She moaned, long and low, wanting to arch, to thrash, to scream. Instead she opened her mouth and bit his shoulder, tasting salt.
Tasting want.
Then she gasped. "Please."
"What do you want?" he whispered in her ear, an incubus, dark and alive and in her. "Tell me. What do you need?"
"I..." Her mouth opened, wordless.
"Tell me," his smoky voice curled around her.
"You."
He chuckled, dark and low.

Elizabeth Hoyt