Page 85 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

Oh, God! I moaned. The flavor of him exploded on my tongue, just as tantalizing as my memory said it would be. I sucked, pulling liquid into my mouth. Warm, iron rich, with notes of spice and bitterness, almost like wine. Each swallow sent heat racing through my veins, filling the hollow ache that had been consuming me.

Memories flooded my thoughts like flickering movies. I ignored them, letting them drift past. They’d be there in my mind, waiting, if only I had the courage to look. Instead, I focused on the taste of him.

A hard body aligned with my back. I didn’t acknowledge it. I barely even noticed it. A small, low groan sounded. Not mine. I kept pulling, dragging in the warm liquid that quenched my thirst, sated my hunger, relieved my burning need the way nothing else had. Swallow after swallow.

I felt the throb of something through my body. My own pulse. It beat a rhythm in my throat, my chest, between my legs. I whimpered, drinking more, licking and lapping at his wound. A ravenous creature, entirely shameless.

As my awareness returned, I found that I was only licking. Fussing at his wrist like a desperate kitten. Licking him clean. Trying to lap up every drop, because his wound had closed.

When I caught sight of the smooth flesh, I made a sound in the back of my throat. I was dismayed. Irritated.

“More, little flower? So needy for me already?” His lips moved against the shell of my ear, feather light. The rumble of his voice sent something shooting down my spine. Sent goosebumps rolling over my skin.

I shivered.

Another whimper rose in my throat. I was lost to my senses. I bit down on his wrist with demanding force, but not hard enough to break the skin. Then I made another sound, angrier this time.

He clicked his tongue.

A hand splayed across my stomach, pressing me against⁠—

I sucked in a sharp breath and broke free, stepping away. He’d… He’d… He’d touched me, held me against him in an intimate embrace. My nostrils flared, looking him over, taking in his firm body. Lingering over his jeans because I’d thought I’d felt a rigid bulge there. No. It had only been my imagination.

“That should satisfy you for you tonight,” he said, eyeing me carefully.

His expression was guarded, but not cold.

“What did you do to me?” I managed, finding my voice.

“Nothing at all. Nothing beyond giving you what you wanted.”

Wanted. Not needed.

I looked at his hands, as if they were to blame for the heat coursing through me. For the desire. The additional craving. The wetness pooling between my thighs. Wetness he could probably smell. As if on cue, he inhaled, his nostrils flaring.

I flushed.

His gaze dropped to the place in question. I could feel it like a caress on my skin and I fought the urge to rub my thighs together. Then I remembered what I was wearing. Nothing but a bathrobe⁠—

“Return to your room,” he said. The order sounded more like a warning. I didn’t argue. The weight of what had just happened—what I’d done, what I’d felt—crashed over me. I gave a sharp nod and fled.

I slammed my bedroom door closed and climbed into bed, where I splayed myself beneath the blankets. The pulse between my legs throbbed. An ache I couldn’t ignore. I put my fingers between my slick folds, gasping and desperate as they slipped in. I wasn’t surprised by what I found, by how ready I was. Laurent’s face flickered through my mind. I tried to push him away but he went nowhere as I relieved the ache that had built. The ache he’d created.

He’d said his blood would fix it.

That liar.

Except…

It had.

This was…something else. Something additional.

A memory flooded my mind, as if triggered by my need. It was new. One I’d just obtained from his blood. I slipped into it.

The human female squirmed. “Why can I not lie on my back this time?” she whined, trying to turn. I took her hips and forced her back onto her knees.

“Stay where I put you,” I growled.