Page 29 of Fangbanger

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the inside of my palm, then licks up my finger. I shudder. It’s possessive. Animalistic, even. His hand goes to my waist. My fingers curl even more tightly against the counter.

“Vampire.” There’s warning in my voice.

“Marcus,” he croons before he bites.

His fang scores my index finger. Electricity arcs through my blood. He sucks, holding my gaze. His lids have dropped. I feel heavy and hot and hyperaware of my pulse. His mouth warms as he sucks.

“You’re warming up.”

Color splashes his cheekbones.

“Hazard of the job,” he mumbles. He sounds nearly embarrassed.

I can’t help but laugh. “You say that to all the girls.”

He’s nearly smiling, and I feel it like a shot of serotonin to my blood. He’s so handsome like this. He’s also broad enough that he fills my entire field of vision with the visceral reality of him—sinew, heavy bone, hard muscle, sharp fangs. He is a flame and I am a helpless moth. His pupils expand. He lets my finger go with a soft pop and the firm swipe of his tongue. I swear I can feel his gaze on my throat, and it makes my blood pump.

I squirm against the counter.

His gaze lifts to mine and holds as he drags his fangs along the sensitive skin of my wrist. I shudder and try to quell it, but he sees. I am no better than the supernaturals at the bar, craving a hit of pleasure.

My thoughts scatter as his fangs slide into my wrist. The pain bursts and melts into heat. Marcus’s grip is certain and his mouth is demanding. He curves over me, dark head bent, tousled hair spilling over his forehead. Heat spirals outward with each greedy pull of his mouth, with each possessive drag of his tongue. He makes a sound of pleasure as he feeds. A flame sparks in my stomach and I swallow a sound of my own.

So this is what it feels like to transgress. Here, in the heady, velvet night, I can admit that I’ve wanted it, that I’ve wondered. That Marcus is doing exactly what I feared and wanted—forcing the desire upon me. I am a vessel for it, and like this, I can gorge. I am a leaf fluttering in the wake of his bite and Marcus is a wellspring, drawing need up through my body and forcing it upon me. My lids drift shut.

It’s only the tightness of his fingers that anchors me. He keeps me from drifting too far with the cruel clasp of his hand, and I am both irritated and grateful for the pain.

The need for more thrums inside me, vibrating through my stomach and my limbs, and I swear I feel my blood slicking upwards toward his mouth, dipping to pulse between my legs. He is a maestro and my body knows it, bowing toward him as he sucks.

I expect his greed to deepen, for him to savage me at any moment, but instead, his bite gentles, and he pulls away. The loss of his fangs makes me bite back a noise of protest. Unfulfilled desire shimmers in my stomach, tensing my abs.

He licks at the bites, lingering, watching my face.

“You test me, slayer,” he murmurs. “Taking so little from you.”

I lean against the counter, not sure my legs can hold me. “Why did you?” I ask hoarsely. Marcus had me at his mercy. He could have killed me. Drained me. He could have made it hurt.

“I needed to prove to myself that I could be gentle with you.” A heavy swallow. “And maybe prove it to you as well.” His thumb skims my wrist and the already-healing bites. The spell between us seems to shimmer as he holds my gaze. I can feel his hunger ebbing and something darker rising in its place. “I do not want to hurt you, Leah. That was not my intention earlier.”

His words make my throat constrict and I don’t know why.

“You didn’t hurt me.” My voice is weak. I think we both know I wanted more, and I’m not sure what to do with that feeling. He is forbidden for me and I for him.

“Good.” He releases my wrist. His step back is unsteady. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him be anything less than graceful. It makes my stomach flip. I have this power over him, and if I’m being honest, he might have some over me too.

I feel restless and unsettled. I got a shot of pleasure, but not the full experience.

As we get ready for bed, I try not to wonder what it would be like if he gave me everything.

That afternoon, I wake before the vampire once again. I’ve never had a man sleep over, and I’ve never woken up next to someone before. My one-night stands have been more like one half-night. I’ve never wanted to risk someone’s life, even one of the weres or sorcerers I’ve brought home.

Marcus is normally death-still in slumber, but today he is restless. His head jerks to the side. His lips part to show fully extended fangs.

Maybe he dreams? This is the closest I’ve ever been to a vampire at rest. Our shoulders brush. His skin is nearly warm. Maybe it’s a side effect of the feeding.

A slow shiver rolls up my spine.

As he shifts, more skin is revealed and my breath catches at the scars. Countless scars. I missed them before, but now that I’m closer to him, I can see how the hash marks slash over his sides and march in uneven rows toward his back, where they must continue. His skin must be covered in them. They look like a record of some sort, and I bite back at sound at the realization of what they are. His wins. His kills. They must have been magically set into his skin, since vampires retain the appearance they had before turning.