Page 88 of Flames and Blood

“What are—”

“Put your foot on my shoulder.”

She does. The other leg opens for me on its own.

She smells of woman and woodsmoke and warm stone. Then I put my mouth on her pussy and stop thinking about anything at all.

She’s hot enough there to tingle. My mouth has been cold since 1965, and the shock of the difference goes through my whole chest. She jerks against my face at the first contact.

“Oh!”

I hold her hips flat on the table. I work my tongue up through her, slow, until I find her clit.

“Yes! There.” Her hand is in my hair, pressing me closer.

My fangs are down. They came down somewhere between the door and the table. I keep them clear of her, careful, every second, and that care is most of what’s holding me together.

I go at her steadily. Flat tongue. Then the point of it. Then my mouth closes over her clit, sucking, and her hand comes down on my shoulder, nails digging in.

Her other hand finds the table edge. Her thighs shake against my ears.

“Yes! Fuck! Oh, God!” She’s loud.

I did not expect that from a woman who spent a year learning to make no noise. Every sound she makes goes straight down into my cock.

I put two fingers back into her while my mouth stays where it is. She comes the first time on both. Her whole body clenches down around my hand. The heat of her climbs against my face until staying there is genuinely difficult.

I stay there.

She’s still shuddering when she pulls at the back of my neck to lift me off.

I don’t lift off.

“Wait—” Her voice cracks. “Wait, you need to—”

I don’t need anything. I don’t remember when last I tasted a woman. Definitely not one like this. I’m not stopping now.

She figures that out about ten seconds later. Her hand goes loose on my neck. Her head goes back.

“God, please—” She doesn’t finish it.

“Mm,” I say against her, and go back to work.

The second one takes longer, and it lands somewhere different in her. She’s noisy through the whole build.

“Oh! Oh, oh, oh!”

Then at the top of it she goes silent, mouth open, both hands flat on the table behind her holding her weight up. Her heat spikes. I feel it on my mouth and my cheeks and along my forearms.

She sags. Her leg slides off my shoulder.

“I’m done,” she gasps.

“I’m not.” I get up off the floor and take her with me, arms around my neck, kicking at the jeans that are still tangled around one ankle.

We go for the bed, and we do it badly. Lips locked, hands everywhere. We land on the mattress in a tangle with the whole thing creaking under us.

She puts me on my back.