THERE WERE FEW things in Kincaid's life that had ever frightened him. Seeing Ava like this gutted him. Absolutely gutted him.

Especially when he considered their stupid fucking argument. He hadn't cared then if innocent people were hurt. All he'd thought about was bringing the blue bloods of the Echelon down, but Ava was right. Innocents would suffer, and until she was the one who'd nearly died, a part of him hadn't understood that.

Guilt ravaged him. She should have died. There was no reason for her to have survived. But somehow she had, and though he'd not prayed to any gods in years, he was praying now. Please. Please let her survive this.

She shuddered against his chest, her face streaked with blood and her skirts torn and ragged. Kincaid squeezed her gently. It was one thing to know the Company of Rogues agents walked into danger every time they faced these bastards—quite another to think of Ava in that same danger.

"I've got you," he muttered.

A shaky hand curled in his shirt, and Ava tilted her face up to his, her breath cool across his throat.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

She suddenly pushed him away, hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Kincaid reached for her face, feeling sick to his gut. What had the bastard done to her? Had he touched her? Tortured her? Kincaid brushed some of her loose curls behind her ear. There was bluish blood all over her face, her lips. He wanted to kill the prick, but the truth was, she needed him at her side more than Kincaid needed to vent his feelings. "Are you hurt? Did I squeeze you too hard?"

A hand on his chest stayed him.

"She needs blood," Malloryn said, three simple words cutting like a scythe through the tremble in his heart.

Blood.

All of them knew his thoughts on the process of bloodletting. As much as he'd begun to accept the blue bloods he worked with, they took their blood in private, or out of a flask. He could handle that. It was the thought of one of them using a little razor on him—or someone else, right in front of him—that made the muscle in his jaw tic.

"No blood," Ava ground out, scrambling out of Kincaid's lap and tucking her knees up against her chest. She looked up, her eyes as black as pitch, and the breath went out of him. "Not right now. I can't control it."

Shit. Malloryn was right. The predator in her was right beneath the surface. Every vein in her face stood out as though black ink filled it, particularly under her eyes. She looked terrible.

She looked like the dhampir had, before he died.

Or like David Thomas.

Everything in Kincaid went cold. Everything. Hadn't she said it herself? "If you put this weapon in the wrong hands, Kincaid, then you cannot tell me innocent people won't die...."

But he'd never thought Ava would be the one stricken down by Black Vein. He'd never... put a face to the nameless, faceless enemy in his mind when he thought of finally destroying the blue bloods with this weapon.

Why wasn't she dying? It felt like there was a hand around his chest, squeezing, squeezing....

"Where's my... my solution?" Ava patted at her skirts, hunting for any sign of the reticule she normally carried, even though it was nowhere to be found.

"I assume you lost it in the scuffle. The closest flask we know of is back at the house," Malloryn explained in the kind of tone one used on a child. "You're not yourself right now, Ava. We can't risk taking you out into the streets like this. All you'll see is prey when you look around you, and you've been resisting for so long you have no control when the bloodlust rises—"

"I have control," she snarled, and then froze, as if hearing the anger in her words. A twist of horror crossed her face. "He injected me with something. Said it would stop my heart, but of course it didn't, and now—"

Her clockwork heart.

"It's not your fault." Again Malloryn sounded exceedingly patient. "We can run tests on what he gave you back at the laboratory, but right now your bloodlust's been triggered. We need to deal with it first, and your injuries. You're bleeding internally."

"I'm fine." She coughed even as she said it, spraying blood across her cupped palm.

Malloryn looked at him, and that was when Kincaid knew what the duke was silently asking.

No. No way. He was nobody's blood whore.

Not even for Ava?

His stomach twisted. She was injured, and she needed blood, but... all he could see was Agatha, swaying from the rafters of his house as he screamed and begged for her to come back.

Malloryn saw it on his face, and gave a little nod. "Here." The duke began unbuttoning his sleeve to reveal his wrist. "I'll do it."

And that was all shades of wrong. Kincaid's vision went white and he turned around, clasping both hands behind his head. The idea of Ava sucking on the duke's wrist made him want to punch something—though he had to admit the thought of her drinking blood wasn't the prime cause of that emotion.

