" Are you sure, Raven?” He whispered it so sensually her body went liquid in answer. “I want you to be completely sure. You must be certain this is your choice.”
She circled his neck with her arms, cradled his head. “Yes.” The memory of his mouth moving against her, the white-hot pleasure piercing her very soul, made heat pool low and wicked in her abdomen. She wanted this, even needed this.
“You give yourself to me freely?” His tongue tasted the texture of her skin, flicked across her pulse, and traced down the valley between her breasts.
“Mikhail.” His name was a plea. She feared that he was waiting too long and might not be able to live, to breathe, to merge completely with her.
He lifted her easily and cradled her in his arms. His tongue lapped her nipple, once, twice. Raven gasped, arched closer to him, her body scenting the wildness in him rising to match, to conquer, the wildness in her. She seemed to float through the air, every nerve ending raw with hunger and need. The sweet scent of blood called to her. Temptation.
She smelled fresh air and opened her eyes to discover the night. It whispered to her with the same sensual power as the ebb and flow of Mikhail’s blood. Trees swayed overhead; the wind cooled her body, yet fanned her need.
“This is our world, little one. Feel its beauty, hear its call. "

― Christine Feehan , Dark Prince (Dark, #1)