Page 86 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

She giggled, half drunk. “But, I’m tired of doing it this way.”

I was this close to ripping her throat out. “You’ll stay on your hands and knees. I don’t make love, I fuck. I don’t want to see your face when you come. I don’t want you seeing mine.”

She gave a little gasp. The desire for sex came less and less often as of late. But I’d always done it this way. Eye-contact forged connections and connections formed attachments. Attachments were lethal. My father’s lessons had worked after all. I spread her thighs wide, taking in the sight of her pink flesh, the wetness pooling there, and planted myself deep, groaning. It wouldn’t be enough this time. I’d need to bite her too, if I hoped to come. I could hardly remember when sex alone brought release.

I grabbed her hips hard enough to bruise, and began driving her against my cock. The sound of slapping flesh had my balls tightening. Good. This was good.

Her moans filled the air, edged with the pain I created. I’d warned her I would be rough. She’d coyly accepted.

I waited until I felt her tightening around me, then struck, sinking my teeth in deep. Using the power I’d honed over the centuries. But this time, I didn’t fill her with pleasure as I drank, I filled her with pain. Her moans turned to whimpers. Just enough pain—but not too much. She came harder than ever, the heightened tase of her blood gushing into my mouth. My cock hardened further, then spasmed, radiating pleasure up through the base of my spine. I growled into her skin.

It was a paltry finish, but a finish nonetheless.

I licked at the wound I’d made to heal it, then pulled out and said, “I tire of you. We’re done.”

And left.

I wrenched myself from Laurent’s memory to find sounds, shameless sounds, pouring from my lips. I didn’t care if anyone heard me, if he heard me. Because he’d said that he had, that he heard me each night as I fought the addiction, slipping my fingers between my legs to chase my pleasure. What did it matter? I’d seen him fuck someone now. So that made us even.

The memories of his thrusting cock had more wetness gushing between my thighs. I didn’t even care that it was with another woman. I was too far gone.

I bit my lip but it didn’t stop the cry that slipped free.

I came on my hand, gasping for breath in the aftermath. Only then did I finally feel sated. I sighed, and a soft smile pulled at my lips. It was the most alive I’d felt in weeks.

Sleep swept me away after that, and the nightmares didn’t come.

The next morning, everything felt like a dream. The only proof was the robe tangled around me. The drops of Laurent’s blood on the fabric.

The thought made my stomach churn with shame. That I’d given in so easily. That I’d embraced my craving.

There would be no going back now.

I went through my morning routine, then changed into a pair of soft jeans and a cute summer top showing only a sliver of my tummy.

Vittorio swept in with my breakfast and his chipper, “Good morning, Miss Shaw.” He set the tray on the table and then looked at me. “Slept well, I trust?”

It’s what he always said. But this time, it felt like something more. Whatever. I shrugged in answer.

“When you’ve finished, Master Laurent wishes to see you in the conservatory.”

My hand tightened around the chair I’d been about to pull out. “He does?”

“Indeed. Take your time. Enjoy your breakfast.”

He disappeared leaving me with a slew of questions. How was I supposed to enjoy my breakfast now? I didn’t want to see Laurent.

I fretted, sipping my coffee. What would I say to him? How was I supposed to act around him?

My cheeks blazed as I thought back over everything. I’d thrown myself at him. Then I’d come back here and masturbated to the thought of him, to a memory of him with someone else. What the fuck was wrong with me?

I groaned, burying my forehead in my hands. Oh, my God. I’d be plenty fine never seeing him again. Ever. Something warm twisted in my chest. That was a lie. I could still taste his blood on my tongue. Still recall the feel of his muscled body pressed flush to my back. The memory of his groan as I fed from him. The possessive hand wrapped around me, splayed over my belly.

Heat curled in my core.

I looked over the breakfast Vittorio had prepared and attacked it. The omelette was done to perfection, with mushrooms, cheese, and bacon. I slurped down the entire kettle of coffee. Downed the toast, lathering it with extra jam.

I felt a little better after eating. The craving was gone, at least.