The Black Prince: Part II Read Online Free PDF Page B

The pins that Greta had placed earlier falling free, it tumbled down her back in waterfall of purest jet. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She couldn’t feel his heart beat; there was no heart to beat. But he was warm and he was vital and he held her as securely as any man.
    “There is so much I cannot give you,” he whispered. “But I would if I could.”
    “I know.”
    He kissed her again. And when he withdrew, his lips still brushing hers, it was only to tell her, “I might be half a man, or no man at all. But I would give up this life, such as it is, just to see you smile.”
    “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t go.”
    “I would never. But Isla—”
    This time, it was her turn. All her pent up rage, her frustration, even her shame found its outlet in the passion she unleashed upon him. Pulling him down to her, demanding satisfaction as her hands sought his laces. Never breaking their kiss as she pushed his surcoat, and then his shirt up over his shoulders. His chest was hard, smooth, built from a lifetime of testing his own strength. There was a small scar above his left nipple, from an accident he’d had as a child. She kissed it before, moving down, taking his nipple into her mouth. She suckled, and then bit.
    He hissed.
    She bit harder.
    “You’ll draw blood.” His voice was hoarse.
    “Good.” She looked up without moving. “I want to.”
    And then she was on the floor, staring up at him. He’d cushioned the blow with his hand, which was fortunate. Otherwise her skull would be in pieces. Still, as she recovered herself, all she could do was blink. He stared down at her, the fire in his eyes unmistakable. His chest was bare, his breeches partially unlaced, and she was on fire. Even in her stunned state.
    “Tell me again.”
    She took a hesitant, shuddering breath. “I want to feel what you feel.”
    I feel nothing.
“Then drink.” That hard edge was back. Reaching up, he extended a single finger and pressed it against the side of his neck. Just a finger or so above his collar bone, in the soft hollow there. And then, with a single quick movement, the claw plunged in.
    Isla gasped. A drop of blood welled up, growing larger and larger until the surface tension broke and it trickled down onto his collar bone. She hesitated a moment. What did blood taste like? She remembered almost nothing of their first night together. Only the pain, and the feeling of falling…falling. There was a natural human aversion to blood and some vestigial part of the girl she’d once been whispered that this was revolting. That
she
was revolting.
    She raised herself up slightly, and he crushed her to him. Her mouth came down on his neck. She tasted copper and sweetness and the strange, low, secret tang of lake water. She choked and, reflexively, she swallowed. Tristan’s breath caught, like she was sucking his cock and not his neck.
    She flicked her tongue across his wound. His sigh was almost a moan. The bulge pressing against her was rock hard.
    “You have to stop,” he breathed.
    But she didn’t want to. He, usually so in control, was powerless in her hands. Before the torrent raging through him. She’d had no idea that she could unleash this and wondered if he had.
    He forced her head back. Her lips, still parted, were coated in blood. He was breathing heavily. The wound, without her attentions, was already closing. With a few short tugs he’d freed himself from his breeches and he didn’t bother to undress her, only push her skirts up.
    A single thrust and he’d sheathed himself to the hilt. She gasped, her fingernails raking his back as he vented his passions. Passions she matched, thrusting her hips up to meet him, as desperate for release as he. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as his efforts grew ever more violent. And then she cried out, a faint noise muffled by his mouth on hers, and went limp.
    Seconds later, she felt him spasm deep within.



FIVE
    H e sat there, leaning