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I slam my hand into his, and the look on my face must give away how much I’m struggling as we leave the room in a hurry, only to step into a room just down the corridor. No, not a room, a cupboard. Shutting the door, Zane presses me against the wall, his arousal hard against me. I expect him to kiss me, but instead, he looks straight into my eyes.
“Bite me,” he orders, sounding just as desperate as I feel.
Frowning, I try to remember what he told me about vampires rarely feeding from each other. “But you said—”
He growls low in his throat, his eyes darkening as his fangs extend from his mouth. “Just fucking bite me.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
Lunging forward, I sink my teeth into his neck.
Chapter Nine
If I thought that Phyllis tasted good, then Zane is fucking Michelin star restaurant quality. Rich, tangy and oh so smooth, his blood has me hooked. I could get lost in this, in him. Is this why vampires don’t drink from each other? Because they would never get anything done?
As soon as his blood hits my tongue, my vampy instincts kick in. Grabbing him by the shoulders, I spin us around and slam him against the wall with far more force than I meant to, if his grunt is anything to go by. I do feel stronger. In fact, I feel flipping invincible.
Zane doesn’t complain though, and if anything, it only turns him on more. His arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me flush against him, burying his face into the curve of my neck. His tongue flicks out and licks a trail from the corner of my jaw down to where my pulse beats. As he presses kisses against it, and I continue to feed, I think that it couldn’t possibly get better than this.
His teeth scrape along my neck, and my back arches at the sensation, arousal hitting me like a freight train. I’m so wet for him, and I want him now. Before I can say anything, his hands are on me, sliding past my waistband and between my legs. He growls at the wetness he finds there, making me clench with want.
I’m still locked on his neck, drinking deeply as he pushes his fingers inside me, making me bite harder. As he circles my clit with his thumb, he drives me fucking crazy.
“Fuck me,” I snarl, releasing my grip on him for a second to hiss the words, and then I suck his blood once more. I’m vaguely aware of his hands fumbling between us, followed by a metallic sound that makes me realise he’s undoing his trousers. Cool air meets my ass as my loose trousers and underwear are practically ripped off me. He hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively. The hot press of his cock against my entrance is enough to make me release his neck. My back arches, and I dig my nails into his shoulders as he lowers me onto his length.
Every touch is electric.
The noises we make are animalistic and like nothing I’ve ever heard before. There is no way that this is going to go unnoticed. I really don’t care though, and everyone is wisely leaving us to it, not daring to interrupt.
As we feed and fuck, I feel us becoming closer—not physically, but it’s almost as though I can feel him in my mind. Even that doesn’t describe how it feels properly, as he’s not able to read my mind or anything, but the pull that was between us before feels like a cord now, tying us together.
Part of me remembers him mentioning bonds forming when vampires feed from each other. Is that what this is? It feels like more than just a connection, like a part of me that was missing has been returned, which is strange considering I didn’t even realise he existed until a few days ago.
I quickly stop thinking about that connection as I feel my arousal begin to peak. The volume of my pleasure reaches new heights as I rock against him, needing more.
Blinding pleasure washes through me, so much so that if Zane hadn’t been holding onto me, I would have fallen to the floor in a heap. My hips buck, my pussy clenching down on his length. This only causes him to rip from my neck and roar his own pleasure as he comes inside me.
That cord suddenly seems to glow brightly, becoming strong and unbreakable. His orgasm reignites my own, and I buck on his cock as the pleasure moves through me. Once the aftershocks finish, I slide down his body until my feet touch the ground, then I rest my hot, sweaty face against his chest. I’m pleased to find that his chest is moving as much as mine as we try to calm our breathing. His arms wrap around me, holding me there as we wait for our brains to fight through the post-sex fog.
“Fuck.” His curse catches me by surprise, and I jerk in his arms, looking up in shock. Our eyes meet, and something warms in my chest, making me want to spend the rest of my day wrapped around him.
His eyes widen, and then his whole face twists as he gently moves me out of the way and begins pacing the small space in the cupboard. “Fucking fuck,” he mutters, running his hands through his hair in annoyance.
What’s happening? He was happy a moment ago, and now he’s acting like he regrets the whole thing. Is that what this is? He’s regretting having cupboard sex with me? My heart twists, and my breath is momentarily stolen with the stab of pain that thought brings. His head snaps towards me, his emotions crossing his face too quickly for me to work out what he’s thinking. It only lasts a moment, and then he continues pacing, mumbling under his breath so quietly that I can’t even hear it with my vampire hearing.
“Um… Are you okay?” I ask tentatively, not really wanting to know the answer. It’s pretty clear that something is wrong, and I’m terrified I am the reason.
Stopping in his tracks, he spins around to face me, his expression almost feral. “Can’t you feel it?” he demands, his voice a growl.
I can feel a lot right now, so trying to identify one particular emotion or sensation is like asking me to find a needle in a haystack. My confused expression must tell him everything, because he grumbles and grabs my arms.
“You’re my mate.” Each word is accentuated by a thudding in my chest, his face so close to mine now that he could kiss me—or bite me. There is something about those words, as though some intrinsic part of me recognises them. They don’t mean much of anything to me, and I’m guessing that when he uses the word “mate,” he’s not calling me his friend. The only time I have ever heard that word used in any other context is in popular fiction.
“Wait.” My brows furrow as a thought strikes me. “Like in Twil—”
He snarls, his fangs descending with frustration and what looks a little like fear as he cuts me off. “Don’t you dare mention fucking Twilight to me right now.” Taking a deep breath, he manages to rescind his fangs and squeezes his eyes shut. He opens them slowly, looking a little calmer. “But essentially, yes. You’re my mate, the female I’m destined to be with.”
I haven’t missed the fact that he’s still holding onto me. His grip is hard, but not hurting me in any way, and I’m pretty sure that he would release me if I tried to pull away. He doesn’t seem to be able to move away from me, even his gaze tracks my every move. I can almost feel his desire for me, not just sexually, but to have me in every way possible. Why is he so upset about it? Is there something about being my mate that I am missing?
