Page 59 of The Pureblood Daughter
He reaches for the hem of her long gown and hikes it up, then moves to position his hips between her legs. The head of his cock presses gently against her opening, and her breath hitches in anticipation, but he doesn’t push into her. Instead, he lowers himself to his elbows and brushes a strand of hair away from Nadia’s face, taking his time in a way that makes her squirm in the grass, trying to get a taste of him inside her.
The wind tosses his dark curls, and his green eyes are so intently focused on her and nothing else that it sends a spark of ecstasy down her spine. To have the viscount so thoroughly enraptured by her is enough to have her breath hitching with want.
“Before we go any further,” he whispers, “there’s something I must tell you.”
Theneedto feel him has her almost hypnotized, and she blinks up at him, equally curious and frustrated at his hesitation.
“As I’ve said, I suspected this from the beginning, from the first time I set eyes on you across the ballroom...” His fingers caress her cheek, move across her jaw, and circle the tender puncture marks along her collarbone. “Now that I’ve tasted you, I know without a doubt.”
“Know what, Theodore?” she asks, her voice bordering on a growl. With him hovering atop her like this, she can glance down and see part of his length between her legs, tantalizing, tempting. And yet he doesn’t take her. Despite her inexperience, she debates for a moment reversing their positions so she can sink onto him and finally feel what it’s like to have him inside her.
“Nadia Magdalena.” The words are like an incantation on his tongue, his accent gently rising and falling like the leaves overhead lifting on the breeze. “You’remine, and you were always meant to be. Our bond...” He bites his lip, hunger swirling in his eyes. “It was fated. We had no choice in this,iubit. Your string was tied to mine long before we met.” He traces his thumb along her bottom lip. “I need you to understand, Nadia. If you want something—someone—different, to make your own choice free of the bond, I will respect your wishes.”
As he says it, his voice so genuine, pain flashes in his eyes, as if he thinks she would ever choose another.
“What Iwishis for you to take me.” She reaches around him and digs her fingernails into his back until he groans. “Take what was,” she whispers tantalizingly, “and will always beyours.”
There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—in which his eyes narrow and his tongue wets his lips, and then he shifts his hips. His head parts her folds as he presses into her. He’s slow, gentle, and she closes her eyes, delighting in this, the first touch of a man inside her.
A gasp leaves her lips as he sinks slowly deeper, the pain light and sweet, and then he begins thrusting, rocking her in the wet grass. His lips find her neck, and just when she thinks she may become lost in all these new sensations, he pierces her skin and begins to drink.
The bite makes her hiss, and she digs her nails into his back harder, which only causes him to press into her deeper. Something about his fangs in her neck sends her spiraling into bliss, and combined with his length inside her, caressing her in a way no one else has, she becomes adrift in a sea of pleasure.
Nadia’s moans fill the quiet glade, her breathing coming faster now as his speed increases. But the sensation is nothing compared to that when he reaches down between her legs, his cock still inside her, and presses his fingertips to the swollen spot where her lips meet.
She arches her back, her body aching for release, but finds herself trapped by his jaws, his fangs holding her to the spot like a rabbit caught in the hungry mouth of a wolf.
Without ceasing his thrusts, he begins to rub her, his fingers slick with her wetness. Her skirt hiked up around her waist, she pushes her toes into the wet grass, trying to press harder against his fingers. They continue to circle, and Theodore applies a firm, gentle pressure that has her gasping for breath.
Touching herself has never felt this delicious, this frustrating, thissatisfying.
When he slips his fangs from her flesh and shifts to look down at her, his hair tangled and his lips tinged with blood, she can hold herself back no longer.
Now free of his jaws, Nadia arches herself fully, pressing her mound into his hand and driving him deeper inside her. He thrusts harder, and she digs her fingers into the grass, tearing it away in chunks as she tries to find purchase. The sensation builds until she has to explode, and she climaxes with a glorious moan. Theodore’s fingers continue to circle her, even as her walls pulse around his shaft and she gasps in the cool night air.
Verdant and hungry, his gaze never leaves her face. She would feel shy under other circumstances, but the pleasure chases all other thoughts from her mind. All she can feel is his wet fingers and his length inside her.
When she trembles and softens beneath him, satisfied and exhausted, he presses himself more firmly into her until she can take no more and yelps at his fullness. Shifting her focus to him, Nadia trails her fingers, now caked in mud and blood, over his chest, around his neck, and into his hair. The rhythm of his hips becomes fervent, and she takes a handful of his hair and pulls until he bares his fangs and, after one final thrust, pulls his cock out of her and comes, releasing himself onto her. It’s warm and sticky as it drips down her lips and between her legs, marking the place where they first lay together.
For a moment, the only sounds in the garden are raindrops on the leaves and their tandem panted breaths.
Thunder rumbles overhead, low and threatening, and as they both look to the dark sky above, what was a gentle rain becomes a steady downpour. Rain runs down Theodore’s face, the droplets catching in his dense black lashes, and washes the blood from his chest. Remarkably, the wounds in his shoulder and chest have already begun to close, though they’re still rimmed in red.
Nadia reaches up to touch him, lets her fingers trail down his chest, and the smile he gives her makes her heart feel close to bursting.
“Come, my love.” He catches her hand and helps her into a sitting position, then presses a salty kiss to her lips. “We can’t have you catching your death out here.”
“But”—Nadia looks down at herself, at her torn gown and corset, her nipples puckered in the cold air—“I can’t be seen like this.”
“And you shan’t be.” The viscount gets to his feet, tucks himself back into his breeches, and readjusts his clothing. His waistcoat is still stained and torn, and his face is flushed, but he’s not near so conspicuous as she is.
Nadia once more accepts his hand, but as soon as she’s on her feet, he’s sweeping her off them, carrying her at that overwhelming speed through the trees, into the house, and down the many halls to the room she’s been staying in. Someone gasps as they pass by, and Nadia barely suppresses a laugh.
“That’s... exhilarating,” she whispers as he sets her gently down just outside the door to her room.
His grin is a flash of white and red in the darkened hall. “You’ll get used to it.”
Theodore pushes his fingers through her tangled wet hair and plants a gentle kiss upon her forehead. “Go. I’ll send the maids up with hot water for a bath.”
