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  • Home > Christine Feehan > Dark Series > Dark Blood (Chapter 34)     
    Dark Blood(Dark #26) by Christine Feehan

    “It’s beautiful here, Zev. How did you find it?”

    “Patrolling. Looking for rogues. A couple of times, before you woke, I went out looking out of habit.” He grinned at her. “And I like to fly.”

    She had to smile back. He looked relaxed and happy, a far cry from the grim man who had to fight too many battles. “It’s time someone saw to your wounds.” She pointed to the bed of petals.

    “That’s for you. And this patch of Gary’s worked very well. Lycans rejuvenate fairly quickly. Remember, I’m also mixed blood and that gives me a boost as well.”

    She fixed him with a stern eye, even as she lifted her hand to her hair and pulled out the tie binding her braid. With a wave of her hand she freed the long thick mass from its weave, shaking her head so that the silken strands fell around her like a cape of red gold. “I would very much like you to lie down so I can see to your wounds, Zev,” she told him.

    “Dragon flames are beginning to glow in your eyes,” Zev informed her. When she was like this, demanding, sexy, every move sensual, there was no way to resist her. He could see that fire always smoldering just beneath the surface rising, growing hotter.

    His body reacted to that note in her voice, the stroking of his skin with her tone, the heat in her eyes as she looked him over. Her tongue darted out and moistened her lips.

    She tapped her foot. “I’m waiting.”

    “So am I,” he said softly, trying not to use his alpha voice, but it was there, that growling command he had been born with.

    She tipped her head to one side, her eyes slumberous and sexy, long lashes sweeping down almost demurely, but when they came back up, her eyes held flames dancing through a background of emerald green.

    She waved her hand down her body, and her clothes disappeared. His breath caught in his lungs and stayed trapped there. Her form was exquisite to him, all those soft, full curves and the tucked-in waist. Her hair fell around her, framing her high breasts and the nipples peaking hard already. He knew if he pushed his hand between her legs she would be hot and wet for him.

    “You are so beautiful, Branka. For me, to me, there is no other who can compare.”

    She placed one hand on her hip and continued tapping her small, bare foot. He wanted to drop to his knees and yank her close, and taste the cinnamon honey he scented drifting toward him. Instead, he let her have her way, shedding his clothes, watching her eyes as her gaze dropped to his heavy erection. His hand went to his thick cock, circling it, feeling the sensual burn already. He took his time walking over to the bed of petals. It wasn’t easy with his groin full and hard and so ready for her body, but for her, he would do anything.

    The moment he lay on his back, she was straddling his calves, removing the patch and leaning over him, her soft breasts brushing across his skin. Her tongue lapped at his wound with healing saliva. She whispered softly, a small healing litany he heard in his mind rather than aloud.

    Zev’s pulse thundered in his ears. While she lapped at his wound, her hands were busy on his shaft, his balls, fingers sliding over him in a delicate dance and then suddenly switching from a soft caressing brush, to a fist pumping him, her thumb sliding over the large, sensitive head to smear the leaking pearls around.

    Her hair fell in a pool of red into his lap, teasing his cock, adding to the chaos growing in his mind. The sensation of living silk sliding around and over him, her tongue and hands was almost too much to take. He kept his hips from bucking and his hands from fisting in her hair and dragging her mouth to his cock using his years of discipline—but it wasn’t easy.

    She lifted her head to look at him. His heart nearly stopped. The stark intensity of her fiery passion shone in her eyes. Already her skin took on a glow, the color changing from pale porcelain to a flushed deep pink. With each move she made, her hair crackled, alive with energy. Very slowly she moved her body up his, the hot vee between her legs leaving behind evidence of her arousal on his calf. She moved over his thighs and straddled his groin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of sheathing his rock-hard weapon.

    Once again she removed the patch and flung it away from her, licking up his belly and over his ribs, over every scratch and bruise until she reached the stab wound in his chest. He heard that soft healing litany echoing through his mind, a melody of love that surrounded him, enfolded him with fire. Branislava. His lifemate. She was fire and passion. She was love to him. Everything good in the world. When she healed him, she didn’t just heal with her love and her gifts, or even the miraculous saliva of her species. She also healed with her fiery passion, and the urgent need she had for his body.

