Page 115 of Bloodhunter

His stare was no longer blank. It was filled with a man’sheat. It was full of wonder and appreciation, darkness and mystery, love, even,but behind all that was the fear and the knowledge that it wouldn’t last. Thathis freedom wasn’t real. I could see it as clearly as I could see his hunger.

I wanted to make him forget everything but his desire. Iwanted him to have nothing in those eyes but that moment, that moment in myarms.

And I was wearing too many clothes. When I reached for myshirt he stopped me.

“I’ll do that.” He stood, lifting me with him, and paused tokiss the corner of my lips, to gently bite the edge of my chin, and to brushhis lips over my throat before he began to undress me.

I released a shuddery breath and forced myself to stay stillas he dropped my shirt to the floor and stared down at me. He slid a thumb overthe scars on my chest, then cupped my breast, his hot, rough palms scraping thenipple with an almost agonizing gentleness.

Chills shook my body and goosebumps arose on my skin. I wasboth hot and cold. I grew heavy and wet between my thighs even as my mouth becamedry, and my chest tightened as my legs grew weak and shaky.

And he was just getting started.

An image of Angus floated into my mind, not the image of himinjured and in a jail cell, but the image of him shoving his huge hardnessagainst me, followed immediately by the memory of Shane thrusting into me, ofMiriam caressing my arm, and then of Amias holding my legs open as he shovedhis mouth against my wetness, sucking and licking with an intensity that was sovivid I cried out.

We were all linked, at that moment. We were all there.

The demon inside Clayton was no longer powerful enough tosuck the life force from me or take me to a place of despair, but he was a sexdemon, and he was strong enough to force-feed me images and memories thatfilled me with overwhelming lust.

Clayton fed that lust with his torturous care and slownessand lips and tongue and fingers and need, and when I finally stood naked andtrembling before him, I was consumed by him. There was nothing else.

I put my hands on his shoulders for balance as he urged mylegs apart and slid his fingers between them. He closed his eyes as he probed,sliding his fingers through the wetness, rubbing the softly swelling flesh,then slipping a finger inside me.

“Oh,God,”I cried, and he opened his eyes to watchme, something dark and fierce and proud in his hot stare.

“I missed the feel of a woman,” he murmured. “I missed thescent. The taste.”

He shuddered and closed his eyes for a second, then withdrewhis fingers and leaned his forehead against mine. “The demon doesn’t want to goslowly. He doesn’t want do anything but fuck you.”

I tightened my grip on his arms. “Then we will take ourtime. And the demon can go fuck himself.”

That surprised a hoarse laugh from him and unable to resist,I pressed my lips against his smiling ones, then whispered his name into thewarmth of his mouth.

Then I stepped back, and when he reached for me, I shook myhead. “Let me look at you.”

He dropped his hands to his sides and stood still for me,but his body vibrated with hunger and need and impatience.

He stared over my head, and when I got a chance to look athis body, really look at it, first, I wanted to cry, and then, I wanted only tomake him forget. Like that would have been possible.

I’d known he’d been tortured. Somewhere in the back of mymind, I’d known Miriam had hurt him. But his body…

His body.

“It wasn’t all Miriam.” He spoke gently into my devastatedsilence. “I lived a rough life. And it no longer matters. Only this matters.”He took my hand to his cock, folded my fingers around it, and squeezed. “Haveyour feels, Trinity, but hurry. Because I want to be inside you.”

I looked away from his scars, scars that were on top ofscars, and I nodded. His pain was from the past, and he no longer lived in thepast. There was only this moment, and…

“You’re perfect,” I told him, hoping my eyes were as clearand sincere as my heart.

Because he was.

His body was lean and smooth, but for the scars, and scarsdidn’t make a person imperfect. They only told a story.

“I wish I’d known you,” I said fiercely. “I wish you’d beenmine.”

Because I would have saved him.

I wanted to cry for him.