Lothaire

50

Elizabeth’s irises were dark with emotion as he stroked her heat, her breaths shallow between her bloodstained lips. Simply looking at her made that ache return in his chest.

But Lothaire couldn’t allow himself to savor that unfamiliar feeling—or the staggering release they’d just shared. He had an agenda. He must convince her that this was the right course.

If his Bride had a fatal flaw, it was her stubbornness. Of course, now he loved that trait in her, found it admirable. Didn’t mean that she shouldn’t be coaxed from it at times.

He was up to the challenge.

Again he curled his finger inside her. Because his blood coursed within her, that little ridged spot had swelled—so much so that he would be able to feel it against his shaft when he took her, would feel it catch the rim of his engorged crown.

And, gods, how she would feel it. . . .

“I will shower you with pleasure, with wealth.” He began circling his thumb over her clitoris as he rubbed her inside. “You will never regret this. Tonight, I’m going to make you come a dozen more times, each one stronger than the last.”

A flicker of distress passed over her face. He’d heard from turned humans that sex as an immortal was a thousand times more intense. No wonder she feared.

“Shh, shh, love, you can take it now. I’d never do anything to your body that you wouldn’t thank me for later.”

“Like changing my species.”

Unashamed, he said, “Just so.” Removing his fingers, he shoved his hands under her ass and lifted her. With one swift thrust, he mounted his female.

Lothaire withdrew and delved his shaft deep, twisting those lean hips to make Ellie feel things she’d never known she could.

“Yes, yes! Yes?” She began to orgasm before she’d even comprehended how close she was. “Coming . . . oh, God!” She could feel her sex clenching his shaft again and again, while he shuddered and sweated above her, already on the verge himself.

“It won’t stop, Lothaire!” His cock was sliding over that spot inside her, making the orgasm go on and on.

He was merciless, kept plunging, plunging, until she was sobbing for mercy—while raising her hips for more.

But he gnashed his teeth, slowing his pace. “Do you accept this?” He threaded his fingers through her hair, gripping it, lifting her face to his. “Accept me?”

She could almost imagine he was saying forgive instead of accept. “I do! Oh, yes!” She would’ve told him anything at that moment, anything to keep him moving inside her.

He dipped down to kiss her, licking her lips, her sensitive fangs. As rich blood streamed between their tongues, she shredded the sheets with her new claws.

The first time they’d had sex, she’d begged him to be more gentle. Now she demanded, “Harder!”

“You want it hard?” His tone warned her that she might not.

Yet she found herself scoring his back to spur him. He shuddered, arching into her claws. And for the briefest moment, he cast her a look of . . . wonder?

Then the ruthless Lothaire returned. With a growl, he shoved her hips into the mattress, pounding against her. The sounds of their sex grew deafening—their skin slapping, her continuous moans, his guttural words in Russian.

And always the thundering of their hearts. She was on the verge, about to climax again.

This raw bliss would have killed her as a human.

Between heaving breaths, he rasped, “Tell me that you love me.”

She almost screamed that she did. But even in this haze of emotion, she held fast to a whisper of stubbornness. Won’t tell him first. . . .

And once she began to orgasm, she could do no more than cry out his name.

Just when Ellie feared she couldn’t take any more of his thrusts, his body stilled completely, his whipcord muscles bulging. “I will never let you go, Lizvetta!” He remained motionless inside her, his face a mask of strain. “You are mine!” he roared, with his eyes aglow, his gaze pinning hers. “Mine! Ah, gods, you are . . . mine . . .”

Ecstasy lit his features.

His seed boiled forth in a rush. His hips surged forward in an uncontrollable fury, pistoning between her legs. Scorching jets of semen pumped into her . . . his body pouring into hers . . . over and over. . . .

Once he’d filled her with his heat, he finally collapsed over her. “Lizvetta,” he groaned dazedly.

She clutched him close, pressing kisses to his damp temple, his sweat-slicked neck. He lingered inside her, still softly thrusting.

As their hearts pounded together, she experienced that closeness with him that she’d once known and then missed.

“It’s only beginning, love,” he promised, his shaft stirring within her. . . .

At the end of the night, after countless bouts of sex, he squeezed her against his chest—hard. But it felt good to her.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to hold my Bride like this?” Brushing his lips against her hair, he murmured, “You will never want for anything again, Elizabeth. The world is yours for the taking.”

Again, she felt protected. Safe. Her lids began to grow heavy. But she didn’t want this to end, feared she’d wake tomorrow, and all this would be a dream. “I’m so sleepy.”

“My beautiful girl, dawn nears. And all good vampires are to bed.”

She eased up, arching a brow at him. “Then you’ll stay awake.”

Cupping her face, he lightly covered her mouth with his, tenderly licking her fang, giving her one last taste of blood.

The sweetest good-night kiss. Then back into the secure cradle of his arms.

So why did she still feel a shadow of misgiving? Why did she feel like she had in fact just sold her soul to the devil—and there was a no-refund policy?

No, no. What woman wouldn’t love this god, this decadent lover with power and money, who seemed to worship her body?

If he told her he loved her right now, she’d say it back. And she’d mean it.

But he hadn’t said it. And he’d never told her he was sorry for everything he’d done to her.

I’m Lothaire’s fool. . . .

Lothaire had exactly zero kingdoms under his control. None of his vendettas had been carried out and all of his plans had been upended.

Yet a languorous relaxation spread through him. His lips continued to curl of their own accord.

The satisfaction he felt from stroking Elizabeth’s hair as she slumbered against his chest . . . indescribable.

He’d pleasured her with his body, stoking her need, then sating it. He’d fed her with his blood until her skin was warmed. Now she slept deeply—while he safeguarded her with the strength he’d earned through eons of survival.

Of course she loved him. He knew she’d been about to tell him earlier. So her loyalty was his. . . .

Indescribable.

Lothaire had taken great pains to rehearse that transformation wish, and the ring had done exactly as bidden. Which meant that tomorrow he would give her a gift no other male could offer.

When she absently worried her bottom lip with one of her adorable little fangs, he sighed.

The Enemy of Old fucking sighed.

Dear gods, it’d finally happened to him.

Happiness.

Then his own fangs sharpened. I will kill anyone who tries to take this feeling away from me.