He groans when I call himmy love.Always has.
And his fangs sink in…but only to withhold his bite at the last moment. Yet, the pain is white-hotenough, searingenough, his thick cock grinding against my hipenough. And I screamed in agonized frustration-tinged pleasure.
My vision blurs and my body flooding with heat as I dissolve into blinding orgasm, drown as it crashes over me before I can even beg for him to fuck me.
I come with a broken cry, my pussy clenching hard and my blood rushing faster as his fingers piston with inhuman speed inside me.
He doesn’t stop there.
His mouth trails lower, over my collarbone, my sternum, my stomach, dagger and fangs and tongue swirling over each wound he makes, healing them only to leave new ones in their wake.
By the time his lips reach my pussy, I’m a quaking, sobbing mess, my thighs shaking, my fingers tangled in his hair.
But the scant breath in my lungs strangle all the same, anticipation hazing my vision until he’s the only pinpoint on my horizon.
He doesn’t tease and he doesn’t ask.
Between one snatched breath and the next, his fangs sink into the tender flesh of my labia, the sting so intense I scream and come.
Then his tongue is inside me. Thrusting, fucking me like his cock, his fingers digging into my hips to hold me still.
The pleasure is too much, too deep, his fangs still buried in my sensitive flesh, his saliva mixing with my blood, my arousal.
I scream harder, come harder as my body convulses, my cries echoing off the stone walls. The sigil on my spine burns, a searing brand, sharper and more agonising but I barely felt it.
All I feel is Lucien—his mouth, his fangs, his fingers.
“Hands and knees,” he growls, his voice a dark, slurred promise of excess pleasure and unbridled violence, not against me but the thing within me.
The thing my love intends to battle.
I hesitate for the barest second before I give in. I rise, seal my mouth to his in an open-mouthed, tongue-tangling act of surrender and adoration.
Then I turn, presenting myself to him on my hands and knees, spine arched, sex bared, the sigil searing against my skin. His sharp inhalation tells me everything I need to know.
Because what I see when I twist toward the mirror—what once looked like faint shadows inked along my spine—has flared into something else entirely.
The air thickens as the sigil ignites, silver and blood-black, alive beneath my skin. It writhes like a living serpent, and Lucien goes utterly still.
Over my shoulder, I see the dagger gleaming in one hand, its edge catching the pulsing light that spills from me. In the other, his fingers flex, claws emerging, long and wicked.
He drags them down my spine, slow enough that I feel every point break the surface tension of my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
My hiss is part pain, part unbearable pleasure, but my body doesn’t retreat.
It leans into it, back arching deeper, dripping pussy bared to him, trembling and hungry because it turns out, the more it hurts, the more I want him.
Lucien notices it all. Of course he does.
His low chuckle vibrates through me as he presses closer, the dagger’s flat edge skimming my hip while his claws return to trace the glowing sigil.
“There you are,” he murmurs, voice like velvet over steel. “Hiding in my beloved, feeding from her fear.” He lowers his mouth to my ear, his breath hot and unholy as his claws sink into my rump. “But I think I’ve found your weakness.”
The words send a shiver through me, not with dread, but with recognition. The certainty in Lucien’s voice stirs the thing inside me.
It hisses its protest, but Lucien only smiles against my neck. “That’s right. Sex. Blood. Emotion. The things my Elara craves. Which means they’re what you crave too, isn’t it?” His tone turns feral. “But here’s the thing. She will survive the gorging of it. But will you?”
Fire lights up my spine. “Lucien!”
