Rolling in the Graves snippet

Raw as a wound, Nesta just stared at him, tense and unsure in ways that made Lucien want to commit atrocities to fix. Instead, he let go. Had to pause, to breathe at the way she immediately grabbed a handful of thick skirts, a nervous life-line, knuckles dead white.   Lucien made the slow work of gently rolling back her tight, constricting sleeve. Could feel her gaze like a weight, a touch, when he cupped the back of her hand, and kissed her palm. Stayed there to inhale the lovely scent of her, fire and ferocity, before Lucien pressed his mouth to her pulse.   Looked up to see her watching, to hold those lovely blue eyes, and pressed his teeth to that thin, delicate skin.   Her sigh sounded like it had been punched out of her.   Not enough- there was no quantity to what he wanted to give her, no limit, not something he could allow himself to think, more than- it was not enough.   Lucien nuzzled her wrist. Listened to her heart. Looked up again to check- to see Nesta, color painted high across those sharp cheeks- and applied himself with renewed vigor, pausing only to carefully unfold and then unlace entirely the cuff of her sleeve before it began to cut into her skin.   Every inched he bared raced with goosebumps, so soft beneath the brush of Lucien’s thumb.   He brought her whole forearm to his face, following that perfect scent, gentle mouth and teasing sharp, sharp teeth. “Oh,” Nesta breathed, and all Lucien could think, no matter how much this was destroying him, lighting through every part of his body, all he really was, was glad she sounded happy, and not embarrassed.   Truly, pleased.   That it was Nesta, not quite gentle, who tipped back his chin and silently demanded more.