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I retracted my fangs. “She didn’t actually ask me to promise I wouldn’t drink blood,” I admitted. “It was my idea, because I knew how she felt.”

“Mm.” He traced my mouth with his index finger. “It’s up to you, sweetheart. But if you’re worried about me, don’t be. I liked it. Especially when it’s you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—it’s a major turn-on. You must’ve heard that before.”

My gaze returned to his throat. Zaq fell silent. He’d made his point, now he was leaving the decision up to me.

I moved back into his arms. They closed around me, lean and hard.

Nuzzling his throat, I extended my fangs, scraping them lightly over his skin. My mouth watered and a shiver of anticipation went up my spine.

“Yes,” he encouraged. “Go ahead.” He cupped the back of my head and held me to his throat.

With a slow inhale, I sank my teeth into him, taking a tentative sip.

Energy filled me, along with…wonder. It was so much better than blood-wine. Rich, a little salty. Luscious.

I sucked harder.

Zaq’s throat muscles worked. “That is so fucking hot,” he said thickly.

I moaned agreement against his skin. Lord help me, it was hot. Heat pooled in my lower abdomen and my panties dampened.

I took a half-dozen deep, greedy sucks. With each mouthful, I felt stronger, more energetic.

A fine sweat broke out on my body, bringing a lovely coolness. The throbbing in my side eased. I retracted my fangs, not wanting to take too much, since Zaq had only just recovered himself, and licked the marks I’d left behind. They closed up within seconds, but I kept licking.

He tasted so good, so male. So right.

I twined a leg around his and pressed my mound against his thigh.

He swore, rough and growly, his throat vibrating beneath my mouth. “Damn it, Ridley. Stop it already.”

“Why?” My licks turned to kisses. I was drunk on him. I couldn’t get enough.

“You’re sick—you have a fever.”

I cupped his cock through his boxers. He was hard and ready. “I feel better.”

He removed my hand. “Let me take care of you instead.”

“I’m fine.” I pouted—and who was this woman, pouting? Ridley Crawford didn’t pout and tease. But with Zaq, it felt like foreplay.

His gaze went to my pushed-out lower lip. He gave a hard swallow, then shook his head. “No. You’re not. You don’t know how sick you were.”

He gathered me into his arms and carried me into a ginormous bathroom, all pale blue glass and black-and-white subway tiles. One side was a long, walk-in shower with multiple showerheads.

He turned into a cozy alcove where a porcelain slipper tub nestled, and put me down on a thick blue rug. “How about a bath?”

I nodded and kissed the side of his jaw. “I’d love it. But first, the toilet?”

“Toilet’s in there.” He pointed at a sliding door tucked next to the shower. “You need any help?”

“I’m good.”

“Okay.” He turned me toward the sliding door and smacked me on the ass, a casually possessive slap that made my inner thighs clench. “I’ll draw you a bath.”

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