Jealousy?

Shit. He shot her a look, finding her backing away from the duke, scrambling across the tiles, her gaze locked on the vein in Malloryn's wrist with a hunger she couldn't hide. Yes and no warred within her, and suddenly his hatred for bloodletting washed away. This was Ava he was thinking about. Not some leering blue blood lord who thought all humans were cattle. Not the bastards who'd used his sister like their own blood whore for the night, before casting her out into the streets.

Kincaid rubbed at his chest as Malloryn drew a small bloodletting blade from the kit in his pocket and placed the razor over the vein.

"My CV levels are in the high fifties, so the cut won't stay open for long," Malloryn warned. "You cannot fight through this, Ava, not without the predator taking over at some stage. Take a little blood to calm it down, and then we can return to the safe house and find your flask for you. Your body needs to heal too, judging by the look of you. You're very lucky."

"Please," Ava panted, but she couldn't look away from the razor. "Please, no. I can do this." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't want your blood."

Kincaid could see the lie on her face. "Malloryn's right," he said gruffly, surprised to hear himself say it. "A little blood from... from Malloryn, and then it will be safe to take you home and get your flask."

"Can you hold my hand?" she whispered.

His gut churned.

"I don't think that's safe," Malloryn interrupted, watching the pair of them. When Kincaid's gaze jerked to him, Malloryn shrugged. "You're human. Your blood smells and tastes better, and you won't be able to hold her off if she goes for your throat."

Another slap in the face. Another reminder of what she was. Hell, when had he stopped thinking of Ava as a blue blood?

But this was no easier for her than it was for him. Can you hold my hand? A plea, as if the thought of this hurt her too.

"I'll hold your hand if you need me to," he said, tilting his head toward the razor. "Distract her. And keep her off me if you need to."

Malloryn arched a brow, but turned back to Ava. "Ready?"

She swallowed. "Ready."

The razor pressed a white indentation along Malloryn's wrist, which instantly filled with bluish-red blood. Ava moaned, and Malloryn cupped the back of her head and put his wrist to her lips as though he'd done this a thousand times.

Kincaid knelt beside them, slipping his fingers through hers. He hated seeing her like this. Hated seeing Malloryn's wrist at her lips, in some vaguely primitive way that needed further investigation when he had time to himself to think, but this was about Ava now. "That's it, sweetheart." He stroked her hair, brushing it off her face and fingering one silky curl.

It wrapped around his finger, and he rubbed the end of it between thumb and forefinger, marveling at the sensation.

Ava's eyes lifted from where she clutched at Malloryn's hand, her lips around the duke's wrist. They were pure black, like a demon's, but something about the moment made his cock harden.

Malloryn looked away.

And Kincaid remembered the one thing he'd forgotten in all of this: a blue blood's saliva had chemicals in it that could incite ecstasy in their victims. It was the ultimate weapon for a predator like a blue blood, and though it affected people on different levels, it was the thing that had turned his sister, Agatha, from a girl with a promising future to a young woman who couldn't sleep, couldn't stop itching at her skin, craving the touch of a blue blood's mouth on her flesh.

Kincaid and Malloryn locked eyes. If the duke was finding pleasure in this moment then Kincaid was going to kill him.

Slowly.

But only once they got Ava to safety.

* * *

Evening fell.

Ava woke to find someone lighting the candles beside her bed. For a second she didn't know where she was, or who was in her room. Her heart leaped into her throat, and then she recognized the rough stubble along the man's jaw, and the brief flex of the pistons in his mech hand.

Kincaid.

Ava shivered a little, her body relaxing. Everything hurt, including her sprained wrist. Kincaid had bound it up earlier in a sling, but for a blue blood, the only thing to do was wait. She'd be fully healed in a day or two.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you." He blew on the end of the taper, extinguishing the small flame. "I know you don't like the dark."

And so he'd been making sure she wouldn't wake in it. His care toward her was almost... sweet, if one were trying to find the right word. Sweet and Kincaid were two words she would never have put together until now.

