FORTY-SEVEN

The pain was fleeting. She hadn't been certain what she'd been expecting, but there it was. A quick, searing flash and then … warmth. Blinding. Blissful.

The sensation of his fangs extracting, withdrawing slow and careful from the punctures they'd made caused a faint, sweet shiver to wrack her. His lips sealed around the wounds, the tip of his tongue stroking and tasting as he nursed the blood from her skin.

She drooped forward, leaning into him. The working of his mouth sent little ripples of that same warmth curling through her, licking along her limbs and teasing her senses.

Before she realized she was even moving, she'd lightly dropped her wand gently aside ….

He let out a gasp, the sharp sweep of his breath tickling at her torn skin at the awareness of her hands slipping beneath his robes.

At the feel of her fingers trailing over his bare skin.