I pinch my own nipple to see what he’ll do.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips. I want to chase it with mine, but he sets a tantalizing rhythm with his fist around my shaft that makes it hard to move. Hard to do anything but lie here and enjoy his attentions.
Wasn’t I supposed to be doing something? Not taking no for an answer. I groan out his name. “Bowie, please.”
“Please what, my darling?” he purrs. “I’ll give you anything.”
He’s going to regret saying that. “Bite me. Drink from me.”
His hand stops. “Not that.”
“You said anything.” My hips thrust of their own accord, my hot flesh seeking more of his cool touch. “That’s what I want.”
“Andras, I can’t.”
Uh-oh. He sounds serious. And though he maintains his grip on my cock, he’s not pumping anymore. I’m about to squirm out of my skin seeking more friction, but this is important. Bowie must be starving, and I’ve made myself a vow to help him overcome his unfortunate reluctance.
I want him to drink from me more than I want this orgasm. I roll over to face him, further disruptingactivities.
“You can,” I insist, studying his face. He looks a bit startled, a bit lost. My poor, sweet Bowie. “You can feed from me. I’m strong enough, and I want you to.” I push my hair back to expose my neck.
His pupils widen. “I know you’re strong. You’re the strongest person I know. But I’m weak, and I cannot risk it.”
I wrap my arm around him and shuffle close, pressing us together in all the places I can. He maneuvers his legs to accommodate me but doesn’t lean in to drink. Stubborn vampire. I don’t know what else to say. Wishing I had his gift with words, I mumble, “Don’t make me beg.”
Bowie’s staring at my neck with an intensity that rivals a wolf with a bone. His lips part, but otherwise, he holds himself very still. His muscles are tense in my embrace.
“I will,” I whisper. “If it will help.”
He blinks, breaking his stare. “Will what?”
“Beg.”
A whimper escapes his wet lips. “As delightful as that might prove in another context, I don’t want you to beg. I promise I’m all right. I don’t need blood yet.”
He does, though. Need the blood. It’s rather obvious in the quality of his attention on the veins in my throat. I swallow and arch my neck, trying to tempt him. He closes his eyes.
Huffing out a frustrated sigh, I admire his lashes as my mind whirs. What does he need to hear? What will help him through this? If it were me in his place, what would he say to help me along?
Taking a deep breath, I try my best. “Bowie, look at me.”
He opens his eyes with a sad expression I’d like to wipe from his features forever.
“I trust you. Please, even if you don’t trust yourself. Let my faith in you be enough for the both of us. We need this. Drink from me.”
“Andras,” he protests.
I stop him with my lips on his. A soft kiss, with all the meaning I can infuse in a meeting of mouths. Palming his cheek, I pull back enough to whisper, “Take what I offer. Let me do this for you as you’ve done so much for me.”
Exposing my neck again, I arch to get closer to his mouth.
Bowie’s breath caresses the sensitive skin on my throat. A soft puff of air. A pause. He’s hovering, unsure.
“Go on,” I murmur. “I’m for you.”
He moans. His lips press a kiss to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I stay still, letting him take all the time he needs.
Bowie licks a gentle path along my skin. I flush with heat. Ready. My anticipation spreads its wings and takes flight. He’s going to do it. Finally.