He dragged a stool closer to the bed, resting his elbows on the coverlet, though he watched her carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not going to attack you," she blurted, tucking the covers up under her chin.

He blinked. "I know."

"I just...."

His hand captured hers, warmth cocooning her. "I know," he repeated, and squeezed gently. "You were hurt and injured, and you needed blood. I'm starting to understand that. I wish I'd been able to donate. I wish...."

Ava squeezed her eyes shut, licking dry lips. The worst part of that morning's escapade was the fact now she wanted more of it. One taste and she craved hot, sweet blood. All these months she'd been telling herself her protein solution could sustain her, but it was nothing like the real thing. She felt like something dark had awoken inside her, and now it burned there, whispering seductive thoughts to her.

Like how close Kincaid sat, the scent of his cologne acting like an aphrodisiac. She wasn't certain whether she wanted to bite him—or kiss him. The urge rode through her body like a carpenter's file over her nerves. She couldn't help shifting, her thighs rubbing together temptingly. Wanting. Craving.

Blood and ashes. She was far too alive, far too aware, far too... hungry. For something, anything.

He was still talking. "...I'm so sorry, Ava. So sorry. You were right about the caterpillar mushroom. About using it as a weapon. Innocent people would die. You nearly died, and I would cut my own heart out before I ever let you get hurt."

"It's all right. I know you weren't thinking of the consequences—you saw only the possibilities, only the cause you sacrificed your life to."

He drew her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers. "They took everything from me," he whispered hoarsely. "They killed my sister, turned her into something I didn't even recognize, and she couldn't live with that anymore. She killed herself. And I've hated blue bloods for so long, it's hard to realign my thinking. But seeing you like that today.... Jaysus. I couldn't do anything to help you. And you're lucky. So lucky your heart is made of clockwork."

She looked away, haunted by ghosts.

"I nearly lost you," Kincaid breathed, and curled her hand in both of his. "And I didn't realize until that moment how much you meant to me. How much losing you would hurt."

"It's okay," she whispered, stroking his hair from his brow. Her heart ticked inexorably on, but it felt like it should be racing. What did he mean by that? She felt like she stood on the precipice of a turning point, as though her future was suddenly very uncertain. "We had a lucky turn of events, and now we know what the caterpillar mushroom does to a blue blood."

"You were still coughing blood before you went to sleep."

"I'm fine," she whispered. "I feel normal again."

Dark lashes obscured Kincaid's eyes as he glanced down, his thumb pausing right there on her vein. "I should have been the one to offer my blood."

What? She sat up a little straighter. Of all the things to say.... Couldn't he see how on edge she was? "No."

"You don't want my blood?"

"No... I... Yes. Yes, of course." Plague him. "Who else is here?"

"Malloryn's returned home," he replied gently, "possibly to dwell on what you told us about the attack. Jack's in the basement I think, and I'm not sure if Charlie's around. He often goes out at night, and Malloryn wanted a report on what people are saying about the attack. Apart from that...." His expression suddenly froze, as if he'd finally caught the thread of where she was going with this line of questioning. Then he relaxed. "You're safe, Ava. I know you're not going to attack me, if that's what you're afraid of."

Safe? What a fool he was. She could still feel it brewing within her, a darkness full of hungry teeth. Maybe she had survived the caterpillar mushroom, but at what cost? For she didn't feel normal. She felt like all her safe trappings had been ripped away, and she was unmoored from her sanctuary.

She felt angry, and hungry, and not at all herself.

It was like living through those first horrible weeks when she'd been stricken with the craving and her body changed, flooding her with desires she'd never felt before. When lust became an all-consuming thought, and all she could think about was blood.

"Well, I don't know that!" Ava cried, feeling her vision drop from color to black-and-white shadows. She could hear his heart pounding. "If I let myself go for just one second... maybe I would be the monster you fear? Maybe I'd—"

Strong arms went around her. "You're not a monster, Ava. You just don't have it in you."

She fought against him for a second, but the warmth of his body was so damned sweet. Ava pressed her face into his shoulder. Don't let me go. Please, don't ever let me go. But beneath that sweetness was a restless ache. Ava cradled her sprained wrist carefully against him, breathing in his cologne. "I'm scared."

