I'm making the decision for you."
"Don't you get it?" he snarled, throwing up his hands in an aggressive, purely male gesture of rage. "There isn't a goddamn single thing about me that's noble!"
She shook her head, saying, "Shut up and waste that sorry-ass story on some other idiot. I'm on to you, Ian. I know all about you. And if you're not going to touch me, then I'm sure as hell going to touch you."
In the next instant, Molly closed the remaining distance between them, and with trembling hands, she curled her fingers around the frayed waistband of his jeans, ripping at the top button of his fly.
"What the hell are you doing?" he grunted, grasping her wrist in a biting hold that was just shy of hurting.
Molly glared up at him, ready to scream. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking matters into my own hands, Ian. You won't touch me? Fine. But I'm going to touch you." Her gaze lowered, staring at the massive bulge behind the worn denim. "Better yet," she said, the words thick...husky, "I'm going to do more than touch."
"NOTHING'S CHANGED," Ian snarled, lifting his hands to either side of her head. He held her like that, pressed between the heat of his palms, and leaned his forehead against hers.
"Christ, Molly. Don't you get that?"
"I don't need you to lie to me," she said softly, grasping on to his thick wrists as the words poured out of her in a trembling, emotional rush. "I know you. I've been inside your head. I know what you're willing to give. I know what you need to take. You want sex, and I want to give it to you. You need blood, and I'm willing to give that, too. Because unlike you, I know there isn't the slightest chance you could actually hurt me. I care about you, and I need to be here to help you through this, Ian."
"You're not helping me." He lifted his head, and forced himself to take his hands off of her.
"You're distracting me. There's a hell of a difference."
"I could be useful, if you'd let me," she argued, blinking up at him, her eyes bright with tears.
"What do you want from me, Molly?"
"I want you to stop fighting me," she told him. "I want you to take what you need."
What he needed? He needed everything--all that she had. He wanted her laid out and bared, spread, defenseless in every possible way there was. Wanted to take her under his body, and take her blood into his mouth, while he drove himself into her. Wanted her begging for him, beating his shoulders, clawing at his back, her passion wild and limitless and out of control.
He wanted to get inside of her, unlock her and break her open, forcing her to give him something that he craved even more than her body...more than her blood. Something that he couldn't even put a name to--and yet, Ian knew that when he found it, he would grab hold of it, clutch it in his iron grip and kill anything that dared to take it away from him.
"I want everything, Ian. Everything you can give me," she added in a breathless rush.
Christ, she actually meant it.
Shaking apart inside, Ian stared down at her, seeing the truth in her eyes, scenting it, absorbing it through his senses, and something suddenly snapped inside his head, as if he could hear the last bonds of his restraint breaking.
Before she could draw her next breath, he was claiming her mouth, kissing her as if his very life depended on it. Hot. Damp. Delicious and breathtaking and so goddamn good that he couldn't get enough of it...of her. With his hands cupping her face, the kiss turned almost angry, edged with fury and dark, dangerous craving. She gasped, her small hands clutching at his sweat-slick shoulders, and he nipped her lower lip, forcing himself to stop before he drew blood.
But he knew, in that moment, that he'd finally been pushed past his limit.
HIS BREATH JERKED from his lungs in a hard, panting rhythm as he picked her up, clutching her high against his body, and Molly wanted to scream from the wild rush of anticipation; at the same time she melted with relief. A week's worth of longing that felt like years sizzled through the touch of his mouth against hers. Poured into her like a slow, sweet spill of honey, while craving flashed like an arc of electricity, furious and fast, the dual assault against her senses dizzying and breathtaking. His hands gripped her waist, his long fingers biting into her flesh as he held her against him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, a husky cry breaking from her throat as she pressed against that impossibly hard, thick ridge behind the fly of his jeans.
"You could end up getting hurt," he panted against her mouth, carrying her down the shadowed hallway, while a rumbling bellow of thunder sounded far in the distance. "Dammit, you know that, Molly."
