“I’m yours,” I breathe when he kisses to my throat. “Yours.”
“Louder!” He kisses lower, the sounds of our skin slapping echoing around the concrete room.
“I’m yours!” I cry.
He slides his hands down my arms and cups my breasts, squeezing as he stares down at me. He pinches my nipples, twisting them between his thumbs and forefingers, and I dig my nails into the blanket.
“More.” He pulls out, then grabs my hips and flips me to my stomach.
With another vicious thrust, he enters me.
I brace my hands on the wall as he punishes me, dragging my hips back to him again and again. I shake with the impacts, with the roughness he pours into me. My body reacts, my pleasure growing with each stroke.
He comes down over my back, his warm breath on my neck as he reaches beneath me and strums my clit. “This is mine. This body. This soul. Every part of you. Say it.” He runs his fangs along my shoulder.
“I’m yours. All of me.” I look at him over my shoulder. “Now tell me you’re mine.”
His feral growl pushes me closer to the edge. “Only yours, my one, my only. My Blood.” He bites my shoulder deeply, his fangs embedding as he fucks me harder.
My toes curl as he strokes my clit, my entire body alight as my release barrels through me. I cry his name as I come, the waves huge and spilling over me again and again.
He slams deeper, his cock growing even harder, and then I feel it kick as he groans against my skin. I push back, bearing down on him as my orgasm keeps rolling, squeezing every bit of pleasure from us both until it’s nothing but aftershocks.
I sink lower to the bed, Valen’s fangs still in my shoulder, and try to catch my breath.
Slowly, he removes his fangs, and licks along the wounds, healing them.
With a groan, he pulls out and lays beside me, pulling me into his arms.
I press my forehead to his chest as he strokes my hair.
When my mind finally flickers back on, I look up at him and ask, “How did you even get in here?”
He smirks and kisses the tip of my nose. “I’d break down the gates of hell to get to you,kedves verem.”
“Why do you think I’d go to hell?”
“Perhaps to spite me, just as you came here.”
“I didn’t come here to spite you.” I snuggle closer to him.
“Then why do I feel spited?”
“Maybe you’re sensitive.”
He snorts a laugh and keeps stroking my hair.
“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”
“I’ll need you to be more specific.”
I reconsider asking. Maybe I don’t want to know. “They have a lab here.”
“Mm.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I know what you want to ask me.”
