Page 29 of Forbidden Devotion
Flavor set his taste buds alight. He sealed his lips over the wounds and sucked. Mitchel’s arm was slack in his hold, heavy and throbbing in time with his pulse.
Sinclair’s world narrowed to drinking, only drinking. Euphoria claimed him. He couldn’t help but draw out the process. He stopped suckling and instead kept his mouth still and let the blood well up on his tongue until there was enough to swallow. Slower this way. So he could savor every drop.
Mouthful after mouthful, Sinclair grew drunk from the pleasure. Mitchel’s blood burned hot as it coated his throat, warming him from head to toe. Wounds were forgotten in the haze.
He’d taken enough. To linger would be greedy.
Reluctantly, Sinclair withdrew his fangs as gently as he’d penetrated. Licking the punctures closed, he took liberties with his tongue, lapping at the soft skin, collecting every last bit. What would it be like to feed from his neck?
But he wouldn’t ever know. This wouldn’t happen again.
He stilled, breathing in Mitchel’s scent. Mitchel’s arm had fallen to his chest, unmoving. At some point, they’d clasped hands and laced their fingers together. He never wanted to let go.
Mitchel relaxed and sagged against him on the wooden board of the front porch, both of them quiet. Just breathing.
Sinclair was glad for this time. His cock had taken an interest. How could it not? With a man like Mitchel in his grasp, his mouth, his throat, his veins. He lay there forcing his thoughts to the more mundane, willing his erection away before Mitchel took notice. How would he explain that?
“Are you well?” Mitchel’s voice came out as ragged as Sinclair felt.
He hadn’t bothered to assess, but when he took stock of his body, it was properly healed, as expected.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Sinclair loosened his hold, and Mitchel did too, slipping his hand free. The weight of it was instantly missed.
Mitchel propped himself up enough to look at Sinclair. If he noticed thesituation, he was kind enough to ignore it. A dreamy expression softened his features. “Wow.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” Mitchel nodded and lay down on his back. Their shoulders touched as they both stared at the porch’s dusty rafters.
“Did it hurt? I tried to make sure it wouldn’t.”
“Only for a moment, and then it felt good,” Mitchel admitted. “I thought it would be awful, but it was nice. Sort of like kissing.”
A jolt of surprise spasmed deep in his chest. The words bolstered Sinclair’s courage. He reclaimed Mitchel’s hand before he could talk himself out of it. Sinclair held his breath. Then fingers curled around his, and he relaxed with a smile. Out of nowhere, he laughed. “You offered to kill me a deer.”
“What’s wrong with a deer?”
“Yuck! Dead animal blood? You don’t know anything about vampires, do you?”
“Clearly not, but I’m learning. Are all vampires as picky as you?”
“Um, yes, actually. It’s one of the reasons we don’t drink from wolves. You’re part animal. Animal blood tastes bad. I thought maybe yours would be bitter. That’s what I was led to believe, but I was wrong.”
“You were? How did I taste?” Mitchel posed his question with an uncomfortable amount of sincerity in his voice.
Perfect. Delicious. So good.“You don’t want to know.” Sinclair stopped before he made more of a fool of himself.
“That bad?”
“That good.”
“Oh.” After a pause, Mitchel motioned to Sinclair’s bloody jeans. “I should take you inside and check on those wounds.”
“I’ll heal on my own. You don’t need to worry.”
