“No.”
She chuckled.
I kissed the corner of her mouth. “I think I’m getting addicted to biting you.”
“Be careful, Dragon. Tigers can bite too.”
“Hmmm.” I kissed the other corner of her mouth. “I might like that.”
She tried to laugh, but it came out as a broken sigh.
I kissed her again, softer this time, as if I could soothe the ache I’d left in her body. I grabbed her hand and rubbed her tender wrist, massaging the blood back into her skin. Each circle of my thumb felt like an apology.
Each kiss to her palm felt like a vow.
I took her in.
She was sore, swollen, and claimed.
I’d painted her pussy with my seed, ruined her, and I needed to take care of what I had destroyed.
I bent down and kissed her where my teeth had marked her earlier. “You’re so perfect. I may not be able to stop biting you, but. . .every bruise, every ache. . .I’ll soothe it. I’ll worship it.”
She shivered as I licked the sweat from her skin, soft laps that contrasted every savage thrust I’d given her. She whimpered, sensitive, overstimulated, but she didn’t push me away.
“Stay here, Tora.”
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t move.”
“Okay.” Her lashes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion, but she gave me the smallest nod.
Reluctantly, I slipped from the bed, the sudden loss of her heat was a blade dragging down my skin.
My cock twitched at the obscene sight of my seed still dripping from her, streaking her thighs in little rivers of proof.
I groaned low in my chest, before forcing myself to turn away.
The floor was cold under my feet, reality intruding, but every step carried my vow: I destroy, I bite, I bruise, and still—I will be the one to mend.
I got to the bathroom and at the basin, I poured warm water and lavender soap into a bowl, dipped in a fresh cloth, and wrung it out until droplets ran over my knuckles.
It was difficult not to focus on the fact that all of this was so new to me.
No one had ever been in my actual bed, not the one where I slept.
No one had ever left the sheets ruined, the air heavy, the mattress soaked with the scent of us.
And I’d fucked countless women in my life, but not once had I risen from the bed for them. Not once had I thought about cloths and warm water, about wiping them clean as though they were something sacred instead of something used.
This was the first time.
She was the first woman to make a mess so beautiful it broke me. The first woman I ever wanted to cradle after destruction, to soothe after I had devoured.
God help me—she was changing me in ways I never thought possible.
Thank God my Eyes aren’t here, witnessing this.