Today had terrified her, taking her straight back into the past. Being paralyzed was almost worse than anything Hague had done to her, for while she'd thought his chains and the straps tying her down made her helpless, she'd still been in some semblance of control of her body. "I couldn't move," she whispered. "I couldn't move my body. I couldn't even cry out."

"Hush, sweetheart." He kissed her cheek, his roughened stubble rasping against her. "You're safe now. You can move. Your body's your own."

But the fear remained. Ava grabbed a handful of Kincaid's hair, pressing her forehead against his. Her body was her own again. She was in control, and what she wanted was to make that clear—to herself.

She shoved him onto his back, and Kincaid hit the bed with a startled noise. He blinked up at her. "Ava, luv."

But she set both hands firmly on his chest and straddled him, her nightgown riding up around her thighs. Kincaid cursed under his breath, capturing her wrist with his human hand, his mech hand resting lightly on her thigh. "Ava, just what's going on?" Kincaid's whisper made the devil sound like a saint.

He knew, damn him.

"I'm tired of being treated like I'm made of porcelain," she whispered.

Thought shadowed his gaze, and it dropped to her lips. "You had a fright today—"

"Don't you dare!" she snapped.

The outburst startled both of them.

"I don't need to be wrapped in swaddling clothes, or treated as though I'm fragile." Maybe she had once, but she'd healed enough now. And that feeling of discontent brewed deep within her. She felt like she'd stayed in stasis for the past few years, and she was so damned tired of it she wanted to smash something. "You promised me an affair. You promised me experience, damn it, and to this point there's been far too much talking and not enough actually doing. And I haven't forgotten what you said yesterday, but right now, I need you. I need you."

"I don't want to take advantage of your emotions," Kincaid ground out, a flush of heat igniting along his cheekbones. His mech hand tickled her thigh, the smooth metal pads of his fingertips cool against her skin. "And if you want to pretend today didn't cost you something, then you can, but the black in your eyes reveals the lie of that. Today was the first time you've taken blood in months. Don't deny it didn't affect you."

"I'm not...." She pressed her lips firmly together. "I don't want blood now."

"Then why—"

"Because I want you! That's why my god-cursed eyes are black! Because I want you to touch me, and it hurts." Her hands clenched in her nightgown. "My skin feels like I'm wearing roughened hessian sackcloth over it. Everything aches. Everything. I want... I want you to bed me."

Kincaid looked taken aback.

She never raised her voice. She never yelled. "I'm sorry—"

The devil actually laughed, his entire body shaking. Ava glared down at him, feeling the darkness roll through her. "Stop it! Stop laughing at me!"

Kincaid reached up, grabbing hold of the back of her head as he rose. "I'm not laughing at you."

And then he kissed her.

Ava moaned into his mouth, her tongue darting over his, and her hands curling in his shirt, desperate for the feel of his body. The steel of his erection pressed against her inner thigh, and his arms captured her against his chest, her breasts pressing against the hard slab of his pectorals.

Then they were rolling, and Ava found herself beneath him, her thighs spreading as his weight pushed her into the mattress. Kincaid captured her mouth greedily, as if today had been just as frightening for him and he needed reaffirmation. Her body came alive, restless and driven by the primal hunger within her. Ava moaned, and sank her fists into his hair, silently demanding more.

"Ava." Half-groan, half-surrender. "Merciful heavens, you're so fucking perfect."

His hand slid down to cup her hip, and then he thrust against her, and the shock of his hard cock pressing against her clitoris made her flinch.

Kincaid froze, as if he'd felt it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, fingers splaying across his back to keep him there. "I didn't mean it. It was just... the surprise. The feeling of it."

She wanted more, but she didn't know how to ask for it.

