Page 57 of Fangbanger

“Damn you, vampire.” She slams a hand against the shelf. “I want it.”

I remove my fingers and grip my cock, slicking her wetness over it and shuddering at the feel.

“I will not make this easy for you.”

Her breath quickens. Perfect. She is so perfect for me. “Good,” she breathes. “I’ve never liked things easy.”

I lift her leg and push inside her before she can take her next inhale. She trembles.

“Breathe out,” I urge. My hand skims over her stomach, grounding her as she clenches on my cock. I’m only halfway in, and she might have no care for her pain, but I do. She complies and I sink in deeper. “So good,” I coax. I rub my face against her hair. I will not bite her like this. Not when I am so on edge, not when it will make the unsealed bond more painful.

“Sink further for me, little mate. Like that. Let me take care of you.” Another inch and I feel her pleasure cresting against the bond. “So soon?” I tease, thrusting shallowly. She moans and tries to push back against me, but I grip her hips. “Trust me,” I murmur. “I’ll make it good.” Another thrust, deeper. Her breath gasps out of her. She grips the shelves.

“Like that, Leah. And then you can come, and I won’t let you fall. I promise.” I bottom out inside her and she pulses around me.

“Marcus,” she breathes. Her head tips back, eyes shut, lips parted. All her fight is gone now. She is lost to me, and I am dangerously close to being lost to her.

“Leah,” I breathe against the edge of her mouth. “So good for me. So pretty. So soft.” She melts against my chest.

I roll my hips and she groans again, and it undoes me. I fuck her against the shelves. Her cries are sharp with pleasure, and I can feel it sing down the unsealed bond to me. More, it urges. Give her more. This is what you were made to do.

I savor every seesaw of her breath, the wet slide of her cunt, and the full handfuls I can make of her hips. When she comes apart with me stuffed inside her, I fuck her through it and grit my teeth against the urge to bite her, to claim her, to keep her.

“More, little mate,” I urge. My voice is raw and my body is on fire, and when she comes again, she takes me with her, over the edge and nearly into blackness.

As we come down, I breathe against her neck with my lips firmly closed, and I tell myself that I will be fine when I let her go. It will not be the end of my spirit.

I am a liar.

37

LEAH

The following evening, after sleeping for what feels like a year, I wake in my bed to a warm weight on my chest. I open my lids and blink into two green eyes. They blink back.

I freeze. There’s a tiny predator on my chest. It delicately licks one paw, ignoring me now that I am interested in it.

“Whose cat are you?”

The creature gives me an inscrutable glare and leaps off the bed, tail high in the air. Perfect. It, like all cats, has zero respect for me. This is why I don’t take the cats from Karina’s litters.

I follow, shuffling along and rubbing at my face. I fell asleep in my bed in the late morning, with the vampire curled protectively around me. I was dead to the world when my head hit the pillow. He smoothed my hair while I dreamed. That, I remember.

That and Marcus’s massive, empty house. He showed me a few rooms but seemed to take no interest in most of it. I got the sense that it was more of a base of operations than a home.

He is oddly feral for a vampire. More warrior than urbane sophisticate, like most of the undead I’ve killed. Part of him will always be a warrior, I suspect, with a fondness for weapons like the ones he has hung on his walls and a head for strategy. He will never be domestic⁠—

My thoughts scatter. The vampire is in my kitchen, paperback propped on his chest as he leans back in one of my chairs. The little cat twines around his ankles.

He turns another page.

I clear my throat.

He holds up a single finger before he shuts the book. His eyes silver as he looks at me, as his gaze traces the bare legs below my sleep shirt. It’s his—he grabbed it from his closet at home and pulled over my head. It smells spicy and male, and I never want to wash it.

I stroll toward the table. Marcus sits up straighter, book forgotten. I like how he watches me, how his gaze fastens on whatever bare skin he can find. I even like the proprietary gleam in his eyes.

Goddess, Leah. It’s a fling, not forever. I shake myself.