“Don’t hold back,” I whisper. “Please, please, please don’t hold back.”
“You don’t know what that means.” His jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me.”
“Kylie.”
I reach up to grab his face between my palms, forcing his gaze to mine. “Don’t. Hold. Back.”
His cock throbs inside me. His grip on my hips grows tighter. And every time my panting breaths make my breasts brush against his chest, I feel his body tense up.
“Don’t hold back,” I repeat. “Claim me, Rook. Taste me. Feed on me.”
“Kylie.”
“Feed. On. Me.”
On a growl, his restraint fractures. He lowers his mouth to my throat, and when I feel the press of his teeth, I don’t tense. I relax. I open up. I fucking bloom.
The bite is sharp, and then heat pours through me like molten lava.
It doesn’t hurt. Itignites.My breath shatters into something desperate and needy, and my body reacts to the feeding as much as to the way he’s moving inside me.
The connection amplifies. Every sensation doubles, and I feel it in my arms and my legs and deep, deep in my core where the connection of the two of us burns.
His groan vibrates against my skin, deeper now, and edged with hunger.
You have no idea what you do to me,Kylie, he thinks.
I just want to be yours,my mind whispers to him.Forever.
And he sucks gently at my neck, feeding off my blood, while he continues to thrust his cock inside me.
My eyes fall closed, and my senses fall over a cliff of rapture.
It’s not like the orgasms I’ve given myself with a vibrator or my hand—it’s beyond any earthly thing I’ve ever experienced.
It is cosmic and celestial and transcendent of this universe and the next.
Rook Slater and I aren’t one person—but we should be.
His groan is low and deep as his tongue lashes over the wound at my neck and forces it closed, and despite the continued pleasure of our connection, I miss it.
I can see how I could get addicted to it—how he could have me begging for it day in and day out. Because I already want him to do it again. And again. And again. Self-preservation is no longer a thing. I’m reckless in my need for him.
“You’re mine,” he says against the new and tender flesh, and I nod vigorously in reply.
“I’m yours,” I agree.
His mouth finds mine and takes me in a kiss so intense, I almost lose track of everything else. Of the room, of the world, of time and space and matter.
“You’re mine,” I whisper when he’s done, testing out the words on my tongue and loving them instantly.
They aren’t just nice—they’re perfect.
“I’m yours,” he agrees. “In this world and the next and everything in between, Kylie Moon. I’ll be yours until time no longer exists.”
I wake to the smell of pot roast.
