His kiss tasted like heaven, like sin, like the end of the world, and the raw, masculine scent of him pushed her desires to the depths of their depravity.
Thebestfucking kind of depravity.
“More,” she breathed, arching up to meet his every thrust, her body demanding all of him.
He slammed into her, again and again, setting her every nerve ablaze.
And still, she wanted more.
“Harder,” she demanded. “Fuck me harder, Dorian. I need it.”
Dorian let loose another possessive growl, and Charley growled right back at him, crushing his mouth with another kiss as he fucked her madly, deeply, hot and hard and desperate.
Her entire body hummed like a live wire.
This wasn’t slow and tender. This wasn’t dirty talk and bedroom games and naughty, delicious teasing.
This was mouths and hands and breath and fangs.
This was pulled hair and nails raked down backs.
This was a bruising grip, a devastating kiss, blood drawn and licked and sucked and devoured.
This. Was. Fire.
“Holyfuck,” Charley gasped, the orgasm already building inside her, so fast she hadn’t even felt the warning tingle of nerves. “Dorian, I’m so close. I’m… I can’t…”
Dorian pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach, lifting her hips and slamming back into her pussy from behind, pushing her right back to the edge. Sliding his hand up her back, he fisted her hair and pulled, fucking her harder, deeper, and then—with a final vicious thrust that made her cry out his name like a curse—she came, a white-hot explosion that ricocheted through her limbs and dragged him right along with her, and with her final breath of ecstasy, her vampire king shuddered against her backside, his fingers digging into her hips, her name torn savagely from his lips as if he’d been waiting an eternity just to say it.
* * *
Sex as a vampire had been fuckingincredible—hotter and more intense than it had ever been between them, which was saying a lot, considering their mutual appetites and Dorian’s many,manytalents.
But now, all Charley wanted to do was consume.
Blood.
Freshblood, not the stuff from the blood bags Dorian had been trying to feed her for the last fifteen minutes.
It called to her—its coppery tang, its particular saltiness, the warmth of it. She’d never noticed it before, but suddenly, she could smell it everywhere—running deep in her own veins, in Dorian’s, through the bodies of the animals and birds that skittered through the fallen leaves outside.
But despite their decadent scent, none of those sources would abate her hunger. Her body knew it as well as her brain.
She needed human blood.
“Is it always like this?” she asked, her voice trembling.
She and Dorian were huddled together at the kitchen table, Charley staring down at the glass of cold blood before her. The scent didn’t stir her senses to life, didn’t make her mouth water in anticipation.
It only made her gag.
“Just for the first few days,” he said. “You’ll get used to the cravings and learn how to modulate them by alternating with regular food. Eventually you’ll only need to feed about once per week. But Charlotte, you really do need to drink this. It’s been hours since you’ve turned—you won’t be able to go much longer without human blood.”
She lifted the glass to her lips again, her stomach churning. The moment the liquid touched her tongue, her throat closed up again.
“It’s all right, love,” Dorian said patiently. “Just a few sips, and then I’ll fix us a snack.”
“Waffles?”
