“I’m sorry?”

“You saw what happened when you pushed me in the gym. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Paradise felt her body start to warm—and it was then that she owned up, at least to herself, that she had come in here to offer her vein because she wanted more of that … whatever it was … with him. That connection. That … electrical charge.

That sexual burn.

And if there was one sure way of getting it? It was offering a starving male her vein: She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t that naive.

“Do you like playing with fire, girl?” he growled. “Because if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to burn you to the ground.”

She knew without opening her lips that her voice was lost. So in reply, she simply, and mutely, offered her wrist.

When he didn’t take it, she upped the ante by bringing it to her mouth and scoring her flesh with her own fangs.

That did the trick.

As the scent of her blood hit the air, his eyes rolled back in his head and his body surged under the thin blankets that covered him, his hips rolling, his legs sawing.

“Take my wrist,” she said in a low voice. “It will help you.”

His hand shot out and grabbed a rough hold of her forearm, jerking her vein to him. But before he struck, he looked up at her with wild eyes. “You’re going to need to yell for help.”

“Why?” she breathed.

“Right now. Do it.”

Except he didn’t wait for her to respond. He yanked her toward him—then with a ferocious growl, he struck at her skin even though she had already opened up access for him. As he began sucking with great pulls, she felt an erotic charge all over her body. Opening her mouth so she could breathe, she braced her hand on the bed and held herself up, balancing on the precipice of falling over on top of him. Her mind gone, she was nothing but instinct, and her body knew exactly what it wanted—naked skin on naked skin, the malest part of him in her core, pumping … coming.

Screw her virginity.

Literally.

And he was thinking the same thing. As he fed, his eyes roamed over her face, her throat, her breasts—and something was going on under the sheets, his hips moving, his torso arching, his expression one of pain as if he hurt from the wanting.

No, she was not calling for help.

It was, of course, totally insane, but that didn’t seem to matter—and dimly, in the very back of her mind, she had a thought that this was why feeding was so closely monitored for females of her class: There was going to be absolutely no crying for help. She didn’t want any because she had no interest in stopping anything that was going to happen next—this hot, wild moment was not about her being from a Founding Family. It wasn’t about the mansion she lived in with her father or the money in all those bank accounts. It had nothing to do with social position or posturing.

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.”