Page 53 of Prince with a Chance of Darkness

The next I knew, we were a mass of kisses and touches that left us making short work of our clothing. I didn’t even care that I was swept up with him.

Before I knew it, I was naked and straddling his hips. My fingers grazed his scar.

He kissed his fingertips and then pressed them to my matching scar, sending heat and need flaring through me.

Reaching between us, I took hold of him and adjusted myself, putting him to my wet core, my gaze never leaving his. I sank onto him and moaned, my body feeling as if the world had stopped spinning, as if it had come home—like it had been waiting for this moment—this man all my life.

His jaw went slack. His hands found my hips, and he dragged me down on him fully.

I cried out, trying to adjust to his size. My nails dug into his chest, causing blood to well. My bloodlust left me leaning forward, my tongue darting out and over the crimson liquid.

He cupped the back of my head, holding me gently to him as I rode him.“Te-am a?teptat o eternitate, Lumini?a mea.”

I had no earthly idea what he was saying and didn’t care. I was too deep in the moment and his blood tasted too good. What lived in me rejoiced, and I found myself kissing my way up his steely chest, to his scar like mine, and then to his neck. “Mine.”

I wasn’t sure why I said the word. I didn’t care.

I scraped my fangs against his tender flesh.

He hissed. “Yes. Bite us.”

Us?

I sank my fangs into his flesh. His blood ran over my tongue, and I growled in satisfaction before licking the area, watching it heal over quickly.

He thrust upward, hitting my sweet spot, leaving pleasure racing through me as we both found release. But he didn’t stop. His lips found mine, and he kissed me before moving his mouth to my neck. “Mine.”

When he bit me, I found another moment of bliss, my body tightening on his.

He moaned against my neck, sucking gently. When he released my neck, he licked the spot as I had done to him. “Flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood…You are mine, Mina Murray. Never forget that.”

“Mmm, cool,” I said, making a move to get off him.

The next I knew, I was flat on my back on the ground with him above me. “Lumini?a mea, I am far from done with you.”

I laughed softly. “Extra cool.”

Chapter Eighteen

Mina

I stirred slightly,unsure what had woken me. I was cocooned in warmth and the most delicious scent of smoked plums and cloves. It made me think back to my time at the inn in Romania, to the meals that had been prepared by the innkeeper. There had been a plum brandy the old woman served with evening meals that I’d loved. I think it had been called?uica. It was one of the only things I’d loved about that timeframe.

I turned my face into my male companion’s chest, inhaling deeply. He smelled amazing. I wasn’t sure how that could be, since we’d spent at least an hour rolling around on the ground. I’d thought round one had been mind-blowing. Imagine my surprise when he followed that up with three more rounds, back-to-back, with little to no downtime.

Dracula.

I couldn’t help but smile at the name he’d given me. Even when he’d found out how much I absolutely hated the Stoker novel and everything to do with Dracula, he’d doubled down on his role playing, really committing to the part. I wish he’d havepicked any other famous vampire, even a fictional one. Hell, I’d have even accepted Count Von Count, the Muppet from a children’s show Willa and I had watched when we were little.

But Dracula?

Ugh.

Lucky for him, he was amazing in the sack—okay, leaves, against trees, and while bending me over a large rock.

I studied his features while he slept, committing to memory his strong brow line and the tiniest of scars he had above his upper lip. I’d not noticed it during the height of our sexual calisthenics. I wanted to trace the scar with my tongue, but I didn’t want to wake him. He looked too peaceful, too content, and something told me he didn’t rest this soundly often.

Besides, I liked the fact he was holding me more than I should. Waking him might end that or force me to confess I enjoyed being held. That would go against my womanly-slayer-code. It was a weakness, as Helen would have called it.

---