“Things I shouldn’t.” He leans down, sucking on a nipple—the one he hadn’t bitten this time. He plays with the rope across it and licks a line down to soft-rough cord, biting and pulling, all the while he doesn’t stop fingering me.
And I’m falling apart. I want…I want more…
“I want you,” he whispers. “I wish things were different.”
“You want me to be human?”
“Don’t you want that, Monty?”
Bitter bile rises, burning my throat. I can see it, using Nell for her humanity, to ride it second hand, remembering what it was like.
He sees it as a gift, one he feels like he stole from me.
But when I think about it, I’m glad. At first I hated him for it, blamed him for taking my life away, but I’m starting to see that I’m better than I was. I’m a vampire, a killer, top of the world.
My entire existence, I’ve felt powerless. Now, I can do anything.
With him, I can do anything.
“No. Not anymore,” I say.
He grabs my tied hands and hauls me half up, hooking my hands to something on the wall behind the sofa, or maybe it’s the sofa itself. But I’m forced to awkwardly kneel, thighs apart, the ropes pushing into me, against me, and everything’s tight and borderline painful. It makes me throb, even as I raise my head to glare through the blindfold.
Taking my hair, he pulls my head back and rips the cloth from my eyes so that I can see him hovering over me, staring down at me, his face close.
“I can’t—” He stops. “I can’t lose you. I told myself I could. That I was stronger than this. I was wrong.”
His words break me, and my chest clenches. Maybe I have been looking at this all wrong. “You’re a vampire. An old one. You don’t need me.”
“For a smart woman, Monty, you’re incredibly stupid sometimes.” He kisses me hard, his tongue invading, seducing, dancing with mine, and I’m left unable to do anything more than kiss him back.
I’m melting, even though I’m on my knees, uncomfortable, wanting it to test my limits, wanting him—just wanting him.
And like he can read my mind, he breaks the kiss, stroking my jaw, opening my mouth. He dips a finger in and I clamp shut, biting. All he does is smile.
I bite harder but he just tsks at me.
“You are a feisty thing,” he says. “You always have been.”
I release his finger. “Now I just have fangs.”
“My Monty…” He leans in, tongue tracing the shape of my ear.
My entire body jerks, and he laughs.
“You’re so addicting…” He straddles me, unzipping and pulling out his thick, hard cock. “You remind me of the feral days, of being newly turned. I just… Fuck.”
He shudders and feeds me his cock, and I eagerly swallow it down, stretching my lips to accommodate.
Lucian starts to fuck me, his cock pushing deep into my throat, and he does it slow, hard, the kind of violence that’s exquisitely controlled.
Because that’s him. Controlled.
I want to break that control, break him, and I start to run my tongue as best I can along the underside of his dick as he withdraws, but he keeps it measured. And it claws at me. I suck hard, making him groan, and he slips a little more, thrusting harder, then harder still, like he wants to use my throat as a pussy, a vessel for him to stretch and fill and use.
My entire body heats with each thrust, the ache inside me growing, the tightness of my clit almost too much, and then he shudders, pushing in hard and holding.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
