Page 48 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

He was turned on?

He pauses, my scalp prickling as he bends his head and whispers against my ear. “To eat you out. To taste your blood on my tongue.” I gasp, and his voice takes on a dark edge. “Does that disgust you, Edie?”

I think about it momentarily. “No,” I admit, reaching up and pressing my palms against his chest, if only to keep a little space between us. “It doesn’t.”

“Good.” He lets out a soft exhale, slipping his hand from my hair before pressing a soft kiss against the corner of my mouth.

“Then why did you behave the way you did?” I ask, taking a step back and searching his gaze.

“You have to understand that I am a man with very dark desires. I couldn’t trust myself not to scare you away for good. Not after everything you’d admitted to me that night.”

“You were afraid you’d scare me away because, unlike most men, you’re not repulsed by menstrual blood?”

“Yes.”

The tightness in my chest eases with his honesty, and so I decide to share a little honesty too. “You hurt my feelings, Dorian. I felt rejected by you.”

“I apologise. I didn’t handle myself very well. It won’t happen again.”

He seems sincere enough, so I nod, accepting his apology. “Good.”

“Did you like your presents?”

“The fan, face masks, vitamins and eye mask were thoughtful.”

He nods, suppressing a smile. “And the⁠—”

“Still in its box,” I lie, cutting him off. I’m not about to tell him I’ve used it several times, and come so hard I thought I’d seen God. He was right about it helping to relieve my headaches. The orgasms help me to sleep too. He gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t believe a word.

“Can we start over?” he asks, searching my face, sensibly not speaking his thoughts out loud.

“We can try. But I warn you, you’re on a trial period. No more fucking up.”

He presses his hand against his chest, bowing his head solemnly. “You have my word.”

“And for the record, just because I’ve only ever experienced lacklustre, vanilla sex, that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to explore something different. There’s a large part of me…” My voice trails off as I try to articulate what I’m feeling.

“Don’t be afraid to talk to me. I won’t judge you,” he says, giving me another soft kiss against my temple this time.

“There’s a large part of me that has always yearned for something more,” I continue, shuddering beneath the chaste kisses he presses against my face. His careful control is intoxicating, only heightened by the fact I suspect he would ravage me if I allowed him to. Which I won’t. At least not today.

“Go on,” he urges.

“I want to feel worshipped, yes, but more than that, I want to feel the intensity of unadulterated lust,” I admit.

“As you should,” he agrees.

I swallow hard and force myself to continue. “I want to fuck with abandon, without restraint. I want to give my body over to pleasure. I want to come.”

Dorian smiles and my cheeks heat, but I refuse to let the old me rise to the surface and curtail my thoughts. More than that, I refuse to let society’s expectations of women my age prevent me from being honest. I know times are changing, and that the younger generation is more inclined to experiment sexually, to express their needs openly and for them to be accepted and embraced. However, I’m still very aware of what is expected of a middle-aged woman in the midst of perimenopause, and that isn’t to be visible or to claim sexual agency. Regardless, I speak my mind.

“I want to be wanted. I want to dominate sexually. I want to be submissive too,” I add, realising that in this moment.

“You can have it all with me. You can have whatever you desire. But⁠—”

“But?” My heart sinks.

“This can only happen on one proviso.”