She lowered his zipper. His hand flashed out, locking around her wrist. She looked up and saw a muscle flex along the hard line of his jaw.
«I don't have much control,” he said, his voice guttural. His eyes were flaming red.
She smiled. “Good.” She was heady with power. She could do this to him. She could push him to the edge … and beyond.
She lowered the zipper, easing her hand inside to touch his heat. Her hand gripped him, stroking softly.
He groaned.
As her hand continued to caress his rigid length, she kissed him, letting her tongue glide over his lips and into the warmth of his mouth. She loved to taste him. She moaned, the sound low, throaty.
His hands clenched around her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin. His tongue thrust against hers. Hot. Wet.
She tore her mouth from his and began to lick his neck. She could feel his pulse pounding, throbbing against her lips. She suckled his skin, pulling it lightly into her mouth and biting gently.
William's body shook. “We have to go inside,” he muttered. “Now.»
Her teeth pressed against him, harder. His pulse pounded.
He swore and lifted her into his arms, shouldering open the door and stepping into her bedroom. He took two long strides and lowered her onto the bed.
He stared down at her, his face granite hard. She lifted her arms, a silent invitation.
His control snapped. He fell upon her, ripping her nightgown away and leaving her in scraps of silk. His hot mouth captured her breast, licking, sucking.
She fisted her hands in his hair, and she lifted her hips, rubbing against him. She could feel him pressing against her, sliding against the fragile barrier of her panties.
His mouth continued to suckle her while his fingers teased her other breast, plucking lightly at her nipple. Pleasure lashed her. It was too much. It wasn't nearly enough.
She pushed against his shoulders, forcing him onto his back. She moved so that she sat astride him and stared down at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Her panties were still in the way. Frustration boiled through her.
Then she once again heard the sound of silk tearing.
William smiled up at her.
She could feel him, feel the tip of his shaft pressing against her, teasing her tender opening.
It still wasn't enough.
She pressed down on him, forcing his rigid length inside of her hungry body. He stretched her, pushing his way deep inside.
They both moaned. And then they began to move. Faster. Harder. Her hips lifted, fell, lifted. The rhythm was wild, frantic. She hit her first climax and felt pleasure rock through her.
William's fingers bit into her hips, forcing her body to continue its pace. The second climax began to build. Faster, harder than the first.
She lowered her head, licking his throat. Her teeth began to burn. Her hips moved frantically against his. Her mouth opened against him, and her teeth scraped against his neck. He thrust deeper into her warmth.
«Do it,” he growled. “Do it, Savannah!” There was a dark need in his voice that she didn't fully understand.
He slammed into her body one more time. Her release rolled through her, sending her spiraling.
Her teeth sank into his throat.
His shout of release filled the room and drifted out into the waiting night.
* * * *
He knew the woman had survived. He knew that William had transformed her. He could feel it.
But it didn't matter. He would still kill her. He would drain all of the blood from her body and leave her dead corpse for his brother to find.
Geoffrey's body lay perfectly still, buried deep within the earth. He could feel his strength beginning to return. Soon, he would be able to rise. And destroy.
He would kill the woman first. He'd always enjoying killing women. Their fear was so wonderfully delicious. Maybe he would make dear William watch as he took the life from his lover. Yes, he'd make him watch.
And then he'd kill William. As he should have done so long ago.
He'd tried to kill his brother before. When they were just lads, he'd pushed William into the dark river near their father's hold. He'd watched from the shore as William had struggled to survive, struggled to stay afloat. And when William had screamed for help, Geoffrey had just smiled.
Unfortunately, William's scream had drawn the attention of a nearby knight. And his brother had been dragged from the water, unconscious, but alive.
Later, when they'd trained with weapons, learning to fight with Guy's men, he'd attacked his brother a second time. William, caught off guard, had no time to avoid the deadly blade that swung toward his face. He'd been scarred ever since that blessed day. When confronted by the knights, Geoffrey had claimed the blade slipped.
He'd been able to tell that William hadn't believed the pitiful lie. The knights had, so they let him continue training. But William had started watching him more carefully after that day. He'd been on guard.
Geoffrey was almost glad he hadn't managed to kill him before. He wanted William to know that death was coming for him. Of the three brothers, William had been the only one who truly belonged. Guy had always told Geoffrey that William was his real son, the only “true de Montfort.»
Geoffrey hated William. He didn't deserve the title. He didn't have Guy's lust for power. He didn't have the de Montfort taste for killing.
But Geoffrey did.
Guy had never appreciated him, and, in the end, he'd had to die. Geoffrey proved to the bastard that he was a true de Montfort. He'd killed Guy, and he'd enjoyed moment of it.
Covered in Guy's blood, he'd gone to the seer who had sent William on his quest, and he'd forced the man to tell him the location of the vampire. He'd cut him at least a dozen times before the old fool finally gave him the directions he needed.
He'd sought out the vampire, and he'd been transformed by him. Of course, after the transformation, Geoffrey had killed the vampire. He could still remember the rush of power, of strength that moment had given him.
He'd killed hundreds in his lifetime. Hundreds. But he'd never been able to kill William.
The woman was the key. Once he had her, his brother would do whatever he wanted. William's weakness for the woman would be his downfall.
And in the end, Geoffrey would kill them both.
He could hardly wait. He would make certain that his brother suffered, that he begged for death.
* * * *
Savannah jerked back, staring down at William in horror.
She touched her lips, feeling the wet drops of blood, tasting a coppery sweetness. There were two small puncture wounds on his throat.
She pushed away from him, stumbling from the bed. What had she done? What had she done?
«Savannah—»