Then I push the gushing wound to her mouth. “Fucking drink,” I demand. “Then you’re going to sleep this off, and we’ll try again in the morning.”
Because I will be enjoying her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And anything else I desire in between.
When her throat doesn’t move like it should, I wrap my palm around her nape and drag her lifeless body up off the table. She feels fragile in my arms, the sensation at odds with the feisty temperament she exuded earlier.
My lips flatten. “I’m displeased, pet.” I hold her against me, bite my wrist again just to ensure it doesn’t heal, and press it to her mouth once more. “Drink.”
This time, I lace compulsion through the word. It’s intrinsic. Natural. Yet makes me wince inside because I can hear her expressing disappointment at me choosing an “easy” method for forcing her compliance.
Well, I prefer that over her dying.
So if she wants to chastise me once she wakes, I’ll allow it.
Then I’ll kiss her and fuck her against the wall.
Hmm, no, I think.No, I’ll make her eat first.
Or perhaps I’ll feed her my cock and give her my cum as an appetizer.
I consider that option as I watch her slender throat move. Instead of blood, I imagine it’s my masculine essence. Coating her insides. Bathing her in my presence. Myclaim.
I’ve never desired such an experience.
But with her, I would easily enjoy marking her in that way.
I shift my palm from her nape to the back of her head, loving the way her silky strands feel against my skin.
She truly is beautiful. Petite, too. Intelligent.Unique.
“You’re an ideal pet,” I inform her softly. “I like that you don’t fear me.” Of course, that may change now that I nearly killed her. But I hope not. “I didn’t intend to hurt you.” I mean it. “I got carried away.”
She can’t hear me.
However, my words are not really for her. I just feel like I need to voice them, to make everything clear. Perhaps more to myself than to Viviana. I’m… I’m not quite sure.
This is unprecedented.
I knew she was different the moment I learned of her existence. But I never dreamed she would live up to my expectations for her.
Fuck, I’m rather certain shesurpassedthem.
Which is asinine, as I’ve barely had my fill of her.
She passed out too quickly.
“Next time I tell you to eat, you will listen,” I inform her flatly. “That may not have saved you tonight, but it would have helped you last a little longer.”
In theory, anyway.
Although, I did drink a lot. More than I ever have before. Yet I still feel parched. Specifically, forher.
“We will work up to this together,” I decide out loud. “You will learn how to take me, and I will learn how to… pace myself.”
That feels like a reasonable compromise.
I study her face, noting the way the color has returned to her cheeks.
She’s still drinking, which isn’t truly necessary, but I rather like the way her mouth feels against my wrist.