"Don't apologize then. I want you to speak your mind when you're with me. And I think I'm starting to finally understand you," he rasped, looking down at her. "The past few years you've kept all your desires under lock and key, haven't you? No blood. No sex." He punctuated this statement with a taunting rock of his hips. Ava's mind went blank, and she clutched at his upper arms, desperate for him to push against her again. But he hadn't finished. Kincaid's stubble rasped against her jaw, and he bit her earlobe. "You said you wanted to experience passion, and I think it's more than that. I think something inside you chafes at the control. Everyone thinks you're sweetness and light, but I think there's something in there that's a little bit dark. I think some part of you wants to be naughty." He licked her ear, making her writhe. "It wants to unleash itself and do wicked, wicked things. I think there's a passionate woman inside you, and she's tired of being locked away. She's tired of being polite, and letting other people have their way while she sips her protein solution. She wants to yell at me, and dig her nails into my back while I kiss her, doesn't she?"

Ava shivered. He couldn't be right, could he? "It's dangerous to let myself lose control. You, of all people, should know that."

Kincaid reared up onto his hands and knees, staring down at her. She started to sit up in protest, but he pressed a hand flat between her breasts and pushed her back down. "Don't move," he told her, with a wicked gleam in his blue eyes.

A thrill ran through her. "What are you doing?"

"Maybe there's a way for you to experience passion, and still keep control?" Reaching out, he tugged gently on the little bow at her neckline, pulling each string loose.

And suddenly she was aware of just how little she was wearing.

Ava didn't dare say a thing. Her body was on edge, trembling just a little. Her wrists were pressed to the mattress in silent submission. She was terribly aware if she said something she might break the spell and then he'd stop, and she didn't want him to stop. Not at all.

"Did you know," he said, almost conversationally, "I'm the only person you ever yell at?"

"I'm so—"

His fingertip pressed against her lips, stilling the words. "No. Don't apologize for that, Ava. I like it when you get angry, because you let me see the real you. I'm not interested in a passionless automaton. I want you. I want the Ava that hides within, the Ava I see in your eyes whenever I say anything idiotic and you glare at me. And I want her, because nobody else ever gets to see her."

Slowly, he dragged his finger from her lips, down her throat and lower, parting her ravaged neckline and tickling across the silk-slick surface of the scar between her breasts.

He paused there, and Ava froze. She could almost feel his eyes locking on the heavy scar between her breasts. Hague's mark. Grabbing her nightgown, she tried to draw both edges together, but Kincaid caught her wrists and forced them back to the mattress.

"I said, don't move." This time his voice was smoke-roughened. It pulled at things inside her.

"I hate it."

He bent his head as if to examine the scar, and Ava turned her face away. "I don't," he whispered, and the hot flick of his tongue across her scar made her suck in a sharp breath. "If you didn't have a clockwork heart, then you would have died today. It's a part of you now, angel, and there's not a damned inch of you that's not perfect."

Ava sucked in a deep breath. His mouth parted and she could feel it pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses between her breasts.

"Kincaid." She grabbed his hair, and lifted his mouth to hers. His body drove her down into the mattress again, but he captured her lips and suddenly she couldn't think.

It all felt so very, very good.

Ava ached, her nipples chafing beneath the press of her linen nightgown, her unbound breasts peculiarly heavy and... aware. Some part of her wanted to reach for his hand and place it there. To arch into his touch and beg for more. Ava slid her hands beneath the shirt he wore, drinking in the sensation of his bare skin beneath her palms. All her blood seemed to stampede into her head, leaving her light-headed and swaying against him. She kissed his jaw, her lips stinging with the scrape of his stubble, then lower, her tongue darting out to taste the beckoning kick of his pulse, and then—

More kisses.

More of those delightfully shiver-inducing caresses as his lips made their way down her neck.

More....

Unbidden, the images from the art gallery sprang to mind. A woman on her back, her thighs spread like a luxurious banquet as some man feasted between them. A woman on her hands and knees, a hand arching her head back as the swarthy figure behind her thrust his way between those thighs.

Heat filled her cheeks. The color in the room dropped away. And suddenly Ava was fighting against the dark nature of the predator within her, but this time it didn't want blood. This time it wanted flesh, wanted to submit beneath the rough steel and warm skin of this man's hands.

And this time, she wanted to let it rule her.

