He drew harder, his free hand sliding into my hair and fisting.
Usually he’d let up a little and sink into it.
That didn’t happen this time.
He went harder, deeper.
A massive head rush assaulted me.
And then he was on me, straddling me on the couch.
He started grinding against me. In this situation it didn’t exactly take long for me to get hard as a fucking rock.
No. Get a grip. He’s not right.
I snagged his hips, stilling him, and it was enough to settle him.
His hand in my hair shifted to my nape and he cradled my head against him, as he let up with the aggressiveness of the feed, slowing.
The head rush was becoming too intense, meaning there’d been too much blood loss to allow him to continue much longer without causing me damage. And while I’d take it for him, he wouldn’t do well with that. It would add guilt and shame into the mix. He was already dealing with a fuck-ton as it was. Clearly.
“Enough. Ease off now.”
He grunted and resisted.
“Winter. Now.”
He stilled, but didn’t ease back.
I slapped his back.
The contact grounded him and he pulled back.
Although, I didn’t like what I was seeing in the next second as he did.
His eyes were glazed.
Not in that slight just-fed way I’d seen from him before.
It was different this time. Like he was… high? Deeply fucking high.
Shit.This had been about more than I’d realized for him.
Maybe more than he’d realized.
He registered my concern and hastily climbed off me and sank down on the couch beside me, while I remained there prone, trying to blink away the head rush.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I croaked.
“What if it’s not?”
“That’s not an option and you know it.”
“Z?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
