Page 48 of Fangs

“Not to me.”

His eyes widen. “Lucille—”

He kisses me, desperate and hungry. Devastating. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I feel the cold of him and the heat of him and everything in between.

The shadows rise around us, wrapping us in darkness.

Fuck

The library smells of old paper and candle wax. Blake has filled the long table with low-burning beeswax pillars, their light pooling gold across the scattered books. A single velvet chaise waits near the tall windows, deep crimson and wide enough for sin. He stands in front of me, silver hair catching the flame, violet-blue eyes ringed in crimson that never fully fades.

“I want you to take me,” I say, voice steady even though my pulse is not. “Tonight. Fully. I’m asking.”

His eyes darken. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I don’t look away. “I have waited long enough to find the right man. I’m sure it’s you. If we are never meant to stay together after this… then give me at least this. Something real to remember so I know it was never a dream.” My voice cracks on the last word. I beg without shame. “Please.”

He is silent for a heartbeat that stretches into forever. Then he leans in, fangs already lengthening, and breathes against my mouth.

“I will bite you.”

I laugh, soft and reckless. “I hope you do.”

“Oh, Lucy.” The words are a dark promise. “You have no idea what you are asking for.”

He reaches for the ribbon at my shoulder.

“You know that you can trust me, right?”

I nod, throat tight.

“Because I’m going to fuck you as if you shouldn’t.”

The words land like a brand. My pulse stutters. My hands fist in his shirt. “Fuck me with no mercy.”

He smiles—slow, dark, the smile of a creature who has waited centuries to ruin something precious.

He takes the dress from me piece by piece. First the outer bodice, fingers working every hook with deliberate patience. The fabric whispers down my arms. Next the chemise, sliding over my breasts so the cool air kisses my nipples into tight peaks. He pauses there, palms cupping the soft weight of them, thumbs brushing the sensitive tips until I arch into his hands with a broken sound.

“Eyes on me,” he orders.

I force my gaze up. He lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make my knees buckle. The edge of a fang scrapes the curve of my breast—barely a prickle, a deliberate threat. Heat floods between my thighs. He releases the peak with a wet pop and moves to the other, sucking, scraping, never biting. Shadows unfurl from the shelves at his command, cool silk coiling around my wrists and drawing them gently behind my back.

“So fucking wet already,” he murmurs against my skin. “I can smell it from here.”

He kisses me like he is claiming a battlefield. When he finally pulls back, the shadows answer him at once. They lift me as if I weigh nothing and set me on the edge of the massive oak table in the center of the room. The wood is cool against the backs of my thighs.

He finishes stripping me until I’m bare before him, shadows holding me open and offered. He sheds his own clothes with far less care. His cock springs free—thick, heavy, pumped purple with blood, the head flushed and already glistening. My stomach flips. He is too big. Impossibly big.

He leans down, fangs scraping the column of my throat, the underside of my breast, the soft skin just above my hip—never breaking, only promising. Each time he closes his mouth and sucks instead, hard enough to leave marks, the faint edge of teeth a constant, delicious threat.

“I could bite you here,” he growls against my breast, “and drink while I fuck you. Or here.” A scrape over my inner thigh. “You would come so hard you’d forget your own name.”

His palms cup my breasts again, thumbs stroking the tight peaks before his mouth closes over one. He sucks hard, the edge of a fang scraping the soft curve hard enough to draw a single bright bead of blood. He licks it away with a low sound of approval and moves to the other breast, repeating the torment, until I’m soaking wet, aching.

He steps between my legs and rubs the broad head of his cock through my slick folds.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs. “And still untouched. Mine to ruin.”