...With her own limbs trembling with sexual desire, Desdra ushered her guest into the bathing chamber adjacent to her bedroom. Narcissa had indeed prepared the room to perfection. Several old astral lamps with cut-glass shades stood on the marble-topped washstand, while six-branched candelabras governed the corners, casting the room in a sensual amber glow. Steam waltzed upward from the water in the high-backed tub, and a small mountain of plump towels and wash-clothes patiently awaited use on a cushioned bench beneath the lone window.
In all her years, Desdra had faced many difficult tasks—adapting to the changes in her body as a new recruit; relocating time after time before neighbors could question her unchanging appearance; losing her most recent mate to the hellish war. But keeping her fingers from shaking as she unbuttoned this man's shirt, stopping herself from shredding the material to get to the naked flesh, seemed equally difficult.
The waiting, thankfully, proved worthwhile. What a magnificent torso, she thought with glee, as her gaze eventually clawed over every inch of his wide shoulders, bulging arms, and muscular breastbone, the succulent dark-brown nipples nearly buried beneath a carpet of chest hair, and the ridged abdomen, where a trail of dark hair led to his lean waist. So perfectly proportioned, so powerful, and so outrageously masculine. As if reading her most intimate thoughts, he took her hands in his and settled them on his chest. She reveled in the soft flesh and fur, the solid wall of bone and sinew, the enlivened beat of his heart, drumming a promise of unbridled passion against her fingertips and palms.
Unable to resist, she spread her hands to cover his nipples—they grew hard beneath her touch—and pressed her face against the center of his torso, where she luxuriated in his manliness. The hair tickled her cheeks and nose, and against her sensitive eardrums, his heartbeat rampaged like echoing thunder. She licked a hungry path to his neck, repeatedly kissed him all along the firm line of his jaw while commanding her fangs to fully retract until she would require them, then raised her mouth to his.
Instantly, he ground his lips against hers, kissing her with all the violence of a man both physically and emotionally deprived, mirroring her own needs. Their tongues plunged into each other's welcoming mouths, exploring and jousting and savoring. The smooth aftertaste of the Kentucky bourbon he had recently consumed made her tongue tingle, while his sharp manly musk did the same to her nostrils. She could even detect the ripe scent of his semen, an ocean swelling and churning inside his testicles, which made her clitoris pound and her tunnel clench, as if screaming with thirst for the warm seed. When he crushed Desdra against his quivering body, she wrapped her arms around him and dug her fingernails into his back. She stroked his spine and shoulder blades, kneaded his muscular mounds of flesh, and fought to keep her growing whimpers of longing at bay. Yes, she wanted him desperately, more than she had wanted any other man she had met in the recent past...