“Touch,” I say through labored breaths. “Touch me more.”
I tangle my fingers through his and guide him to the pressure between my legs.
“Ah,” he says, though I can’t quite discern the tone. He sounds throatier, though, as if his voice is stuck. “Will this relieve your pain?”
I nod and I let his hand go. “Please.”
For a minute, he hesitates. I realize it’s an invasive request, and we only just met. This might be new for him, but not for me. I’ve done much worse after five minutes in a bar with a stranger. I’m not shy.
“Alright,” he finally responds. “But only because you begged me so sweetly.”
If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d be blushing at his words. With unfocused eyes, I watch him suck his fingers and spit to the side. What a gentleman.
“Hurry,” I urge, unable to keep the whine out of my voice.
Gray presses one finger to my lips, then strokes a line down my chin and along the mounds of my breasts, covering as much of my burning skin with the entire span of his hand. It feels fantastic, so much so that by the time he reaches the curve of my thigh, I’m ready to explode. To make him move faster, I push my hips up to greet him, but he stops me with a ‘tsk.’
“Patience,” he says softly, slipping one long finger against the line of my wet lips. “And restraint.”
A second finger joins the first, and he spreads me open. My stomach tightens, and the heat fades into something new. For the moment, I’m not burning with unbearable pain. My mind is way too focused on his technique. I’m silently grateful that he doesn’t need a crash course on groping after sleeping for one-hundred years.
“Gods,” he groans, swirling little circles around the tender bud between my legs. My hips buck up to meet the pressure, and I swear I hear him chuckle. “Who knew my blood could have such apleasurableeffect.”
I could scream the way he’s teasing me. A weak and breathy ‘shut up’ falls from my lips.
“Make me,” he dares.
I look into his red eyes as his pace slows, bringing back the pain of the fire. This isn’t the time or place to be edging me into oblivion. Honestly, I feel like I could die, but goddammit, do I want the release. I’ll chase it, too. I always do.
With both hands free, I grab the remnants of his collared shirt and pull him down to my lips. He tastes like dust and blood and filth. But I don’t care. I bite his lower lip and suck it, rewarded with the sensation of his fingers sinking into my pussy. Forthat, I widen my legs and move with his thrusts, meeting each one with incredible need. My stomach tightens with the building orgasm; teetering on the edge. I break the kiss with a cry, throwing my head back as I do.
A chorus of panting yeses pour out of me in hurried breaths.
I’m right there when I see Gray’s red eyes flash, the only warning I get before his fangs sink into my neck.
It doesn’t feel like the kind of bite that should hurt. In fact, it feels just as good as having his wet fingers caress me. I don’t stifle the sound of my surprise.
Fireworks go off in the back of my head, black skies and stars dot my vision as I come. Gray’s fingers still work inside me, petting the last of the orgasm out of me as I ride it out to finish. I’m still holding his shirt, bracing myself against him, when he pulls away from my neck. A wicked grin is plastered on his sharp face as he slides his fingers away from my sex. The ache of losing him lingers, but I no longer feel the fire or the pain. Instead, I feel exhausted and sore.
“Thank you,” I say, but it’s barely above a whisper. Gray watches me with steady eyes, and for only a moment, looks away to lick his fingers clean. I see the shimmer of my cum on his blood-dried lips, still turned up in a smile so sinful, I feel ashamed for looking.
“You and I,” he purrs suggestively, swiping his tongue along his lower lip, “are going to get along just fine.”
The sound of my phone ringing ping pongs in my skull.
I groan as I reach for it, tucked under my pillow like it always is. The screen flashes to life with Dax’s name. He doesn’t usually call me, but then I see the time in the top right corner and my jaw hits my pillow. No wonder he’s calling! It’s 6:50 PM and I’m late as hell. The club opened an hour ago.
“Shit!” I sit up with a start, the covers bunching at my hips. Quickly, I tap to answer and bring the phone to my ear, ignoring the throb in my head. “Hello?”
“Cheeks?” Dax asks, his voice full of worry. It doesn’t have the same effect when he’s using my stage name like a pet name. “You okay? I've been calling you for over an hour now.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Though, to be honest, I don’t think I am.
My whole body is sore, and my eyes are burning. I’ve got a bad case of cotton-mouth and there’s no water in my room anywhere. I did drink last night, but I’m sure I didn’t drink enough to cause a blackout. Sitting up, I put my feet on the floor and take a deep breath. The world is spinning in a terrible way, and I can’t find my axis.
“You’re late,” he says matter-of-fact, pulling me back. He sounds irritated.
“Yes, I can see the clock. Thank you.” Tripping out of bed, I search for decent clothes among my discarded Halloween costume pieces; the losers. As I sift through them, my head feels like it could cave in at any minute. It’s like someone pushed me down a steep set of stairs or hit me with twenty baseball bats.Gods, I’m fucking sore! What the hell happened?
