Slowly, he used his grip on her nipples to pull her down again, until she was braced on her hands by his ears.
Gods only knew what contraption they had rigged to make a bed out of the carriage, but he was glad for it. The space allowed Josephine to kneel over him, putting her breasts at the perfect height to be kissed. And bitten.
He’d never tasted skin as sweet as hers, nor heard a moan as beautiful as the soft, breathy sound she made when he scraped his teeth over one berry-pink nipple. He could spendyearskissing them and never get tired of it. He planned to.
When he dragged the blanket over her back, concealing her from any curious eyes that might catch a glimpse through the carriage windows, she shuffled down on her knees to align their bodies once more. Otto gripped her hips, her nightgown bunched under his hands, and slowly dragged her against his aching cock. Hot and wet — the drag of her over the underside of his cock was sweet torture.
Josephine’s hips rolled. “Want you inside me,” she breathed, pressing insistent kisses all across his chest and over his thundering heart. “Please, Otto.”
“Not here,” he ground out, with the help of some divine will hitherto untapped. He tossed his head back as the pressure built, maddeningly slow. “Not until I can give you my bite.”
“Why can’t you—”
He jerked her hips with more force, grinding them together until he heard her sharp gasp of pleasure. Hot arousal coated his cock. It would be so, so easy to simply notch himself at her entrance and thrust. He wouldn’t even need to do much work. No doubt the motion of the carriage and his threadbare control would have him spilling in seconds.
That was not how a mate should be taken, though. It should not be hasty, selfish, or one-sided. It should be desperate, needy, and in all ways equal.
“Because,”he ground out, to remind them both, “when I claim you, I want to take my time. And I don’t want a fucking audience around to hear my mate when I make her scream.”
In response, Josephine let out a tiny kitten’s growl that somehow made him even more desperate. Her little fangs found one of his nipples and gave it a sharp, displeased bite. A fiery streak of pleasure ran down his spine, drawing his balls up tight against his body as he ground her down onto him.
“Fuck,”he gasped, rocking his hips in an embarrassingly uneven rhythm. One hand shot up to grasp the back of her neck, holding her in place. “Do that again.”
Those sharp little teeth scraped again, bolder this time. Otto began to pant and, knowing he was close, reached around her thigh to slide first one, then two fingers into her tight, rippling sheath.
“I want to feel you come,” he whispered, pumping his fingers in time with his shallow thrusts.
Josephine’s hips jerked erratically as she chased her orgasm, her muscles clenching around his fingers, until she bit down on the meat of his pectoral, muffling a shout. She squeezed his fingers tight. The feeling sent him over the edge.
Otto pressed his lips into her fragrant hair as he came, his release painting her cunt and his lower belly in long pearlescent ropes. They continued to grind together, chasing those last sparks of pleasure until they were no more.
Only momentarily satisfied, Otto gave into the pull of instinct and blindly began to smooth his release into her skin, her hot little cunt, and then across her lips. Without his bite, she was technically unclaimed, but anyone with a sharp nose would know instantly that she washis.
Josephine made soft sounds of pleasure and let him do as he pleased, her tongue snaking out to taste. “You’re mine,” he growled, licking at her glistening lips until her tongue came out again and all traces of his seed was gone. From her mouth at least.
Resting her body on his, completely trusting, Josephine nuzzled his bearded jaw and sighed, “I’m yours.” A pause. “Well, unless you never bite me. Then I might kill you.”
An exhausted grin cramped his cheeks. He curled his arms around her slim frame and squeezed them together so tightly, not even a knife’s blade could have fit between them. The mating fever temporarily relieved, their connection reinforced by luscious touch, sleep closed in on him once more. “If I never bite you, it will be because I’m already dead. Now hush,kone.Let us sleep some more and face tomorrow together, yes?”
She huffed, but still managed to settle down. He felt her breathing begin to even out as the carriage rolled onward, soothing in its rhythm. His eyelids drooped. Within moments, they were both asleep.
ChapterThirty
An excerptfrom the diaries of Josephine Wyeth, generously provided by the Wyeth-Beornson family to the Fairmont Museum of Art:
November 15th, 1870-
My life begins.
ChapterThirty-One
From the informationalbrochure given to guests at the Exploring Lyssa exhibit at the Fairmont Museum of Art:
The Final Chapter/The First Chapter - display 61
The November 15th diary entry, penned in the early morning the day of her chaotic escape, is the last Josephine ever wrote. The journal itself was badly damaged by smoke, as it sat on top of her clothing in the steamer trunk beneath her bed and was therefore the most exposed when ‘the patron’ set the house ablaze.
When asked why she didn’t simply continue writing in a new diary after her escape from Meadow Creek, Josephine answered, “For many years that diary was my only friend. When we escaped, I suddenly found myself surrounded by people who wished to speak to me, to know my story, to be my friend. The diary became something of a symbol of loneliness. A talisman of a past life. I no longer needed it. And then when my children were old enough to begin asking questions, it became a new sort of talisman for them — one of understanding. It took on a new life.”
