Rites of Blood: Cora's Choice Bunble 4-6 by V. M. Black Page A

light beyond the trust in him that the bond had forced on me.
    I looked up at him where he stood across from me. In the utilitarian kitchen, his appearance was even more striking. Jarring, even. And he wanted me—more of me than I had ever expected to give to anyone.
    Did I even want to refuse him?
    “I’ll come,” I said.
    He nodded with satisfaction and took the single step to the sink, where he washed his bowl and spoon, dried them, and put them away. I took the last bite of my cereal, and he held out his hand. I gave my own bowl and spoon over and watched as he repeated the process.
    I was struck again with an almost dizzying sense of his immediacy, his tangibility, the water running over his too-perfect hands as they moved the sponge efficiently over the earthenware.
    “I could clean your toilets as well, if that would interest you as much,” he said dryly.
    I jumped a little guiltily. “Can you read my mind?” I wouldn’t put anything past him.
    He raised his hand to brush his damp knuckles against my cheek, and I shivered. I would never get used to that touch.
    “No,” he said. “But I don’t have to. Sometimes your thoughts are written on your face. I can, however, feel echoes of any particularly strong emotion that you have.”
    I thought of how much I had missed him on Christmas morning when I had woken alone. “So when we were apart....” I began.
    “I didn’t have to feel you then to know what you were feeling, Cora. I felt myself.” Again, that sad smile.
    And he would be leaving again soon. Because I would insist on it. I had to insist on it, to keep my own mind, my sanity apart from him. To put some semblance of a barrier between the parts of my life.
    He had stepped between my knees where I perched on the edge of the counter, his eyes almost level with mine. I watched his expression change, growing more intent.
    Did he sense how desperately I wanted him to stay? How desperately I wanted him to touch me, in spite of everything?
    Involuntarily, I leaned forward, tipped my head up, and he bent to catch my mouth. I sank into the kiss, wishing I could disappear into it, just for a moment, and forget everything.
    My abdomen clenched, a twinge of anticipation wakening my body, sensitizing it to his touch. He pulled me to him. I looped my arms around his neck, kissing him back hard, not content this time to merely be stroked by him. My tongue pushed past his teeth, into his mouth, tasting him, wanting him to be a part of me as I wanted to be a part of him. His hands were under my shirt, against my naked flesh.
    My nipples tightened at the stroke of his thumb, heightening the need between my legs. My blood sang with it, my head light and hot at once. I ground my hips against the hardness that bulged at his fly, panting against his mouth. His fingers slid beneath the elastic of my panties. Hooking my legs around him, I kissed his neck as he traced the edge of the elastic down to just beside my entrance, urging him on with my mouth, tasting his skin and wanting more.
    His fingers slid sideways, between my folds. I made a strangled sound. He stroked me slowly, holding me against his hand as he dipped shallowly, teasingly into my entrance, coming up to rhythmically roll the root of my clit between his thumb and forefinger while I shuddered in his arms. He pushed me right to the edge of an orgasm, but he held me back, until my entire body felt so suffused that I thought I could stand it no longer.
    “Dorian,” I managed.
    I felt both his hands at one hip, then a sudden ripping noise, which he repeated on the other side. My panties dropped away—he had torn them from my body.
    Even in my befuddled state, I felt a surge of outrage. “What—?”
    “I’ll buy you more,” he said, his hands at his fly.
    That wasn’t the point, but I was in no position to argue it at that moment. A moment later, Dorian was holding me again, smothering whatever protest I might have managed with another kiss.
    His hand,