Bloodsong Read Online Free PDF Page B

cock. She could take him, his size, his hardness.
    Pleasure rolled over him, like needles pricking his skin, deep into his belly, his cock. Unbelievable, how this woman felt to him.
    He began to fuck her, long, hard punishing strokes. Faster and faster, and he had to sharply remind himself that she was only human. The blood lust was trying to take over, and he wanted her blood, craved it. He knew if he drank from her now, while his cock was inside her, he would surely kill her.
    Just fuck her…fuck her…yes…
    She was shivering beneath him, and he could sense her pleasure rising. In moments she was coming again, her pussy clenching hard around his cock. It almost set him off—his orgasm, the nearly hysterical edge of the blood lust. He bit his lip, held it at bay.
    “Meeraj,” he ground out. “I need to hurt you.”
    “Yes…”
    He took one wrist and held it over her head, his grip tight, bruising. With his other hand he twisted one nipple until she cried out. He tuned in, felt her pain, her pleasure. He twisted harder.
    She was coming again, crying out, panting.
    “Aleron!”
    He couldn’t do it, couldn’t hold back any longer, or he would really hurt her, damage her. He let himself come, his cock, his body, convulsing as pleasure stabbed into him. Like knives. Like teeth. Exquisite and sharp and he never wanted it to end. He was feeling more than he had for a hundred years.
    “Meeraj…”
    Emeline.
    No!
    It was Meeraj beneath him, surrounding his cock, her breath hot on his stone-cold cheek. Who was making him come so hard he could barely stand it. Who was creating this mind-fuck.
    Despite that, he had to have more. He wasn’t sure at this moment how he could ever get enough.

    Meeraj was only vaguely aware of being dressed, put into a heavily armored car that was pure luxury inside. Then nothing, until she was being carried up a flight of stairs, Aleron’s hard arms holding her close.
    He was hard as stone all over. And yet, she felt his warmth, the breath in his body. That was all she could think of now. Except that she was with him. It didn’t matter where.
    Another long dreamtime, where she saw once more that lovely female face. And then it was as if that face were her own, and Aleron was there with her, beneath a star-filled sky, holding a cup of wine to her lips.
    She awoke to a dim light behind her closed eyelids, unable to move at first, unable to even lift her lashes. There was a deep languor in her body, and she ached in several places, but beautifully so.
    Where was she?
    She opened her eyes.
    It was a large room with soaring ceilings. A long row of tall windows ran along one wall, the dim light of morning peering through curtains made of some sheer, gossamer fabric. Outside, she could see the dark green of trees, the somber gray of the London sky. It was quiet here, wherever she was. There were no sirens, no yelling, no subtle rumble of crowded streets.
    Inside, the walls were done in damask, a wide cream on cream stripe, the furnishings were all heavy wood, antiques. Beautiful. Intimidating, after her mean upbringing.
    Her fingers clenched, and she found the rich softness of velvet beneath them—a midnight blue coverlet on the enormous, plush bed she lay in.
    She drew in a breath and caught the scent of old stone, the faint fragrance of her own blood on his lips…
    Aleron.
    He stood to one side of the high bed, dressed in nothing but his formfitting leather pants. His pale, bare feet made him look more naked to her than his bare chest, which was leanly muscled, the skin gorgeously white. Like satin. Like fine china.
    He was staring at her, his blue eyes dark, glittering dangerously. Her sex gave a hard squeeze.
    “I was watching you sleep,” he said quietly, so that she had to strain to hear him. “It’s something I often do with humans, since I cannot quite sleep myself. I find it fascinating. Romantic, even, in some odd way. But having lived for so long, we develop odd habits.”
    He