Page 144 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

I try. My throat works around him in little half-swallows. It is difficult with him still hard and filling my mouth. Some of it escapes from the corner of my lips.

He notices. “All of it, Kira.”

I swallow again, slower, forcing the thick spend down while he remains warm and twitching on my tongue.

“You can do it,” he murmurs. “Show me how good you are.”

I can’t stand the sound of his voice, that smooth aristocratic drawl. And unnervingly, he still hasn’t taken his eyes off me. Those eyes… The icy blue has softened, glazed with pleasure. I hate to admit it, but he is beautiful. Fucked in the head, but beautiful.

“Is that all of it?” he asks quietly.

I nod as best I can and make a small, unintelligible sound around his cock.

“Good girl.” His voice is gentle. “Now stay like that. Warm me.”

Tears track down my cheeks. My breath comes in shaky pulls through my nose. I keep him in my mouth the way he clearly wants—obedient, used, full of him.

Nathaniel’s head tips back. A low, rough sound leaves him as the last shudders travel through his body. His grip in my hair loosens. For several seconds, he is unguarded, lost in the aftershocks.

That is when I move. Slowly at first.

I cup his balls with my left hand, taut and sensitive beneath my fingers as I gently knead them.

I pull my mouth off him long enough to ask, “Is this alright?”

He twitches but does not look down, murmuring a strained, ‘Mm-hmm.’

I take him in my mouth again, lips wrapped around him as my right hand slips inside my blazer, fingers closing around the cool metal of the letter opener.

I don’t give myself time to think. I pull off him and leap up, driving the blade upwards, aiming for the soft space beneath his ribs. For his heart. But my legs are uncooperative, numb from kneeling so long, and one knee buckles beneath me, dragging my aim low.

The blade sinks into the side of his waist instead—deep enough to bite, deep enough to make him cry out. Has it pierced something vital? Hot blood immediately wells around the metal. When I wrench the letter opener free, it comes away glistening dark red.

Nathaniel’s eyes snap open. The rest of him reacts more slowly. He looks dazed, his blond eyelashes fluttering as he stares down at me.

For one frozen second, we simply stare at each other—me still on my knees and his blood on my hand, him breathing hard as he looks between my weapon and the dark stain spreading across his shirt.

He curses under his breath and lifts the fabric. My heart sinks at the sight of the wound. Deep enough to bleed freely, but not deep enough to be fatal. It will heal. Slowly—but it will heal. Then his hand clamps around my wrist, crushing it. He pulls the letter opener from my grip as easily as he took the first knife and flings it across the room.

His voice, when it comes, is low, dangerous and calm. “That,” he says, “was a mistake.” He hauls me up in one fluid motion. Blood runs freely down his side, but he pays it no heed. In the next breath, he turns and drops me into his armchair. I collapse into it with a gasp, the leather still warm from his body.

Horror dawns on me. I did not act quickly enough. Now he is going to kill me. Then he will hunt down everyone I love. Byron. Mary. The Resistance.

He will—

Nathaniel braces his hands on the arms of the chair, caging me in. Blood drips onto the floor between us—then, as he leans over me, onto my shirt.

His face is half in shadow, his eyes as black as charcoal.

“Oh, Kira.” A dark chuckle leaves him; his lips curl just enough to reveal his fangs. “What am I going to do with you?”

The intensity of his stare terrifies me. Is he going to bite me? Drink my blood? I am so busy staring at his fangs that I don’t notice his hand moving until it is already beneath my skirt.

His clever fingers slip past my underwear and brush over my tender folds. I cry out in protest, but it is already too late—the sound breaks into a shocked, involuntary moan as he thrusts them into my damp heat.

A dark, pleased sound leaves him.

“Your turn, my dear,” he whispers.