It was raw and it was honest, just between the two of them.

And that made it … beautiful.

Because it was real.

Chapter Nineteen

No wonder her name was Paradise.

As Craeg took long draws off of the single most incredible blood source he’d ever had in his entire life, all he could think of was how apt her name was.

Well … that wasn’t all he was thinking of.

His body reawakened with lightning speed thanks to the strength she provided him, that heady wine of hers flowing down the back of his throat and pooling in his gut before being sent out in all directions like a restorative fire: Beneath his battered skin, deep in his aching bones, he began to fill up with power.

And with that power came a gnawing, grinding need.

Under the thin covers, he popped an erection as hard as steel and as long as his leg—proof positive that her solid groin hit hadn’t castrated him. And between his ears, his brain latched onto the idea of getting inside her with the same tenacity as his fangs were locked on her vein.

He was slightly more decent than he would have guessed, however.

Instead of ripping her pants in half and muscling her up and over his hips, he forced himself to stay right where he was—because that kept her where she was.

His pelvis was not about to get the memo, however.

With great, rolling thrusts, he worked himself against the sheet and blanket, each push up offering a tantalizing stroke that was too soft to do much more than drive him fucking insane, each retreat making him more desperate than the last.

And then his hand started to itch to get involved.

No-go. Even if Paradise wouldn’t have admitted it unless she had a gun in her face, he knew she was already in way over her head. If he whipped himself out and started stroking one off? She was going to get one hell of a show to tell whoever her father was about—even if that hand job option was better than drilling her sex so hard she saw stars.

Which was what he really wanted to do.

Damn it, why did he have to be attracted to a nice girl?

“You can…” she started. There was a pause and her eyes flicked over her shoulder like she was checking to make sure the door was still shut. “You can do what you want.”

He frowned through the bloodlust, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“I see where your hand is. I’m not stupid.”

Craeg tried to shake his head, but he didn’t get anywhere with that, because his mouth was not interested in breaking the seal.

Paradise nodded. “It’s okay … do it. Take care of yourself.”

And that was when light dawned on Marblehead—shit, she wanted him to …

For a split second, his conscience threw out a hell-no, but with her eyes so steady on his, and the scent of arousal coming off her, that didn’t last longer than the formation of the words.

Talk about your yes-ma’ams.

Drunk on her taste, stretched on a rack of lust, body whacked out and mind blown up, he had enough left in him to will the locks into place on every door there was—including the closet. It wouldn’t keep people out forever—but certainly long enough so that her virtue wouldn’t be completely—

Peyton.

As the other male’s name popped into his head, she frowned as if she had read his mind. “What did you say?”

Guess he’d spoken it out loud—sort of.

Craeg loosened his latch enough to say clearly, “Peyton.”

“I told you, there’s nothing … God, no. Not ever. He’s like my brother.”

Staring up at her, he decided she was either utterly guileless and talking the truth as she knew it—and in fact had no idea the guy wanted her—or she was the best actress outside of Hollywood and playing him.

Breathing in, he caught no scent of subterfuge—and then he thought of Peyton’s haughty act and his perfect accent and his expensive watch. He might actually be a true aristocrat—in which case, there was no way the male was going to hook up long term with a receptionist.

And apparently the motherfucker was honorable enough not to lead her on. And successful enough that she’d bought the act, even if he had reacted as a possessive male back in the break room.

Guess maybe Craeg didn’t have to hate him quite so much.

“There’s nothing with Peyton and me,” she repeated. “And there never will be.”

Good enough for his palm.

Next thing he knew, he’d disappeared his free hand under the—

Craeg groaned and arched up as he gripped himself. Slowing down on the feeding, he found himself wanting to prolong this moment between the two of them. He wanted the sex and the blood from her.

And it looked like, for this brief moment, he was going to have some of both.

It would be, however, the one and only time any of this happened.

There was something inevitable about it all.

That was the thought that went through Paradise’s mind again and again as she looked down and watched Craeg’s hand move under the covers. He was stroking himself, his tremendous body torquing at strange angles as he rode waves of pleasure.

And yet, as inevitable as this felt, there was so much that was unexpected, too.

She hadn’t anticipated feeling so … powerful: She got the very clear sense that as big as he was, as strong as he was, she was in charge—anything she wanted from him, needed from him, he would give her, do for her, find for her.

After he was finished with the sex.

Craeg’s eyes were heavy lidded and violently hot as they stared up at her from his battered face. And the straining muscles in his neck and his chest seemed ready to break through his skin. And his scent had bloomed into a roar of something spicy and delicious.

And then he started moaning.

God, she wanted to be the one with her hand on him—she’d never done anything like this before, but come on, it wasn’t like she couldn’t go up and down like that … the trouble was, her good hand was by his face, and her bad one with its finger splint wasn’t gripping anything at the moment—

Without warning, Craeg released her wrist and let out a sound that was all animal, not even a little civilized. Then his free hand grabbed onto the sheets next to her hip and twisted them into a wad. His chest pumped once, twice … he arched again, this time with a groan … and then his hips jerked hard over and over, raw grunts coming out of his mouth as his eyes focused on her face.

The stillness that eventually came was just as surprising as the rest of it: After what seemed like an eternity, his body went lax and he collapsed back onto the bed, eyes closing, breath sawing, sweat gleaming on his chest.

“Lick…” he mumbled.

“What?” God, her voice was hoarse. “What did you say?”

“You’re … bleeding…”

Paradise looked at her wrist. He was right. The multiple puncture wounds were only partially closed. Bringing her arm up, she sucked on the—

The soft growl that rose up from him made her freeze.

That hot stare of his was focused on her lips.

Except then he turned away. “You need to go.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go.”

Paradise exhaled as a surge of pissed-off ushered out all the lust she’d been enjoying with the efficiency of a bulldozer. “Why are you always dismissing me?”

“Because I don’t think you’re going to like someone coming into this room as it is now.”

She glanced around. Okay, fine, there was a small amount of blood on the sheets by his mouth, but other than that, nothing was out of place. “There’s nothing—”

“It smells like sex in here,” he muttered. “I just came all over the place—and if anybody walks through either of those doors, they’re going to know you’re the reason. Leave with a little virtue left in you, will you?”

Paradise lowered her brows as her mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon.”

“We’re done here.” He shrugged. “You asked me to give myself a hand job. I did—and you got to watch what it looks like when a male orgasms. So we both got something out of this sesh. What did you expect, a mating proposal?”