Page 205 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“And after all that defiance…” My mouth curves. “How embarrassing for you.” I withdraw almost completely before sinking back into her. “You’re mine now.”

A broken cry escapes her as I deliver another slow thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

“Remember that.”

Thrust.

The candles tremble around us, throwing restless shadows across the attic walls as I fuck her slowly into the floorboards. With every measured thrust, it feels like I’m taking something back.

Even if she was never mine to begin with.

The wet sound of our bodies meeting fills the attic, flesh smacking against flesh. My hand has loosened over her mouth, and now her moans escape freely, breathless and broken as she begins to push back against me. I adjust my palm over her lips again.

“Be quiet…if you can,” I taunt.

I slow as much as I possibly can without losing it, and a confused little protest catches in her throat as she tries to move against me, chasing the friction I’ve taken away.

“How revealing,” I murmur, kissing the side of her neck. “You object far less convincingly with my cock inside you.”

She begins to squeal a protest—I bury myself deep and hold there, grinding against her until she is close and shudders with need beneath me.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Much more honest when I’m inside you.” I withdraw with deliberate slowness only to resume taking her again.

She is so tight it borders on agony.

So wet it feels as though she is trying to pull me deeper.

It’s incredible.

My cock aches with the need to spill, but I refuse. Not yet. Instead I bear down and fuck her in silence, forehead pressed gently between her shoulder blades—careful not to add to her injuries—to breathe her in. Every throb of her cunt around me is pure possession. Every small, helpless sound she makes against my palm feeds something dark and satisfied in my chest. And she is getting louder. With every thrust, she gives another muffled moan against my hand.

If nothing else were at stake, I would take my hand from her mouth and let her moan freely. Encourage it. Drag every sound I could from her until there was no mistaking how much she wanted this. Instead I keep her muffled beneath my palm, the taboo whisper I cannot bring myself to say sliding through my mind: Louder. Let me hear how much of a slut you are for me.

She breaks first.

A long, beautiful, piercing cry tears against my palm as she comes, her body seizing around my cock in hard, rhythmic pulses. I hold myself deep and still, eyes nearly rolling back at the feel of her milking me, and ride every wave until the last tremor fades.

Even then I do not withdraw. I stay locked deep, warm and aching, simply enjoying the way she continues to twitch and flutter around me.

When she tries to push up onto her hands I tighten my arm around her middle and drag her straight back onto my cock.

“Stay.” My voice is rough. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

I shift the angle and drive into her harder. She moans against my hand. The sound undoes something in me.

My mouth finds the side of her throat before I fully decide to do it. Fangs pierce skin. Her blood floods my mouth—hot, perfect, better than anything I have ever tasted—and a deeper groan vibrates against her neck as I drink.

I had not planned this but I cannot stop.

I keep thrusting while I feed, slower at first, using the pull of her blood and the tight heat of her cunt to edge her towards another peak. Every swallow makes her pulse stronger against my tongue. Every stroke makes her flutter harder. I am so focused on the way she starts to shake again that my own release builds almost as an afterthought.

“Oh, Kira,” I pant between rich, velvety mouthfuls. The name tears out of me, half groan, half prayer. “Have you any idea how often I’ve thought of this?”

She huffs but does not deign to answer me. A ragged laugh escapes me.