    When her mouth moved over his wounds, when her tongue lapped at his lacerations and bruises, there was blatant seduction along with her healing balm. His body reacted, every nerve ending springing to life, alert and pouring heat through his bloodstream. He brought his hands up to her breasts, massaging and kneading, his fingers settling on her nipples to tug and roll.

    The pretty pink flush on her body deepened. Her skin, soft and supple, burned hotter. Over the base of his cock, where her body met his, a fire seemed to ignite. He was fast losing his ability to accommodate her. He issued a warning growl, letting her know he was about at his limit.

    “I’m working here,” she murmured, flashing a reprimand at him from under her lashes.

    He caught her arms and rolled her under him, his knee inside her thigh, pushing her legs apart. “So am I.” His voice was harsh with need. “I’m starving and I want to eat you up.”

    He did just that, lifting her hips and dragging her to him, lowering his head so he could devour her. She screamed, a loud cry of bliss as his tongue plunged deep and drew the cinnamon honey he craved from her body. It was warm and thick, like molasses and he found himself growling like the wolf he was, ravenous for her. He held her firmly as her body tried to roll and buck.

    “Be still,” he ordered harshly, when he could find a moment to speak.

    When she didn’t comply with his order, he smacked her bottom to get her attention. Her nerve endings fired with passion, more delicious honey spilling into his mouth. He couldn’t resist trying it again and again, and each time he got the same results, more of what he needed. Each time the honey was hotter and spicier, the taste more delicious than ever. He licked at her scorching sheath, and then nuzzled her, inhaling her perfect scent. He couldn’t resist taking little nips up her inner thigh, tiny teasing bites that had flames of desire licking up her legs.

    He moved over top of her, catching her wrists, pinning them over her head so he could look down at her body, sprawled beneath his larger one. Her breath came in ragged gasps so that her breasts heaved and moved invitingly—temptingly. He leaned down and captured the left one, drawing the soft mound into the heat of his mouth.

    She moaned softly, her body rippling as his tongue stroked her nipple, and then he suckled strongly. Her head thrashed. Her hips rose beneath him. It was all music, part of the night. He loved the sounds she made and the way her body was so ultra-responsive to everything he did to her.

    He kissed his way over the creamy curve of her breast to find her pulse beating so wildly—so temptingly. He heard the answering beat deep in his own veins and without warning, without preamble, he sank his teeth deep. She cried out, sobbed, lifted her hips and writhed. She tried to lift her arms to circle his head and hold him to her, but he held her helpless, enjoying bringing her so much pleasure. He felt it in her mind, her need rising like a volcano.

    He drank her essence, taking her into his body, that same spicy taste just as addictive. He wanted to be the wolf and eat her up. There was something so beautiful in her face, in her glowing body as she lay beneath him, her pleas growing more desperate as her need intensified.

    When he had taken his fill, he gripped her wrists hard and looked into her eyes. “Stay still, just like this.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth, that beautiful mouth he wanted to spend a lifetime playing in and kissing and loving.

    “I don’t think I can,” she admitted a little desperately.

    He licked down her ear and nipped at her chin. “Then I’ll help you. Because this is for me. I want to drive you insane and watch you catch fire. We’re safe here. There’s no forest to burn down. I can light a match and watch you burn.”

    As she lay there, vines rushed from the ground and circled her arms, forming two long sleeves that went from wrist to bicep.

    “There you go, mon chaton féroce. There is no moving when I want you still.” He sat up and ran his hand possessively down her body from breast to belly, splaying his fingers wide to take in as much of her skin as possible. “I can take my time with you. You can scream to your heart’s content and your body can go up in flames over and over and no one will interrupt us.”

    He smiled down at her shocked expression, watching the flames in her eyes grow even brighter. More cinnamon honey spilled from her body. More than anything, the faith in her for him, the trust she had, excited him. She gave herself into his keeping, knowing he would bring her only pleasure—and he intended to do just that.

