“Of you? Never.” I rise on my toes, bringing my mouth close to his ear. “Of what you might do to me? I'm counting on it.”
His control shatters completely.
He spins me around, pressing my chest against the door while his body crowds behind me. His hands work at the fastenings of my dress, movements rough and impatient. When the fabric pools at my feet, he steps back just far enough to look.
“Perfect,” he breathes.
I'm naked except for thin undergarments that do nothing to hide how ready I am for him. The scent of my arousal fills the air between us, and I hear him drag in a deep breath, pupils dilating further.
“Turn around.”
I face him, letting him see all of me. The small breasts with nipples already hard from anticipation. The curve of my waist, the flare of my hips. The damp spot spreading across thin fabric between my thighs.
“Mine,” he says, like he's testing the word.
“Yours.”
His hands find my hips, lifting me easily. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bed, movements still carrying that grace that speaks of recent violence. When he sets me down on the edge of the mattress, I expect him to strip out of his own clothes.
Instead, he drops to his knees between my spread thighs.
“I can smell how wet you are.” His voice is rougher than I've ever heard it, edged with something that makes my pussy clench. “I can smell how much you want this.”
“Then stop talking and do something about it.”
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my undergarments, dragging them down my legs and tossing them aside. The cool air hits my exposed sex, making me shiver.
“Look at you.” His hands push my thighs wider, opening me completely to his gaze. “Look how ready you are for me.”
I am. My pussy is swollen and slick, lips parted with want. When he blows a soft breath across sensitive flesh, I jerk against his grip.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“Touch me. Taste me. Whatever you want, just?—”
His mouth covers me before I can finish the sentence.
The first stroke of his tongue makes me cry out. Not pain this time, but pure pleasure that shoots from my core to every nerve ending. He licks me slowly, thoroughly, mapping every fold and hollow like he's memorizing the taste.
“Fuck,” I gasp, fingers tangling in his dark hair. “Oh fuck, yes.”
He makes a sound against me—something between a growl and a moan—that vibrates through sensitive tissue. His tongue finds my clit, circling the swollen bud with exactly the right pressure.
But then he stops. Lifts his head just enough to speak.
“I need to feed.”
The words send fresh wetness flooding between my thighs. “Yes.”
“From here.” His thumb traces my inner thigh, dangerously close to where his mouth just was. “I want to taste your blood while you come on mytongue.”
“Do it.”
He doesn't hesitate. His teeth sink into the soft flesh of my inner thigh, and pain explodes through my nervous system. But this time it doesn't transform into the usual euphoric emptiness. This time it mixes with arousal, creating something entirely new.
Pleasure-pain. Pain-pleasure. I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