Ava sucked in a sharp breath. Kincaid's body aligned with hers so thoroughly she knew she was blushing again. There was something hard against her hip, his belt buckle digging into her belly. The sensation set off some sort of wild feeling within her, the craving surging through her veins. Yes. She bared her teeth, tilting her face away from him as urges she'd never felt before beat sharply in her heart.

"If I lose control, then stop me," she blurted.

She could feel him smile against the side of her breast. "I promise. You're safe here, Ava. You're the one who dictates how far this goes, but I'm in control."

Kincaid reared up on his knees, reaching over his head to drag his shirt off. He tossed it aside, revealing a massive chest sprinkled with dark hair. Scars marred his smooth skin here and there, and Ava lay back in pliant surrender as she looked her fill. She'd seen naked men before, but not like this. The reality of Kincaid in the flesh was quite shocking. She knew what his mech arm looked like, and the ragged, puckered scar where the limb had been taken didn't so much mar him as enhance the dangerous perfection of him. But it was the rest of him that made her eyes round.

He wasn't built like the men she knew, with narrow hips and broad shoulders that tapered to a V at the waist. He was huge, with hard knotted cords of muscle that raked his abdomen, and a deeply chiseled V at the hips that plunged into his trousers. The firm press of his erection left her slightly breathless. Hidden away, it still seemed enormous and vaguely threatening.

Ava swallowed.

All that stood between them was her flimsy nightgown and his trousers. And suddenly it wasn't enough.

"Nervous?" he whispered, leaning over her, one hand on either side of her head.

The bed dipped beneath her. "No."

"Liar." A chuckle ripped through him as he leaned down, nuzzling at her jaw. "One of the things I like most about you, sweetheart, is the fact you can't hide a damned thing from me."

His kiss tickled. She shivered, her hands drawn up between them, hovering there indecisively.

She couldn't stop thinking of that image in the gallery, of the man's straining erection. Her cheeks burned.

"You're not ready," Kincaid murmured, his lips skating across her cheek, then her lips.

What? She most certainly was. "I—"

"So we'll play tonight," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "but I'm not taking you."

"You promised."

He lowered himself onto one elbow, pressing between her thighs again as he took her hand and opened her palm over his chest. "And we'll get there, gorgeous." His breath stirred the tiny hairs along the side of her ear. "But there's no rush. You wanted passion, not just to lose your maidenhead. So I'll give you passion, Ava." His mouth opened over her lips, his hand encouraging hers to explore the hard plane of his chest. "Tell me... what was your favorite painting?"

"Painting?"

"I know the answer," he whispered, capturing her mouth in a harsh kiss that stole her breath. Her hand was trapped between them, his chest pressing against her breasts. "You liked it... when he kissed her."

Kissed her? She couldn't remember seeing anything quite so innocent as that.

But Kincaid's other hand was moving, dragging her nightgown up, its hem skating over her sensitive thighs, and suddenly she knew what he was referring to.

Not a kiss on the mouth.

But there....

Her eyes shot wide and he was smiling down at her, looking so very, very wicked. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Now?" she blurted.

"Now," he confirmed, and laced his fingers between hers, pressing her hand back onto the bed.

The time for exploring was over.

She'd barely even gotten the chance to touch him, but that didn't matter, for he was certainly interested in doing some touching of his own....

Ava arched her spine, alternatively shrinking beneath him and grinding against him as his hips flexed against her. That heavy weight was no longer pressed unthreateningly against her leg. It lined up right between her thighs, the insistent rub leaving her wide-open and vulnerable. There was another tug, and her nightgown slipped up and suddenly there was nothing but her drawers between her and the slick rasp of his buttons.

Blood and ashes. Ava didn't realize she was curling her fingers through his until pain bit through her wrist, and then she looked up and he was looking down at her, an intense look of focus in those eyes, as though he could see every flicker of need that crossed her face.

Kincaid bit her throat and it set every nerve in her body alight, his dull teeth driving into her bare skin. Ava cried out, halfway to destroyed. She didn't know what she wanted, but more... just more of it.

"That's it, kitten."

