Amo
My gulp is audibleas Moros’s eyes flare, his irises disappearing behind the black center before his smile curves into something sinister.
What the fuck is happening?
He lunges over the body between us, rumbles of a frenzy off his lips and my first instinct is to smash him over the head with the jar that’s filled with something potent enough to clean Wilson’s wounds.
Is this … oh, fuck, it’s gotta be...
The rain outside falls harder, its scent heady and thick enough to call to those that have been bitten. I’ve seen this a few times back home, someone losing their minds when the redprecipitation touches their skin, but I’ve never been this close to it happening.
“I don’t wanna hurt you!” I yell as I barrel roll away instead of wielding the heavy glass, Moros landing with a thud beside me.
The floor shakes from the impact.
“Cmon, kitten. It’ll befun.”
Oh fuck, oh fuck.
Scrambling to my feet, I dart around the room in search of something to restrain him. Something to keep him from coming after me so I can tend to Wilson’s cuts. He’s groaning from the floor, as he rolls over, his skin too pale against the streaks of dark.
They both look too pale.
The thud of Moros’s boots are too close on my heels as I scurry around, flinging shit about.
If only I had something to tether him down …
“Rope! I need rope!”
“Kinky lil kitten,” Moros growls right in my ear, and I yelp in surprise at the feel of his words skating over my skin. His hands are next, warm and clammy as they slide beneath my shirt and grab at my waist. His fingers dig into my hips, yanking me back into his hard cock.
My pulse skitters beneath my skin, and my mouth waters.
“Moros! Moros, please. Lemme get to Wilson.”
Why am I breathy and shit?
This is absolutely the opposite of what needs to happen, but as he grinds against my ass, his cock somehow finding and slotting between my covered cheeks, I’m slowly losing my willpower to stop him.
I swear I don’t want him to rip me in half.
Mostly.
“He’s fine. We can fuck on top of him.”
Yeah, that’s not helping the tightening of my lower stomach or how I refuse to acknowledge my plumping cock as I swing my gaze around and find Wilson’s pumping chest. “Noooope. Nope.”
Moros’s lips tease my neck, his teeth dangerously close to scraping over my skin where there’s the shadow of a healing bruise of his bite from last time.
Bruised skin … no broken skin.
Shit, this isn’t good.
I had no idea.
Fingers circling my wrist, he pulls my arm behind my back.
I should be fighting him more, pulling against the way he pins me to the wall, wielding that glass jar instead of dropping it. But I can’t get my brain to fucking work with his fingers dipping into the back of my pants and teasing my waistline, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe down my neck.
