Page 46 of Call of the Blood

“Crawl up and put your face in the pillow, Everly,” he said, and I knew he was watching me move. Those words were hoarser and huskier than anything he’s said yet. Even the comment about the heels and the dress had been playful instead of heated in comparison to this.

I did as he wanted, and he was over me, behind me. He reached around and grabbed my jaw with a hand, leaning in to kiss my neck. Then he pushed into me once again.

This time, the pace was not measured. This time, he went hard and fast. And that pillow? It came in handy as I screamed. The bed frame shook and slammed into the wall. He growled with nearly every thrust, as if it took all his control not to break the furniture or me. And I wanted to be broken. This was everything and more than I had imagined it to be. His face over my shoulder, him holding me in place as he took me. I was lost in the feeling, my only thought and focus in life now was what he was doing to me.

I didn’t orgasm once while he fucked me through the night. I orgasmed twice. He moved the position a little, sometimes raising up to grab my hips or reach around to rub my nipples or clit. But through all of that, he didn’t let up the pace of his thrusts.

And finally, the third time I was going to shatter into a thousand pieces underneath him, he followed me, holding me tightly from behind, my head turned almost painfully to kiss him as everything came to a climactic end, the sounds that had been coming out of me muffled by his kiss.

And I wasn’t sure if the exhaustion that immediately hit me was because of him or the sunrise, but I swayed, nearly falling underneath him. He quickly settled me down into a comfortable position to sleep, saying something I couldn’t comprehend. I couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer.

19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Iwoke up but didn’t open my eyes. He still knew.

“Good evening,” he whispered, smooth like honey in my ear.

He was curled around me, my head on one of his arms as a pillow and the other draped over me. His finger drew little circles on my breastbone, suspiciously squished between my breasts, thanks to my own arm pressing them together.

“Good evening,” I tried to reply, but I was hoarse, and it kind of hurt to talk.

“Let’s get you fed,” he said, chuckling softly. Before he untangled himself from me, he squeezed in closer and tilted my head to kiss me.

The kiss took my breath away, and I blinked several times as he got out of bed and revealed that he was already hard.

“Did you sleep?” I asked, barely anything coming out.

“I did. Once you are fed, we should probably talk.”

Hate that.

I pushed out of bed and looked down. I was, in fact, covered in marks. Certain spots looked like places he’d held me a bit too tightly, not that I noticed. Certain places he’d been intentional, leaving hickies in places only I would find them.

He came toward me, kneeling in front of me, his fingers grazing a mark that was really just a purple bruise.

“This will all heal by the end of tonight,” he said, staring at it. “I still have to be careful, even with you as a vampire.”

“I really liked last…” I couldn’t keep going. It actually hurt to talk.

“Don’t mistake my comment for guilt,” he said. “You asked for it.”

He lifted me off the bed with one arm, and I didn’t struggle until he carried me naked out of the bedroom, the one he claimed while here, and into the kitchen.

“There’s no one here,” he reminded. “And no cameras inside, I believe. And even if there were cameras…” He shrugged. “I’ll tell Maria to wipe the footage or turn them off. But I grabbed this.” He put his folded black button-up from the night before on the counter between us. I quickly grabbed it and slid it on, feeling more comfortable with some barrier between me and the world.

I didn’t say anything as he prepared blood. I didn’t even try to get involved, knowing he had just done this. If he was there, he liked to do it—habit, wanting to do a thing for me. I didn’t care. I just stayed out of the way.

After the first hot sip, my throat felt immediately better. Not healed, not yet, but soothed.

“Talk?” I asked before taking another sip. I sounded better. Not close to good, but slightly better.

“Drink.”

I finished up and slid the glass to him. He washed it and placed it in the sink. It felt like an eternity of mundane things between me and something important. I was antsy by the time he placed it on the rack to dry.

“How do you feel?” he asked