Immortal Desire. Denise Tompkins

      Her only response was to roll her hips in a way that wordlessly translated to desperation and stole his breath.

      Gripping her hips, he pressed forward. His cock slid in a fraction at a time. She was so damn tight he was afraid he was going to tear her in half. It took every ounce of restraint to keep things slow and controlled when the dregs of his sexual hunger roared to the surface. He resisted the commands screaming through him to push her hard, to feed, to sate the emptiness that threatened to drag him under. The only currency his nature dealt in when denied was personal pain, so he kept working his way into her. The aches started up again. Heat burned through him like a wind-driven wildfire. Finally, seated as deeply as possible, he adjusted his grip and began slow, rolling thrusts.

      Bailey gripped the edge of the desk and hauled herself back on him hard enough that the head of his cock hit her cervix. “Again,” she grunted.

      “You’re not warmed up enough for that.”

      “Again!” She rocked back on him with such power he stumbled back.

      Griff wrapped one arm around her waist, lifting her hips up at the same time he propped a fist on the desk next to her head. “You want it rough?”

      She shook in his embrace. “I need it.”

      “Let go. I’ll take care of...this.” He’d started to say you, but that would have been a lie. “C’mon, Bailey. Let go.” When she went limp in his arms, he settled back, knelt just enough that her thighs rested on his and powered into her. Long, hard thrusts slapped his balls against her clit. He had to hold onto her, one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder, to keep her from sliding across the desk with every drive of his hips.

      Her sheath was so tight, so wet, he thought he’d lose his damn mind. Every quiver of her body translated to pure craving, a need so raw it raked against the most sensitive parts of him. All he wanted in that moment was to experience the power of her release.

      But not like this.

      He pulled free of Bailey’s body.

      She dropped her forehead to the desk. “I knew it.”

      Griff’s mouth kicked up at the corners. “We’re not done, baby.” The empty affection rolled off his tongue with practiced ease. He gently rolled her over. “Hips to the edge.”

      Propping her feet over his shoulders, he leaned in and settled his hands on her waist. She presented a vulnerable, trusting picture, spread out like an offering. The small, insidious voice in his head reminded him that he didn’t deserve her trust. Self-loathing’s abyss loomed. His near-dormant conscience pushed him closer to the ledge and encouraged him to leap.

      “Not yet.” His whisper was harsh and emphatic.

      Bailey gripped his arm, misunderstanding. “Finish this.”

      He drove into her with a single thrust. Reveled in her shout. The hard-pounding rhythm of skin on skin drowned out the club’s muted cacophony.

      Her nails scored his arms, drawing blood.

      The violence in her matched his own. He was too far gone, too lost in Bailey’s response to shut down his own. His cock swelled. Fuck.

      Reaching between them with unfamiliar urgency, he found her clit. The swollen bundle of nerves was slick with her arousal. He thrummed it faster and faster until her wild undulations forced him to hold her in place. Her cries drowned out everything else until she was all he could hear, all he could see, all he wanted.

      Hot seed shot up his cock. Sweet hell. He was going to lose himself right here. Right now. He pinched her clit between his thumb and middle finger, flicking it hard. “Now, Bailey!”

      She screamed, and that was it. Game over.

      Griff’s orgasm rocked him, nearly taking him to his knees. He came so hard his eyes rolled back in his head as he buried his cock deep. Then he felt it.

      Her sheath tightened around him.

      But instead of the anticipated rush of energy typical with feeding, he only got a trickle. He drew in every last lungful of the drug his body needed to survive. The semi-high would tide him over. For now.

      Leaning forward, he took her nipple into his mouth. Her skin was salty. The musk of their sex mingled in the air. Yeah, life was fucking good.

      It took him a minute to realize his lover was taught under his hands. She trembled, her need a beacon to the incubus within him. “Bailey?”

      “I don’t feel so good,” she whispered.

      Then she passed out.