Atticus was not an idiot, nor did he subscribe to any macho man bullshit. Even though it felt taboo in the extreme, he was honored to have her see him as a potential anchor, even if she didn’t know that herself.
Honored and catastrophically turned on.
His throat worked hard to swallow the saliva that pooled in his mouth as he tried to find a solution to their issue. Carmine needed to eat — desperately. She couldn’t miss another meal. If she did, he worried he’d be forced to take her to a clinic for an IV, and that would turn shit tits up in an instant.
But if she couldn’t drink synth, then…
His breath went short. His cock was pinched behind his zipper. Competing impulses warred in his mind. One wanted to offer her his throat and the other wanted to sink his fangs into hers.
He was a jumble of needs, all of them blaring sirens in his head, but in the end, it was the innate protectiveness of his anchor that won out.
And maybe a bit of selfishness and curiosity, too.
Atticus’s joints felt wooden as he slowly turned to set the bottle on the floor. His palms were sweaty. He pressed them flatagainst his thighs.You can do this. Be cool. Be normal. Don’t wig her out.
“C’mere.” It came out so much rougher than he intended, but it was a miracle he spoke actual words at all.
Carmine blinked at him. “What?”
“Come here,” he said again, clearer this time. Keeping steady eye contact with her, he explained, “If you can’t drink synth, then you’re gonna drink something, doll.”
It was a thing of beauty, watching her pupils blow up like that. One minute her eyes were dark blue and the next they were black. Her lips parted. A flush infused the tops of her high cheekbones. Her blunt little claws curled into the blankets. “You— you don’t mean I should?—”
“I sure do.” He tugged at the blankets, pulling them out of her grip. When her legs were exposed, he patted his thigh. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. You take what you need.”
Even as he said it, he knew that was absurd. Of course it would mean something. It meant something for a vampire to bite anyone. It wassacredfor a vampire to bite another.
She’d be injecting her venom into his blood. Sure, it took regular injections to make the bond take, but for just a second he’d belong to her and her alone. He’d sustain her. If he bit her back, she’d have his venom, too. A perfect circle of protection and intimacy.
It would never meannothing.Even if it was just the once.
It would always meaneverything.
A part of him had braced for her argument, but Carmine only stared at him for what felt like an eternity before she slowly got onto her hands and knees. His pulse jumped at the sight of her crawling toward him. And when he noticed her watching his throat, where blood throbbed just beneath his skin, he had to bite his lip to keep from reaching for his cock. He had no idea what he planned to do with it, since he absolutely could not putit anywhere near her, but if he didn’t get some relief soon, he was pretty sure he’d lose his mind.
Atticus turned his body to face her, one boot on the floor and his other leg bent on the bed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he settled his hands on her waist and guided her to straddle him. He swallowed a groan when she bunched her long dress around her hips and settled herself down on his thigh. His hands itched to wander, but he sat rigidly beneath her, grasping at control that slipped from him like smoke.
“Are yousure?”He wasn’t the only one with a husky voice, apparently. Carmine’s high tones were tempered with something rich and smoky when she tentatively rested her hands on his shoulders.
“Pretty fuckin’ sure,” he muttered. Unsticking his hand from her waist with some difficulty, he hooked a finger under his collar and pulled. “Drink, doll.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Not because he didn’t want to look, but because he worried about what he’d do if he watched her. This wasn’t supposed to be a sexual thing. It was a simple, biological need. He refused to be the creep who took advantage of a vulnerable woman.
The softest fingertips brushed his throat, tracing tendons and the contours of his flesh. “You’re so warm.” It was a whisper. He wasn’t even sure she was talking to him.
“You are, too,” he replied, like an idiot. She was burning up in his lap, particularly where her cunt kissed the seam of his pants. She practicallyblazedthere. Didn’t mean he had to say it, though.
“I like your tattoos.” Her hot breath kissed his throat. The fingers that explored him settled on the bar of his collar bone, trembling. “I don’t want to ruin them.”
“They’ll be fine. Bites heal clean.” And he wouldn’t care if they didn’t. He’d let her ruin any part of him she liked. He wanted her to.
Fuck me, I might even beg for it.
She didn’t reply. Soft lips brushed his skin, sending a searing wave of sensation down his spine. He felt that tiny touch all the way to his damntoes.Something like a kiss — so tentative, so very sweet it almost didn’t count — nearly knocked him on his ass.
And that was before the bite.
All vampires had the instinct, but it took some practice to get good at it, to not go too fast, too deep, or too shallow. Something dark and possessive in him purred with satisfaction when Carmine went shallow. He had to gently press on the back of her head to encourage her to go deeper.
