He didn’t answer. Instead, his forehead brushed mine, breath mingling, our noses almost touching.
“Then don’t think,” he said quietly.
Don’t think. A simple command. I could do that. I reached up before I could stop myself, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the faint stubble there.
He leaned into it, and for a fleeting, dangerous second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if things were different.
If I wasn’t what I was. If he wasn’t bound to a life that demanded he kill me for existing. The thought made my chest ache.
Kit’s thumb brushed over my lower lip, and my breath hitched. His gaze flicked down to my mouth, then back up.
“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” I said.
Kit smiled. “Then maybe I should distract you.”
The next kiss wasn’t gentle. It burned. He pressed me back against the nearest wall, his body fitting against mine with a heat that made my skin prickle.
My hands found his shoulders, his back. Muscle and tension beneath worn fabric, and I clung to him like something fragile and necessary.
We discarded our clothes and Kit reached for me again, his touch hungry.
It wasn’t graceful. It was desperate and real. The scrape of teeth, the sharp hitch of breath, the way our mouths met and broke and found each other again.
The world narrowed to nothing but him. The weight of his body, the sound of his voice, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat hammering against my chest.
I grabbed his hand and led him to the bed.
The mattress creaked as I lay down and Kit straddled me. He began kissing me again, leaving a trail down my throat and my chest.
He took one of my flat nipples in his mouth and sucked, making me cry out. Kit kissed his way lower, down my ribs, finally wrapping his tongue around my thickening member.
Needing something to hold on, I gripped the sheets, groaning as he began working me. Kit bobbed his head up and down, and I drowned in need.
It didn’t take long before I bucked my hips and Kit pulled his mouth away. I came, moaning, wanting more, wanting to feel Kit inside me.
I got on all fours, and I could hear Kit fumbling for his jeans. I took a quick peek over my shoulder and saw Kit pulling out lube from the pocket of his discarded jeans. Then he returned to me.
Eagerly, I parted my legs for him, moaning as I felt the cool lube and his fingers in my passage. Kit slid one, then two digits inside me, widening me for access.
Once Kit deemed me ready, he replaced his digits with his cock. I gasped as he entered me, slow and steady. Kit took his time, as if he was worried about hurting me.
Once Kit was balls deep inside me, I urged him on.
“Ride me, Kit,” I whispered.
Kit complied. He started with a steady rhythm, before picking up speed. It wasn’t long before he reduced us both to pants and moans, animal noises.
Each time Kit entered me, it felt like he breathed life into my wilting soul. Before being turned, I’ve had a healthy dating life but none of the men I’ve seen made me feel the way Kit did.
It didn’t take long for Kit to come. He gripped my hips and at his next push, he climaxed. Hearing him was music to my ears and I soon followed.
I flopped on the bed, entire body languid. Kit soon slid next to me, spooning me. He was so warm, so real. Mine, I thought. He was mine.
Suddenly, I felt a rush of hunger, rising sharp and hot behind my ribs. My fangs ached. My body reacted before my mind did.
My lips brushed the curve of his throat, and his pulse thundered against my mouth. Kit didn’t pull away. That trust, blind and reckless trust, was what saved him. Because it jolted me out of it.
