He bit her.
Scheme screeched, not so much from pain, but from the sudden overriding certainty that he had done more than mark her physically. His incisors were lodged in her flesh, his tongue flickering over her skin as his mouth sucked at it.
It hurt, but not as it should have. A sexual intensity she hadn’t expected bloomed within her as her head fell to the side and her nails bit into his wrists. It shouldn’t ride a hard edge of pleasure; it shouldn’t send ribbons of electricity to strike at her nipples, her womb, her clit.
She shouldn’t be burning for more.
“What are you doing?” He was growling behind her, his hands, her nails still digging into his wrists, moved beneath her top, slid over skin so sensitive she moaned from the touch of calloused flesh running up it, until they cupped her breasts.
Her nipples were hard, hot, pressing into his palms pleadingly as his fingers tightened on her flesh.
“Mine,” he growled again, his teeth sliding from her flesh with an erotic shift of pleasure so intense that her vagina flexed in hunger.
“Tanner,” she whimpered his name, feeling a slow pulsing burn in her shoulder as his tongue licked over the wound, heat and liquid hot sensation that began to move from the four small puncture wounds and began to weave through her body.As though some powerful narcotic had hit her bloodstream, her knees weakened and her womb clenched with a sudden hunger so intense, so driving, she gasped at the strength of it.