Silken Rapture: Princes of the Underground, Book 2 by Beth Kery Page B

when he crowded her senses and flooded her brain. It felt a like a sensual assault.
    “You shouldn’t have come,” he said.
    “I-I had to. I needed to speak with you. You must let me go.”
    “You shouldn’t have come,” he repeated. Her forehead crinkled in confusion when she heard the bleakness of his tone.
    Suddenly, without her knowing how it had happened, she lay on the bed, her head on the pillow where his had just been. He leaned down over her, his large hands holding her shoulders. She saw that his incisors had lengthened. For some reason, she wanted to weep when she saw the wild desperation on his rigid features.
    Such a living portrait of pain.
    He leaned down and sank his teeth into her neck.

Chapter Five
    She wanted to scream, whether in fear or shock or ecstasy, she didn’t know. There was pain, but a distilled, voluptuous bliss twined through it, leaving her immobilized. Her eyes opened wide, as though she were being shown the secrets of the universe and couldn’t quite comprehend the miracle of the vision.
    A tension swelled in her sex. It hurt where his teeth pierced her neck, but his lips moved around the puncture wounds, the movement striking her as decadently erotic. She felt the heat of his mouth penetrate her. Somehow, the sharp pain he wrought mingled with nerve and flesh until it transformed into a potent, sharp need for release.
    She struggled weakly against him, not because she wanted this bizarre, electrical experience to stop—no, she would have begged him to continue—but distantly, she was mortified that she was about to climax explosively beneath a stranger…
    …her captor.
    That the act shouldn’t feel like the height of intimacy, but did, confused and panicked her.
    The movements he made while he fed—the subtle suckling actions of his jaw and the convulsions of his throat as he swallowed her blood—came to a halt when he felt her weak struggle. His hold on her shoulders became more firm.
    She cried out shakily when he withdrew his teeth from her flesh.
    “Shhhh,” he quieted. “Do not fight me.”
    She came at the sensation of his teeth sliding back into her flesh. Orgasm ripped through her, pain edging vast waves of pleasure.
    It was as if those crashing surges of sharp climax whisked away the familiar landmarks of her known world.
     
     
    The next conscious thought she had was of movement and stability at once. She cracked open her eyes and saw she was in a torch-lit, domed corridor. Through a hazed consciousness, she saw angels and gods cavorting above her, some leered down at her mockingly, others reached to touch her, to comfort.
    But they may retract their healing, beneficent fingertips. She required no comfort. She felt numb. No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t feel numb, but alive. She buzzed with life; she was drunk on it.
    She rolled her head on a hard object and looked up. This angel was real—a dark, fierce one. The cavorting angels overhead were faded caricatures compared to him. His gaze remained fixed ahead, like a cold, straight blade lodged in stone. She realized the hardness behind her head was his biceps, and that he carried her down a long corridor.
    “Hey,” she said.
    Her lips felt heavy and odd, as if the already sensitive flesh had sprouted billions of new nerve-endings. Perhaps her voice resounded only in her mind, because his gaze didn’t waver.
    “ Hey.”
    Still, he didn’t acknowledge her.
    “I know you can hear me. I know you’re aware of me,” she finished softly.
    His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She didn’t know what had made her say it, but it suddenly struck her that she’d spoken the truth. Despite his averted gaze, he might as well have been carrying a ticking bomb, he was so focused on her.
    He carried her into a room. He kicked the heavy door shut and shifted his hand beneath her. The furtive snick of the lock sliding home made her shiver with excitement.
    A sideways glance informed her they were in the bedroom