He begins to lick…and suddenly, the pain begins to ebb.
It’s not instant, but it’s undeniable. I feel a strange, pulling sensation, deep inside, like a skilled hand reaching into the heart of the cramp and unraveling it thread by thread. It’s like a tight fist inside me is slowly unclenching, soothed by the slow, languid strokes of his tongue.
He doesn’t focus on my clit—not yet. He licks gently but firmly and I feel the tension leaking out of my body to be replaced with a spreading, liquid warmth.
He’s not just kissing me there…he’s worshiping. I can feel the subtle pull of his blood magic, a gentle suction that eases the painful pressure…that seems to draw the ache itself away from my womb. The feeling of him between my thighs is somehow primal and deeply intimate.
I still feel a little strange at first—a bit self-conscious. I’ve never been with a man who wanted to be here—who seemed not just willing, but eager to go down on me. In the past, this kind of attention was always a means to an end—a perfunctory warm-up. Something to endure or politely fake enjoyment through until the “real” sex began.
But I’m beginning to see that for Lucian, this is the real thing.
He is completely, utterly focused on me…on my responses…on the tiny gasps I make when the pain loosens its grip and something warmer, sweeter, and infinitely more dangerous takes its place. I can feel his intent in every movement of his tongue—pleasing me, soothing me, worshiping me. He is claiming me in the most fundamental way possible.
“That’s it, little one,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against my sensitized flesh, making me jump. “Let the pain go. Give it to me. Your body is so perfect like this, so open for me. So sweet and rich. I could feast on you for eternity.”
“Oh,” I moan softly. “Oh, Lucian.”
My fingers curl into his thick, dark hair without conscious thought. I’m not trying to guide him—I just need something to hold on to.
The ache fades further, replaced by a rising, coiling heat that has nothing to do with cramps. My breath begins to come short and uneven as Lucian shifts his focus, his tongue finding the swollen, needy bud of my clit. He circles it slowly, lazily, in a rhythm that seems designed to drive me wild.
“Oh God…oh, please!” I pant.
“You taste so good, little one,” he groans, his voice hoarse with desire. “Your blood is ambrosia. And I love this wet, hot little clit begging for my mouth.”
He sucks it gently, making me moan and gasp again. Sparks of pleasure rush through my system, shocking in their intensity. My hips buck upward as my body begs for more.
Lucian looks up at me, his chin glistening, his eyes dark and intent—blazing with possessive lust.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he urges, his voice a rough caress. “Let go for me…let yourself come. Show me how good I make you feel.”
Then he redoubles his efforts, his mouth sealing over me, his tongue lashing my clit with relentless, perfect strokes while his blood magic continues its deep, internal pull, easing the last remnants of discomfort and replacing it with pure, undiluted ecstasy.
At last, I can’t hold back anymore—I can feel the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave above me, about to come crashing down and drown me with its intensity.
“Oh God…yes!” I moan.
I grip his hair, my hips lifting instinctively off the bed, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. A broken moan tears from my throat as the pleasure crests.
“Lucian!” I cry his name, the pleasure rolling through me in wave after wave, deep and rhythmic, echoing the cramps but transforming them into something glorious…something that leaves me shuddering and weak with desire.
I tug his hair fiercely, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he drinks me in—steady and relentless—gentling his tongue to lap softly as the spasms subside. He draws out every last drop of sensation until I’m boneless and utterly spent— limp and trembling against the sheets.
When he finally rises, Lucian gathers me into his arms, pulling me close against his broad, solid chest. He kisses my forehead, my eyelids, my sweat-damp temple.
“Good girl,” he murmurs softly, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You were so brave for me. So perfect…opening your thighs for my tongue…letting me care for you.”
I sigh, still floating in a haze of endorphins and warmth.
“I feel…better—so much better. It’s gone. The pain is all gone.”
“As long as you’re flowing,” he says quietly, his hand splayed possessively over my lower belly, “I want to be here for you…easing your pain…taking care of you.”
“My cycle usually only lasts a few days,” I say with a shaky little laugh.
“Then for as long as you need me,” he replies, utterly serious, his eyes holding a dark promise, “I will gladly be between your thighs. My mouth on you…my cock in you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. Your pleasure and your comfort are mine to provide.”
I laugh weakly, nuzzling into his neck.
