his berry lips over mine. He kisses me hard, sharp teeth stinging my lips, and the blood squelching to my head dizzies me.
    I can't help it. I force my tongue into his mouth, delving into him, twisting, searching. I'm so hungry for the taste of him—of anything—that I groan. Blood, mine and his own, sweet like rust-tinted lemonade. I suck on his tongue, and he pulls back with a deep-throated purr. His balls grind into me, rough in their wet denim casing, and my pulse flips a crazy cartwheel, thudding in my throat, my damaged ear, my cock. Now I'd call it a hard-on. Most definitely.
    "Tam," he whispers, and drops another lick over my lips. At least he got my name right. "You taste like . . . butterscotch. Makes my throat ache."
    I'm too busy ripping his shirt off to tell him he's full of shit. I want his skin on mine, the slickness of blood and water. I scrape the wet cotton over his head, tug it from his wrists and toss it away with a splat. Damn, he's beautiful, that dark fairy tint to his skin, his narrow chest slanting down to slender bony hips that beg to be bitten and licked. Muscles hot and smooth under my palms, his dark nipples tight. He hisses when I scratch my nails over them, and strikes like a snake for another hot mouthful of my tongue.
    This time I swallow, and his coppery taste coats my throat. I love tasting him, mixing his flavour with mine, and something in the way he whimpers into my mouth tells me that if I hadn't been so fucking stubborn, I could have done this a long time ago.
    I reach up to twist the hot tap on harder. The water surges, stinging me with burning needles, dragging my hair down over my arms in a delicious fiery flood. Steam clouds, wreathing my body in white. God, I can feel the heat, so forceful and scorching that I sigh and shiver. I can smell it, the iron tang of the pipes and the hot meaty spice of flesh.
    He snarls, wet breath splashing my lips, and drags himself down my body. I close my eyes, fresh water sluicing my face. He bites my nipple delicately, clean blood stinging free, and pain claws my skin into crinkles but I love it, damn, he can do that all night, and I strain up into him, searching for more.
    He licks my ribs, trailing simmering