    “I’m wolf, Branka. Wolves are often rough, bordering on brutal. But I touch you with love. And I’d never want to harm you. Tell me to stop if you don’t like something.”

    “Fortunately for you, I like the way you love me. I like rough, bordering on brutal. If I don’t like something, you’ll hear about it fast,” she assured. “And, Zev, I know you would never harm me.”

    She killed him with her soft seductive voice, with the thrash of her body and the bucking of her hips as if she couldn’t wait for him. Deliberately she spread her thighs for him. Opening herself for him. Silently begging him for more. For anything.

    He laughed softly. “You’re so eager, my love. Let’s just see what fun I can have with you.” He rose over top of her, on his hands and knees, moving up until he was nearly on her head. His cock felt heavy with need, his sac sliding sensuously over her breast and bumping her chin. Using one hand, he wrapped his fist around his shaft and brought the head to her lips.

    “I dream of you sucking me dry. That beautiful mouth of yours wrapped tightly around me, so tight like a hot fist. I had that dream from the moment I laid eyes on you, your mouth so beautiful and tempting. I love you lying here beneath me, helpless, an offering. Mine.” He smeared droplets along the seam of her mouth. “Mine to play with, mine to love.”

    Her tongue darted out and caught his offering. She licked at every last drop and then strained toward his cock. “Please,” she finally said, her eyes growing even brighter when he held himself just out of reach. Her body glowed even hotter.

    He pushed into her mouth, sliding deep, groaning with bliss. He shared the feeling with her, mind to mind. She rewarded him with stroking his shaft with her tongue and then teasing at the sensitive spot beneath the flared head. He closed his eyes briefly, unable to believe that she was his. Everything in her reached for him. She gave herself wholly over to his care.

    Love welled up, sharp and terrible and all encompassing. More, Branislava didn’t think about herself or her own needs when she attended to him. She focused solely on his pleasure. Her every move was filled with love and he couldn’t help but feel it in the eagerness she had each time they came together like this.

    She gave a little cry of protest when he pulled out of her mouth and slid down her chest, between her breasts, his mouth nibbling at her chin as he slid farther down to her belly. He kissed and bit lightly, stimulating her body more, watching the fire growing hotter in her until the little sparks began to snap around them like fireflies in the night.

    He loved that. Her passion. Her fire. He wanted her to have the chance to set the night on fire where nothing could get harmed. High up the snow-covered glacier, they were safe. Even if a tree caught fire, there was nothing else to burn, and he’d already made certain the foliage around them was safe.

    Zev kissed his way across her quivering, flat belly to her mound and then swiped his tongue through her soft folds again, watching the delicious shiver go through her body with satisfaction. Her fingers dug into the rich loam. He noticed the soil under her begin to glow with a soft red light and where her fingers sank into the dirt, the red appeared crimson. Joy burst through him. Loving her was an adventure, a beautiful, incredible journey of love.

    He spread her legs farther apart, pulling them over his shoulders as he knelt up against her, easily lifting her bottom from the bed of petals. Her eyes were huge, the green nearly gone to be replaced by those hot, flicking flames. Her skin was hot to the touch. His cock jerked in anticipation of her scorching sheath wrapped tightly around it.

    “Hurry,” she panted, trying to move her body in a kind of desperation to find his cock. She never tried to hide her eagerness from him. She always hungered for his body, just as he hungered for hers.

    He laughed softly, his happiness spilling over. He had no idea why he’d been given such a miracle, but he knew he would always treasure her. She was a gift beyond anything else in the world. He took one more moment to just look at her, lying there, breathing raggedly, her eyes flickering with flames, yet pleading. Her body was flushed and hot with sparks leaping around her and the ground beneath her rising in temperature directly in proportion to hers. Her hair was everywhere, that mass of red silk, a fiery fall he was madly in love with.

    He entered her in one, swift, brutal thrust. She screamed. Her voice rose to the misty clouds, such perfect music of pure pleasure. His voice blended with hers, a husky long wolfish howl of pure ecstasy as her muscles gripped him with scorching-hot silk. She was so tight he had to drive through her sheath like a piston, forcing his way through the tight-wrapped silk to lodge deep.