Page 9 of The Vampire's Lament
Damn.
I might not be a thrall, but I still craved him. Maybe not his blood anymore, but definitely the rest of him.
A different kind of bloodthirst, one exclusively for His Majesty’s touch.
“You saved me,” I whispered.
He tilted his head to the side. “Pardon?”
Wow, his lashes were thick and dark, framing those unnerving peepers wonderfully.
Heat crept up my neck, filling my face. Whatever the confusion about me not dying or whatever, he’d actively worked to save me from Aidan. I had no idea why, only that it upped his hotness tenfold.
I’m coming undone for this guy…
I pushed my boxers the rest of the way down, taking his hand and returning it to where it belonged.
“Please,” I breathed. “Please.”
“Paris…” He held me hesitantly.
Lunging forward, I crushed my mouth to his. He moaned, beginning to stroke me in response, his lips wrestling with mine, his tongue probing and writhing.
Fuck…
The sharp point of his fangs nicked my bottom lip, drawing blood. And I didn’t care. Let him taste me. Let him have all of me. To hell with any reservations, to hell with everything that wasn’t his hands on my skin.
Lips smacking, my pulse on fire, he worked me harder, as skillfully as he’d removed my jeans. The friction delicious, the rhythm perfect.
I quivered, my toes curling as I held onto his shoulders, panting into him, trying not to break the kiss as pleasure pulsated through my body.
He moaned again, increasing the intensity of his strokes, carrying me toward the edge, my lips sliding off his, resting against the side of his mouth.
“Paris,” he whispered, licking at the blood trickling down my chin. “Oh, Paris.”
Ecstasy waited around the corner, the force of his strokes shoving me closer, closer, closer. I threw my head back, fingers digging into leather, the pesky jacket in need of being torn off and tossed to the side.
No time. I was almost there, about to launch into the happy stars. Hell yeah. I’d lost myself to the rush, eyes on the white ceiling, so fucking ready for the climax.
His mouth went to my neck, fangs scraping my skin.
“Do it,” I begged. “Bite me.”
“I—”
I grabbed him by the back of the head, encouraging him, pressing him into me.
“Bite me. Taste me. Oh, fuck. I’m coming!”
As the orgasm tore out of me in hot, frantic jets, his fangs sunk into my skin. An explosion of glittering stars exploded in my vision.
“Fuck!” I yelped. “Fuck!”
It was an exquisite bite, a pleasurable sting. My limbs went limp, body nothing more than happy, gasping jelly. He caught me, holding me upright, drinking, still stroking my dick. The poor thing couldn’t take anymore, in that painful post-ejaculation stage. But I let him carry on, becoming his fuck toy, giving into every sensation.
Finally, he lifted his head, my blood dripping from his lips, his face inches from mine.
I watched him lick away those crimson smears, his stroking paused, my dick rock hard again…still?
