Page 8 of Night Fall
The moan that left her was loud and sinful, and Erik’s own groan of pleasure turned what was once something of shocking passion into a turbulent chasm of war. His hands left the grip he had on her hair to wrap themselves around her. She took him, took his weight, his taste, and she craved every ounce of it more than air itself.
Mya’s hands wound themselves in the tresses of his golden hair, twisting and pulling, gripping like he had done to her, to show him what she needed, what she desperately desired: for him not to stop. All she could feel was Erik—the way he sucked her lips, how his tongue felt when he ran it across hers, how he tasted like mint and honied pears.
Mya loved it. She loved the shivers that coursed through her body, the gooseflesh that puckered her skin, the way his lips seemed to transfer her whole body and soul to another dimension where only he resided.
Erik’s hand slid up her back, and she moaned for him. He fisted her hair once more, bunching the strands and gripping them at her scalp as he kept her head tilted so he could kiss her deeper, more passionately, and she took every drop of what he gave.
Mya clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders and arms, feeling his muscles tense, tendons tighten and release, the way his chest shuddered each time she opened her mouth to his, each time he took another breath and breathed her in. She could feel how hard and fast his heart was beating, that it seemed to race just as quickly as hers. This was unforgiving, electrifying, and Mya could only succumb to the waves of pleasure that ignited her skin.
Her core grew wetter, her nipples so swollen and sensitive that every rub against her chemise was almost painful. Erik’s erection pushed against her stomach, and the knowledge that he was so hard for her nearly made her weep. Mya knew he was large––she could tell that through his clothing––but the question of how he would fit inside her never crossed her mind. He would fit, and she would take him gladly. Mya expected the pain of having her virginity taken, but she would give it to him. She would take him with wild abandon, even if he split her in two, because this moment with him was worth everything.
Erik’s teeth raked over her lip. There was a gentle sting, and then he tasted her, drank her blood like she had his. Euphoria filled her and she gasped at the heady feeling. Mya had drunk and exchanged blood plenty of times before, but this was different. It was as if her entire body was exploding cell by cell, molecule by molecule, shifting and changing, accepting Erik as a secret piece of her body that she had been missing all along. In her heart he had always been, and now her body demanded to be complete.
Erik heeded that call with a guttural groan. He lifted her, and she wrapped her arms tighter around him, grasping him. She refused to be separated from him even for a moment. With one hand he held her, bracing her against the wall, while the other slid down to her ankle, then up, taking her gown and chemise with it while the cold metal of his ring brushed her skin.
Mya shifted to help him raise her dress. When he tugged it to her waist, she wrapped her legs around him, crossing her ankles at his back. He groaned, guided her down just slightly and then pressed his clothed erection against her damp core.
She moaned so loudly into his mouth that someone was sure to have heard her, but it did not stop either of them. He did it again and again, guiding and pushing while he gripped and kneaded her behind. She circled her hips, brushing against him as he did her, and she delighted in the intensity of the shudders that racked his body. Erik’s hand snaked up the back of her dress, and the cold air in contrast to the warmth of his large palm made her gasp.
He finally tore his mouth away from hers only to bring it lower. Erik kissed her jaw, then her neck, and Mya tilted her head back against the wall to give him access. She fisted his tunic, pulling at the material as she fought to feel his skin. She wanted to touch him, feel him bare against her, to leave her mark on him in the same way he was leaving his on her.
Erik kissed lower still, down to her breasts which heaved with every breath she took. He pulled at the material of her gown, but his finger slipped through a tear in the fabric.
The smell of blood that wafted from the shift of cloth hit them both, and they froze. That was where they had torn her gown that morning, a reminder of her assault. The memory hurt and angered her, but perhaps what was worse was the knowledge that she and Erik could not move past it, not like this, no matter how much she wanted to.
Mya reached to touch Erik’s cheek, but he tilted his head away from her. The rejection stung, but she understood. Whatever the reason was this … exchange had occurred, it was over and done with. Perhaps Erik had never meant for it to go this far in the first place.
Still, it crushed her heart when he said in a low voice, “Uncross your legs from me, Mya.”
She blinked, embarrassed and disappointed that she clearly struggled to let him go, when he did not feel the same. Mya uncrossed her ankles from his back, but as she tried to lower her legs, he only pulled her closer, his grasp tight on her waist. Erik guided her to the ground, her descent a slow and blissful torture as Erik pressed into her. She brushed against his hips, thighs, calves, and ankles until her feet met the road. She was still so sensitive that she squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, trying to cover her moan.
“My apologies,” Erik said, his voice gruff and hoarse. When Mya opened her eyes, he looked animalistic, feral. His cheekbones were sharper, the white of his skin now pink and flushed. His jaw was tight and his canines extended between his lips, but it was his eyes, the normal silver now red, that captivated her most of all.
Mya lifted her hand again to touch his face. This time he stilled so much that she could not even feel his chest move to breathe. She stopped, dropping her hand to his chest because the truth was right there in front of her. She may not know his feelings, but there was something there, and perhaps he struggled just as much as she did with letting go.
“No apology necessary,” she whispered.
Erik released a harsh breath then braced his hand against the wooden wall. His fist tightened and extended several times and his entire body seemed to tremble before he said, “Who hurt you, fagr skjaldmær min? Tell me their names.”
She tilted her head away from his, but he brought it back with a grasp of her chin.
“I do not want you to get involved,” she said, her voice wavering under his intensity.
Erik’s eyes narrowed, his face seeming to grow sharper as he bent down to her level. “I was bound to be involved the moment they came near you. They brought this fate upon themselves,” he growled.
The deep predatory sound made her eyes widen, but it was the way Erik’s hand stroked her chin, his fingers caressing her jaw gently as his eyes softened ever so slightly, that had her melting again.
“I will never hurt you, not you,” he whispered as his eyes begged her to understand, to believe his words. “But I will kill whoever has done this to you.”
“They are nobles,” Mya hissed. “If they find out it was you—”
“I do not care.”
“Erik!” she pleaded.
“I do not care!” he roared. “Nobles or not, they are a disgrace, a blight on this land. They do not deserve to breathe the same air as you. They should have never touched you. No one is allowed to touch you but me! You are mine!”
The words hung between them, suspended in the silence that was broken only by their rushed breathing.