"I know exactly what's going to happen," she gasped, the dark stubble on his cheeks scratchy against her palms as she held his face. "So do your worst. You won't scare me away."
"You keep pushing me," he growled, "and that's not a good vibe right now. Trust me."
"Why?" she countered, nipping his jaw, kissing her way to his ear. "If I push you, you're going to crash right over the edge. And guess what? That's where I want you. So just shut up and take me to bed."
"I'm filthy," he grunted, stepping through a door on their left, into a murky bathroom, the only light spilling in from a small, rectangular window that sat high on the wall. "I have to get clean. I'm not going to cover you for the first time drenched in sweat."
"Fine, but we're just going to end up sweaty again," she told him as he set her on her feet.
With trembling fingers, Molly pulled her blouse off while he reached past the flower-printed shower curtain and started the water. Her glasses were nowhere in sight, probably somewhere on the floor between the bathroom and the living room, but she didn't care. All she cared about was getting her hands on him before he could change his mind. "I'll get in with you."
Kicking off her sandals, she stripped off her bra, and was reaching for the zipper on her jeans, when he turned and caught sight of her half-naked body. Hunger sharpened the rugged angles of his face, making him look dangerous in a dark, predatory way. But she wasn't afraid. With a coarse growl vibrating deep in his chest, he pulled off his jeans. She stared, fascinated...dazed, at the shocking, primal beauty of him, and he grabbed hold of her, pulling her into the shower, jeans and all. Warm steam swallowed them in a hazy vapor, making him look like some primordial satyr who'd stolen away from the forest to ravish her, though she planned on doing some ravishing of her own first.
With his back turned to the pounding spray of hot water, Molly dropped down to her knees.
She ran her hands up the strong, corded muscles of his hard thighs, and blinked up at him while her breath rushed in violent bursts, her pulse roaring through her ears. "Come here," she whispered, curving her hands around his hips and pulling him toward her.
"Dammit," Ian snarled...but he jerked forward, and the swollen, heavy head of his cock nudged the corner of her mouth, hot and delicious and nearly bursting with need. He was so unbelievably beautiful that for a moment she could only stare, smoothing her trembling fingers over the thick, rigid length, awed by its power...its heat.
"Christ, don't tease me," he gasped, and Molly took mercy on him, opening her mouth as he choked off a dark, guttural shout, the provocative sound the most erotic thing she'd ever heard.
And then she lost herself in the feel of him...in the warm, salty, sweet taste. He was thick...impossibly large, the blunt, plum-sized tip massive and smooth, barely fitting as she stretched her lips wide. He tasted earthy and rich, like primal male perfection, and she stroked her tongue over the slick opening in that broad head, desperate for more of his taste--for more of those snarled gasps of pleasure breaking from his throat that he tried so hard to hold in. Moaning, she took another inch, and his hips bucked, big feet spread wide for balance, his hands braced against the wall at her back as he pitched forward, while the shower rained down on his back.
Even though she knelt before him in a blatantly submissive position, Molly had never felt more powerful...or more beautiful, as she did in that moment.
"Dammit," he growled for the second time, and she lifted her gaze, watching his jaw work as he stared down at her through the dark shadow of his lashes, the vivid blue of his eyes burning with an unearthly light, taking her breath. His palms found the sides of her face, holding her, gripping her, and he pushed forward, giving her another wide, thick inch...then another. They both knew she couldn't take all of him, but she was desperate for as much as she could take.
She pushed forward, pulling him in deeper, stroking him with her tongue. His hands flexed against her face, and Molly could feel the wave of power that roared through him, violent and intense.
"I wanted this the second I set eyes on you," he confessed in a gritty voice, the words so low, they were almost silent. "When you first slipped out of that car at the building site." He stroked his thumb against the corner of her mouth, rubbing the tender stretch of her lips, and whispered, "Can you take more?"
She nodded, ravenous for him, and he trembled, the shiver moving through his hard, rangy body driving her wild. Molly wondered if this was how Ian felt; at the same time, she marveled at his ability to fight it for as long as he had.
