THE FRICTION of his teeth against her collarbone wasn't a threat; it was a tether.
Mailah let out a shaky breath that was half-moan, half-sob, her back arching off the furs as a jolt of pure, unadulterated sensation flooded her system.
Grayson's hands were now frantic. He moved with a speed that blurred the edges of her vision, his palms sliding from her waist to her thighs, dragging the remains of her dress away until there was nothing but the heat of his skin against hers.
He was cold—impossibly cold—but where he touched her, he left trails of fire that made her skin prickle and ache for more.
"You're so bright," he whispered against the skin of her chest, his voice trembling with the effort of not losing himself entirely to the hunger. "Every beat of your heart... it's like a drum calling me home. I can taste your fire."
