Bitten by Ecstasy: 2 (Dark Judgment) by Naima Simone

imprinted by the solid wall of his chest, hadn’t had the long, thick length of his cock brand her thigh.
    Hadn’t seen every golden, hard, muscled, bare inch of him.
    And, sweet Nef , had she seen every inch! When Bastien had shoved her behind him, crouched low and ready to protect her from a perceived threat, her eyes had latched onto the taut skin poured over sinew and tendon. The expanse of his back tapering down to narrow hips and a muscled ass. Then he’d spun around and… Heat flooded her face, prickled her palms.
    She’d seen naked men before—hell, she was three hundred years old. But none had ignited an inferno that razed her insides to ash, made the air in her lungs evaporate. His chest and abdomen could have been chiseled from the rocky cliffs lining the western Irish coasts. The patchwork of scars and wrinkled whorls only added to his gorgeous masculinity.
    And his cock. Her heart pounded a primal drumbeat in her ears. His cock had been a thing of beauty. A large mushroom-shaped head capped the long, thick stalk and weighted the wide column to hang halfway down his thigh. A dull ache pulsed in her sex, as delicious as it was disconcerting. She’d never before experienced this need to touch—touch him, touch herself. This craving clawed at her belly with vicious demand. She knew the mechanics of sex, understood Slot A slid into Slot B. Or C. But she hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t desired to find out for herself what made women do silly things with a man like imitate clinging ivy or lose control enough to grope in the shadows of buildings. She hadn’t wanted to discover that kind of passion…until now.
    Despite how his smallest touch sent her into an emotional Chernobyl.
    “You okay?” he asked.
    Shadows surrounded them, shading the damaged half of Bastien’s face and throwing the unmarked side into sharp relief. She glimpsed the visage of the man he’d been before the battle with the rogue. He would have been classically handsome, his green eyes only one of the striking features in a face full of angles and sensual curves. Yet she preferred the scars scoring his mouth and cheekbone. Though she’d been struck with the malady of humanity, a soldier’s heart still beat in her chest. And the soldier admired and respected the marks of courage, suffering and victory. He’d been pretty before—now he was a warrior, with a warrior’s beauty.
    “Sinéad?” His fingers curled around the back of her neck. Squeezing lightly, he tilted her head back, his thumb stroking the skin underneath her jaw.
    Curiosity. Sorrow. Anger. Hunger. Longing. Sinéad gasped softly. His feelings? Hers? Lady . Whenever he touched her it all became a dark, roiling tangle she couldn’t unravel. Except for the pain and loss. Though she’d never experienced such grief personally, she’d tasted others’ sorrow, choked on the heavy, smothering weight.
    “I’m fine,” she said, angling her head and breaking free of his grip. Don’t ask. She stepped around him. It’s none of your business. Don’t. Ask. “Who was it?” She pulled up short, rounded on him even as Damn! echoed through her head.
    Bastien arched a white-gold brow. “Who was who?”
    “The person you lost? Died?”
    Silence met her rapid-fire questions. The resounding quiet screamed none of your business as he stared at her with his jeweled, unblinking gaze.
    “Why do you think I lost someone?” he finally asked.
    She ignored the ominous, dark tone warning her to back off. “The sadness. It’s so…” heavy, piercing, soul-rendering , “obvious.”
    “I apologize.”
    “So who was it?” she asked again, waving aside his sardonic pseudo-apology. “Parent? Friend? Patient?”
    “Fiancée.”
    Shock kicked her in the chest and only by sheer force of will did her knees not buckle under the impact. A fiancée. She’d never suspected…never imagined… Her eyes searched his, glided over the cold, impassive expression. Hell, his face could have been