He brushed the neckline of her nightgown aside, revealing her breast. Ava's bare nipple ached. She'd never had a man's eyes on her, not like this. Kincaid captured the aching peak between his lips, and she cried out as his rough tongue circled her nipple.

Then he drew back.

His hips shifted, his cock riding over her clitoris, and suddenly she sobbed, so wound up she felt like she might erupt into a whirlwind of movement. "What are you doing?" The words tore from her lips.

She'd been so close to orgasm.

Her body jerked as he kissed her clavicle, his lips brushing against the lacy scalloped edge of her nightgown. His breath stirred her nipple and she writhed, her hand clenching his again.

She didn't want to let go of him. Somehow his fingers held her together when she was so frightened she'd fall apart.

"I want you under my tongue when you come, Ava," Kincaid ground out, and the words did something to her as his hot mouth closed over her other nipple, dampening the cotton of her nightgown.

She moaned, a desperate, begging kind of sound.

"I want to taste your sweet little cunt." A flinch of her hips at the word. Then he suckled her into his mouth, and her womb clenched with need.

"Please... oh."

"That's it, sweetheart."

Somehow her free hand tangled in his hair. Ava gasped and rocked as Kincaid made his way lower, pressing gentle kisses across her stomach, and then lower, dragging her drawers down her legs and spreading her thighs wide with one insistent push of his spare hand.

"Ava," he breathed, and just like that gooseflesh erupted all over her body.

She wanted to be taken. She wanted to be overwhelmed by him, to learn what this desperate ache within her meant and how it would feel to assuage it. She felt so empty, so hollow, and somehow he could take away that pain.

Then his mouth closed over the wet, slick ache between her legs, a devouring kiss that scraped along flesh that had never been touched before. Ava gasped, her hand clenching in his hair. Oh my God. His tongue rasped over her, drinking her down, suckling on that small bud between her thighs.

A cry escaped her.

Another.

She felt not at all herself. And maybe that was the point. Beneath his touch, Ava bloomed, like some exotic orchid he'd carelessly plucked for her. All she could see was that bloody painting, and suddenly it was her body she saw lying on those silken sheets, and Kincaid's dark head between her thighs, and it set off something within her she'd never known before. Some illicit wickedness that should have shocked her, but she couldn't quite find the breath to be so.

She couldn't escape the pleasure. It built within her like a tide, ready to come crashing down. She was exposed and raw, and somehow this moment would stay with her for the rest of her life. Kincaid nuzzled and licked, and the spring inside her wound tighter until—

Ava screamed.

She had one hand in his hair, the other locked around his hand. Every last lick of his tongue destroyed her, until she was grinding his face between her thighs, sobbing out her pleasure. On and on and on, until she broke. "No more! No more!"

It left her wracked and ruined. Writhing beneath him. Gasping, her back arching off the bed.

She had never in her entire life pictured anything like this. Finally there was relief. Kincaid's dark head lifted and he shuddered against her thigh, his mouth shockingly wet as he kissed her leg gently.

Wet from her body.

Wet from his ministrations.

And then it was over, Kincaid pressing a soft kiss to her belly as he made his way back up her body.

He laughed under his breath as he dragged her onto her side, curling behind her. "Remind me to bring a gag the next time we do this. Let's hope nobody was home, or our secret's going to be out tomorrow."

Ava buried her face in the pillow as Kincaid slid into the hollow indentation behind her, his hand dragging her back against his body, where she fit, just so.

"I cannot believe you just did that," she whispered.

Kincaid tucked his face into the bare skin at her nape, nuzzling into her unbound hair. "I can't believe I haven't done that before with you."

And Ava pressed her hand to her flushed cheeks as he tugged her nightgown down over her bottom, leaving her with some protection from the press of his body.

"Feeling better?" he demanded smugly.

Her wrist hurt, a dull throbbing ache that had been blissfully absent throughout all of that. "Yes." She felt wonderful.

Tomorrow she might be able to look at him without blushing, but tonight was simply too much.

"Next time, you can return the favor," Kincaid whispered, and Ava moaned as an image of her kissing his cock sprang to mind.