Never had Greg been undone before, left so open, so helpless, and then tantalized and set ablaze with such honesty. How would it feel to caress her silky skin? Was it just as soft on her breasts? Were her n*****s as dark as her soft brown hair? He hoped. By the gods, he hoped. How would she taste? He salivated at the thought. And her blood? How rich would it be as it flowed into his mouth, as he bit her, mated with her?
He rubbed her cheek, following the line down her jaw to her neck. Then he saw the reddish-purple marks again. They reminded him that even though he yearned for her, like a plant for sunlight, or a fish for water, he could not have her, not yet. His fingers, featherlight, traced back up her skin until he could take hold of her chin.
"Ella," he whispered, "I want you more
