I felt everything. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about, but the undercurrent was there.
“Daniel,” I murmured, letting my head tilt to the side as his mouth moved across my spine to the other side of my throat.
“I’m here, my Carina.”
His lips opened over the muscle that ran between my neck and shoulder, his fangs lightly grazing over my skin.
This time, when he bit me, it was a gentle wash of pleasure that filled my entire body rather than a tsunami.
I moaned, my body clenching around his cock as the orgasm lit me from within. The pleasure crested and plateaued, lifting me into a cloud of bliss.
Suddenly, I knew what he was telling me.
He didn’t want me to forget him. He didn’t want to let me go.
He wanted me to choose him. To choose to stay.
His thrusts remained steady and measured as I came and came, until I cried out because it was too much. Too beautiful and too sharp. The pleasure filled me to my soul.
Finally, he thrust into me one last time, shuddering above me, and he collapsed over my back. Daniel withdrew his fangs and licked the place where he’d bitten me.
“My Carina,” he whispered.
“My Daniel,” I replied.
His hand curled around my hair, turning my face toward him. I lifted just a bit higher so that I could kiss him.
I was in such deep shit.
And I didn’t give a damn.
18
We’d napped in the bed before taking a quick shower together.
But hunger soon called, so we dressed in pajamas and wandered downstairs to the kitchen to make dinner.
I didn’t even bother trying to cook anything. I didn’t have the energy to make it nor eat it.
Instead, I grabbed the last of the homemade bread from Daniel’s fridge and sliced it into four thick slices. I put two on a plate and handed it to him and took two for myself.
“What’s this for?” he asked.
“Sandwiches. I don’t have the energy to cook or eat.”
He smiled and nodded, setting his bread on the countertop and heading toward the fridge.
Five minutes later, we were just sitting down with gigantic club sandwiches and glasses of wine when the doorbell rang.
Daniel sighed.
“Who do you think it is?” I asked, a spike of fear piercing me.
He touched my shoulder. “It’s Kent. He’s probably here to take your statement.”
The idea of talking about what happened earlier that day was beginning to ruin my appetite.
I started to shove my plate away, but Daniel stopped me. “Try a couple bites. And drink some wine. It will help.”
