A low, vibrating hiss rumbled from his chest. His hands were suddenly everywhere, her waist, her back, tangled in her hair. He kissed her back with a hunger that made her previous kiss with Hei Yan feel like a polite handshake.
His tongue swept into her mouth—oh god, forked, it was forked—and did things that made her knees buckle. One of his hands gripped her hip, holding her up when her legs forgot how to work.
Xin Yi made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan.
Qing Lin made a sound somewhere between a purr and a growl.
He pressed closer, pinning her completely against the wall. Every inch of him was cool and firm and overwhelming, and she could feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the restraint he was barely maintaining.
His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw. Her neck. The spot where Hei Yan's mark was.
He stopped there, his breath hot against the scar.
"Mine," he whispered against her skin. "You're mine now."
Then his teeth scraped across the mark—
