At that moment, she never wanted to look away. Isla quietly ran her fingertips across his dark mahogany whiskers. They felt so normal against skin that felt anything but human. Moving up, she traced his lips, first the bottom — pouty and flawless, and then the top — two arches separated by a V. “You’re the last creature in this world I should find attractive.” He leaned and slid his moist mouth across the curve of her cheek. “Ditto. I’m not supposed to harbor a Donor.” “I’ve donated enough of my blood, Vampire.” She plunged her forefinger between his lips, wondering if she could get used to his fangs, though she doubted it. His eyes narrowed. Listening again, she thought. He smiled around her finger, all teeth and fangs, before he suckled it with his tongue. She pressed her thighs together in heightened agitation. But it wasn’t the apprehensive kind of agitation. It was simple impatience. She wanted him. He threaded his fingers through her long hair, crushing the silky strands between gentle fingertips.
