I tingled as the words rolled slowly in accent from her tongue, past her teeth, through her lips. She flirted with the syllables. It was a mouthful I didn’t try to repeat. “What?”
“A beautifully-marked moth. A particularly plump and juicy moth. A Ghost Moth, it’s called. You know, dear, I think she likes you.” She let the binding fall free, and our arms came back to the settee together. “But tonight, you’re mine.” She suddenly pulled me tight, and her lips closed on my neck before I could flinch. The kiss was strong, yet her fangs and tongue only teased my skin. She pulled away leaving what was certain to be a conspicuous hickey the next morning.
Then she shifted from behind me and I slipped back flat on the settee. She reappeared atop me, now looming over me, and dove swiftly to catch my nipple between her teeth and flick it with her tongue.
I shivered and drew in a sharp breath.
“Am I scaring you?” she asked, as she nibbled her way up to my collarbone and hesitated impatiently beneath my chin. “You should be scared. You should be terrified. You’re just my type.” She flicked her hand, and every lamp in the room died. The moon was hidden behind the settee back, and she was a black shadow over me – a shadow with a cold breath and tongue on my neck. Her gown draped heavily on me as she kissed and bit and licked; her legs spread and a deft hand pulled up the layers of her skirts until she was naked against me. Her skin was deliciously smooth and supple, but still cool. With a movement of her hips, she took me inside of her.

