Page 47 of Caged By Dance and Desire

He didn’t break skin.

The darkness crawling behind his eyes, deepening his normally languid voice, warned that he could, that he was a breath fromwould.

I dug my fingers into his shoulders to brace, the muscles bunching under my touch with the energy it took him to hold back. The man holding me was a warrior, but not all battlefields involved blood and swords.

Andrei!I didn't speak the word aloud. I couldn't form the syllables in my throat.

I kicked myself mentally, knowing my mistake. First, challenging him when he’d been riding the edge of bloodlust. Then threatening to leave him—not physically, but details. A trigger was a trigger.

Then right as he was tipping the edge into a hunter’s aggression, pleading. Making myself prey.

“Anah,” he rasped, grinding his groin against me.

His teeth loosened, replaced by a long, sensual swipe of his tongue. Warm breath bathed my neck as if to soothe the hurt.

I won't hurt you, I promise.

As I stilled in shock because those words echoed in my mind, another, more distant sentence chased them.

At least not until you ask me. And then I’ll hurt you with pleasure so good that you'll scream and beg for me to leave you be.

Little did he know, I came with pain built in. What I needed was the opposite—someone who could work around it.

But the preliminary mistake tonight had been letting him taste me, stoking his lust without giving him any true relief in return.

I had to stop forgetting these people weren’t human.

Redirect.

I let my knees buckle, collapsing against his chest. “I feel dizzy,” I gasped, and it wasn’t even a lie.

Andrei swept me up into his arms, his energy changing. “Anah.”

“I didn’t eat anything yet. I forgot where I left my plate. I’ll be fine, I just need to recover.”

Maybe that was laying it on a little thick, but he bought it.

Andrei spun, holding me, and walked us deeper into the room, sinking onto a couch.

I shuddered, the nerves between my legs throbbing to the cadence of his voice as Cassanian words filtered into my mind.

He nuzzled the side of my neck and I angled my head as he pressed a line of sweet, hot kisses up to my jaw, to my chin and captured my bottom lip, sucking it between his own.

I shifted in his arms, straddling him, relieved his focus was now on kissing rather than biting.

When I pulled my mouth away because humans needed to breathe, he turned his attention to my ear, licking the rim.

“Let me mark you,” he said, cupping the back of my head.

“What does that mean, mark me?”

His lips curved, a deep swollen pink from our kisses. It didn't quite look like a smile, but I also couldn't quite accuse him of snarling at me either.

“I vote for the old-fashioned method,” he said.

“What does it entail?” I was learning my lesson about specifics.

“My scent,” he purred. “All over you, on your skin. Not in your hair, that would be a bit much for the venue.”

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