"Relax your throat," he rasped, and his warm hand trailed across her jaw, the backs of his knuckles stroking the quivering column of her throat, coaxing her to do as he said. His eyes squeezed shut as she worked her mouth over him, moving into a decadent rhythm, his lashes thick, dark against the rugged beauty of his face. He made a low, purely male sound that shuddered through his big, powerful body, and opened his eyes, staring down at her with a fierce expression of need. And then she watched the need bleed into something darker...more primitive, seeing the panic flare in his eyes at the same time as it surged through his body. He slammed his hands against the tiles, pulling back his hips as he growled, "Enough!"
"No," she gasped, pressing her lips against the swollen, bruise-colored head. He made a low, roaring sound, and the air filled with the piercing screech of something sharp grating against the tiled walls of the shower.
Molly knew, without even looking, that the Merrick's talons had slipped free from his fingertips. Flicking her gaze upward, she watched his lips pull back over his teeth, the long points of his fangs blindingly white in the low spill of early-morning sunlight. Steam beaded on his skin, the heat of his body like a fever, burning against her lips, and his head fell back on his shoulders, into the misty spray of water. The position arched the strong, corded column of his throat, its muscles trembling, and a feeling of such profound longing broke open inside of her, she had to choke back the hot, liquid rush of tears.
"Later. I'll come in your mouth later," he grunted, shaking the water from his face as he looked back down at her, his stark, intense expression making her shiver. "Need you in bed.
Now."
He didn't say anything more, though his eyes were wild with emotion, revealing everything he couldn't put into words. His fear. His craving. His need. He drew in a series of slow, deep breaths, and then he pushed away from the wall, reaching for her, and Molly realized he'd pulled the talons back into his body, though she could still see his fangs through his parted lips. Picking her up, he clutched her against his chest and took her to the bedroom, tossing her, wet jeans and all, onto a mattress that had been covered with an open sleeping bag, the tag still dangling from its corner.
"Isn't this the part where you run, screaming?" he rasped, kneeling on the end of the bed. He ran his heavy gaze up the shivering length of her body, devouring her with his eyes, at the same time he ran his tongue over the sharp point of one deadly incisor.
Run screaming? Did he honestly think she would run from him?
As if.
"Honestly, Ian. Do I look like I want to run away from you?"
He trembled, his breathtaking muscles coiling and flexing, as if he was about to explode into action. "Then take off your jeans," he growled, "or you're not going to like what I do to them."
Molly hurried to do as he said, struggling with the damp denim, kicking them away with her panties. The combination of lust and tenderness coursing through her veins was so overwhelming, she felt light-headed.
"God, just look at you." He placed a hand on each ankle and bent her knees, forcing her legs out wide at her sides, until she was splayed in the most erotic pose she could have ever imagined. Staring at her sex with a searing, hungry intensity, Ian ran the blunt tip of one finger through her folds, slipping through the slick moisture. Then he twisted two thick fingers up inside of her, pressing them deep as she writhed beneath him, the heavy sensation of being filled pulsing through her system, jerking a sharp cry from her throat.
With dazed eyes, Molly watched him pull the long digits from her body, his skin shiny, glistening with her juices, and he touched his tongue to them. A dark, graveled sound rumbled in his chest, and he took the slick fingers completely into his mouth.
"Ian," she gasped, her voice trailing off in a breathless sob as he lowered his head between her legs.
"Open wider," he growled, and then he licked her, slipping his tongue through the drenched folds, circling her tender opening, before thrusting into her, eating at her with a hungry avidity.
Arching, Molly cried out, "I want you inside of me. Right now."
He took another long, lingering lick, collecting more of her juices on his tongue, then moved higher, licking her clit...higher, dipping his tongue into her navel. His head turned, and their eyes met in the antique mirror that sat above the dresser on the far wall. It was such an erotic sight, her pale skin contrasted against the dark sheen of his body. Soft curves to hard, powerful muscles.
When Molly caught her reflection, it was almost like staring at a stranger. That woman couldn't be her. Eyes wild, skin flushed, mouth swollen and red. She looked...exotic.