“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been with one of our kind?” he whispered, lowering his head to nibble my stomach.

I didn’t particularly want to know about his past conquests, but I asked, anyway. “How long?”

“Over half a century.” He parted my legs, running the tips of his nails leisurely up and down the insides of my thighs. “Sex with humans doesn’t compare.”

With a flick of his wrist, he made a shallow cut just above my knee. I hissed at the pain of it, then moaned when he lifted my leg and closed his mouth over the blood that welled there.

When he withdrew, red smeared his lips. He leaned to kiss me, and I zealously sucked my own blood from his mouth. How strange that such a short time ago I’d feared the consumption of blood. Now I thought nothing of it.

“You taste as good as I remember,” he murmured against my cheek. His hand skimmed farther down my thigh, and he made another cut, this one deeper.

My body burned as he slid down to lap at the new wound. His hair brushed against my aching sex, a cruel tease.

This wasn’t what I had expected. I’d never really enjoyed sex much before. It was a thing that naturally happened in a relationship, but I’d never felt I needed it. Not like this, feeling as though I’d die if he left me right now, or at least cling to his legs whimpering and begging for more. He set out to seduce, to savor each moment, and I found myself enjoying the sensation of his icy lips on my skin. His wicked fingers stroking my legs. His hard body against mine.

He made a cut in the sensitive seam where my leg met my body, and “accidentally” bumped his cheek against my mound when he moved to suck away the blood. My legs twitched and tightened around his head.

“Could it be you’re actually enjoying yourself?” he asked in mock surprise.

I closed my eyes, unwilling to see his satisfied expression when I spoke. “Yes.”

He nipped at my chin. “Tell me you want me.”

Closing my eyes, I breathed, “I want you.”

“Not the sex, Carrie. Tell me you want me.” His words snapped my eyes open. His face was filled with pure, undisguised longing. He wasn’t asking if I desired him. He was asking me to love him.

He needed me to say yes. His desperate fear of rejection saddened me. But the piece of me that was still unaffected by the blood tie held me back. It was the piece of me that hadn’t been touched by anyone. I wasn’t about to surrender it. “I’m sorry, Cyrus.”

I thought he’d push me away, put an end to the encounter. Instead, he became more focused, kissing me harder and with more passion than he’d ever shown me before. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, threatening pain with his razor-sharp nails and pleasure with his gentle touch.