Not a bad thing, but it was making it increasingly difficult to think.
"And which am I?"
He pulled back to study her with pitch-black eyes. "Which do you want to be?"
She licked her lips as his hand moved toward the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "I think I'm a hostage. One you intend to hand over to a pack of werewolves."
"Nothing has been decided yet."
She grimaced. "Well that's reassuring."
"Would you prefer that I lie to you?"
Darcy didn't know how she would have responded to the blunt question, and in the end it didn't matter.
Lowering his head, Styx captured her lips in a demanding kiss. At the same time, his clever fingers found the edge of her tiny underwear and slipped beneath.
Her hips gave a jerk upward as he parted her to discover the slick dampness within.
"God," she breathed in shock.
"Do you like that?" he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered closed as he pressed deep, his thumb easily discovering that magic spot of pleasure.
"Yes."
He groaned softly. "I can feel the beat of your heart. Taste it on my lips."
Darcy struggled to think. Struggled not to be swept beneath the dark, blissful tide.
It was all happening way too fast, but she couldn't seem to muster the will to stop the delicious onslaught.
Her hands slid beneath the soft sweater to at last discover if his skin was as smooth and perfect as she had imagined.
It was.
Like the finest of silk and it was cool as marble to the touch. She sighed softly as she explored the hard muscles that rippled beneath her fingers.
His groan came out as a low hiss, and with a sharp impatience he managed to jerk the T-shirt over her head and slip off her lacy bra.
"Angel." His mouth skimmed the curve of her small breast before tugging her hardened nipple between his lips.
Darcy's toes were curling as he gently tugged at her nipple while his finger stroked between her legs with a swift, heart-stopping pace.
Her hands slid along his rib cage to his broad back. She could spend hours just touching him, she realized. There was no fear that she might unwittingly hurt him, or reveal parts of herself that she had always kept hidden.
For the first time in her entire life, she was free of the restraints that had always bound her.
Glorying in the delicious sense of liberty, she arched her hips upward as the pleasure began to build to a point of no return.
"I need you. I need to taste you." Styx lifted his head, his dark eyes filled with a yearning that made Darcy's heart squeeze in the oddest manner. "Will you allow me?"
She shivered at his expression of stark hunger. There was something terribly thrilling in being desired with such force.
Even if it was for her blood.
Her fingernails dug into his back as that shimmering, glorious peak hovered just beyond reach.
At the moment she would have agreed to anything he demanded.
Anything.
"Yes," she whispered.
With a growl that would have terrified her if she weren't caught in the throes of passion, his head slowly lowered to the slender length of her neck.
Despite her excitement Darcy found herself tensing. There seemed no possible way for a pair of fangs to stab through the skin without pain.
His tongue lightly touched the vein throbbing in her throat. "I swear I will not harm you," he said in a husky tone.
"Styx..."
Her words were brought to a shuddering halt as there was a sensation of cool pressure and then a shocking jolt of intense pleasure flooded through her body.
She could feel each deep suck. As if he were pulling blood from the very tips of her toes. And in perfect rhythm he continued to stroke his thumb over her tender spot of pleasure.
It was all too much.
Darcy gasped as she writhed beneath his touch, her nails raking down his back. She had enjoyed the touch of a man before. She wasn't a complete novice.
But nothing—nothing—could compare to the near violent explosion that clenched her lower muscles and brought a startled scream to her lips.
With a gentleness she would never have expected from such a large man, Styx carried her to the bed and tucked her still-shaking body beneath the covers. Then, stretching out beside her, he leaned on his elbow and studied her with a searching gaze.
"Angel?"
It took Darcy several moments to recall how to speak. "Gripes," she at last managed.
His expression became concerned as he touched her cheek. "Are you . . . well?"
"I think so."
She began to inch her way up the mound of pillows when she was halted by a firm hand on her shoulder.
"You shouldn't move yet." He turned to reach behind him, catching her off guard as he pressed a chilled glass he had brought into her hand. "Here."
"What is it?" she demanded with obvious suspicion.
His lips twitched. "Nothing more dangerous than fruit juice."
She took a cautious sip, relieved at the sweet taste of oranges. Relieved and surprised.
"This is fresh. Did you make it?"
"Why are you so surprised? I'm not utterly useless."
She drained the glass before setting it aside and returning her attention to the man looming over her.
"I just can't imagine why a vampire would need culinary skills. It's not like you spend a lot of time in the kitchen."
"No, our sustenance does not come from food." A heat that she was beginning to recognize smoldered in his dark eyes as he deliberately trailed his fingers down the curve of her neck. His brows lifted as a sudden color stained her cheeks. "You are blushing."
Well, duh.
She had just had the orgasm of a lifetime in the arms of a complete stranger. Not to mention allowing him to drink her blood as if she were an all-night convenience store.
She wasn't a prude, but she wasn't a slut. And this was way beyond slutty.
It was . . . superslutty.
"Of course I'm blushing," she muttered, tugging the blanket up to her chin.
Okay, it was closing the door after the horse had escaped, but it made her feel better.
A tiny frown tugged at his brows. "What happened between us embarrassed you?"
She heaved a sigh. "Look, I don't know what kind of woman you usually pick up for a snack, but I don't... indulge in this sort of tiling with someone I just met. Especially when that someone happens to be a vampire who kidnapped me."
The beautiful bronzed features took on that aloof expression. It was an expression she was beginning to suspect he used as an unconscious defensive mechanism.
No doubt one of her many psychiatrists over the years would call it "blocking."