Page 60 of The Highwayman's Bite

When he came to a point where there was resistance and a slight bit of discomfort, paused. “Do you still wish for me to drink from you?”

She blinked at his whispered question, then understood, remembering the pleasure of his bite. He wanted to distract her from her pain. “Yes.”

His fangs pierced her neck at the same time he thrust inside her. Vivian still felt a second of pain, but it was drowned with the hypnotic bliss of his bite. The pleasure throbbed as he drank, pleasure that didn’t last long enough. After a few swallows, he lifted his head from her neck and licked the blood from his lips. The sight should have been horrifying, yet instead, she felt a deep satisfaction that she was able to provide something he craved.

He remained still within her, his heart pounding so hard she could feel it.

“Is this all it is?” Vivian asked, somewhat disappointed. All those poems and bawdy songs were about a few moments?

Rhys chuckled, though it sounded strange. “No. I only wish for you to become accustomed to me, so I do not hurt you further.”

“Oh.” The sensation of having him inside her was indeed overwhelming. Yet beneath the slight ache, there was something else. Instinctively, she shifted her hips and gasped at the twinge of pleasure.

Vivian moved again, and this time Rhys moved with her until their hips rocked together in a hypnotic rhythm. She clung to him, reveling in the heat and strength of his embrace. The arcs of pleasure strengthened and reverberated like a melody.

Rhys kissed her neck and whispered, “You feel like heaven.”

She trembled in his arms, awash with the sense of poignant closeness. As her pleasure built, she arched her hips as the pleasure built higher and higher, cascading into a crescendo of earth-shattering sensations. Her lips formed his name as she shuddered beneath him.

Rhys held her tighter, stroking her hair as he kissed her and murmured endearments. Then he let out a primal growl of satisfaction before his mouth locked over her neck. The rhythmic pulses of his drinking echoed the tempo of her climax. She cried out, not sure she could bear any more of this exquisite ecstasy.

He drank a little more than he had during his first bite, and when he withdrew his fangs, she had to refrain from trying to pull his head back to her neck. The realization of the danger of such a desire sobered her. She didn’t want him to take all her blood.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Blood trickled from his lower lip, but it wasn’t hers. She saw a gash.

“Yes. Are you?” she reached up and cupped his chin. “You bit your lip.”

“That was intentional. I used my blood to heal your puncture wounds.” Slowly, he slipped out of her body and rolled on his side, pulling her with him. “Are you certain I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m certain.” She nuzzled her cheek against his chest and stroked his back. “You were so gentle, and the experience was so...” she trailed off with a sigh. “Now I understand the meaning behind some of my favorite poems and songs.”

Rhys arched a brow. “What sorts of songs has a gently-born maiden such as yourself heard about lovemaking?”

Vivian sang in French. “When moonlight comes, my lover arrives. Our bodies become one as we engage in the oldest dance. In his embrace, I become incandescent. My petals open to receive his honey. Without his love I shall wilt.”

He chuckled. “Madame Renarde taught you that song, I presume?”

“Not exactly.” She regarded him with a coy smile. “I overheard her singing it when she worked on her embroidery or strolled through the garden. I didn’t understand the words until after two years of her French lessons.” She swallowed and added softly, “And it wasn’t until tonight before I truly comprehended their meaning.”

A look of mingled melancholy and longing suffused his handsome face. “Did I truly make you feel that way? Incandescent?”

Heat flooded her face. “I know, I sound like an utter greenhead. You must have done this with many women, and I’m sure everyone feels that way after...”

“No.” Rhys kissed her firmly as if to emphasize the word. “Such passion is a rare gift.” Another kiss, sweet and lingering. “And I’ve never experienced passion like I have with you this night.”

Vivian’s heart clenched at his haunting tone and soulful eyes. Could he possibly mean that? She’d been warned that most men, especially worldly rakes would say anything to convince a woman to yield her body, and there could be no one more worldly than a vampire who’d lived for well over a century.

Yet she’d been the one doing the persuading, and he hadn’t spoken of passion until after he’d already had what he wanted. Her breath tightened. Did he feel the same way she did about him? But what did she feel for him?

Love. The word struck her like a blow to the ribs. She’d fallen in love with him.

That was the real reason she’d given herself to him.

“Are you all right?” Rhys broke through her thunderous realization.

“I’m wonderful.” She smiled and boldly kissed him. There was no way she dared confess the depths to which he’d stolen into her heart. “I ah, need to use the chamber pot.” The words had been intended as a reason to extricate herself from the warmth of his embrace before she blathered like an infatuated twit.

“Oh.” He pulled them both into a sitting position and she put a hand over her eyes as a wave of dizziness engulfed her head. Rhys frowned. “Dear God, I took too much from you. I am so sorry.”

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