Page 42 of Blood & Bedlam

I see our bodies becoming one, over and over, the ecstasy of our coupling, the damn divinity on his face when he releases. I buck my hips faster, the world spinning around me as more memories overwhelm me.

His eyes on mine as he lowers between my legs, my wedding dress bunched around my waist, the first time he tasted me …

My body spread out over his in an oversized clawfoot tub, the water rippling gently over our bodies with every thrust, Vladimir’s hands in my hair, his lips on mine …

Vladimir laid out on a large desk, books and battle maps scattered to the floor, his hands on my torso, guiding me over his cock as I ride out my orgasm, shaking apart on top of him …

The moments threaten to trap me, the low fire in my belly building to an inferno. I’m lightheaded, unbalanced as he brings me to the edge again. He pants and groans my name against my skin, the scrape of his fangs gentle, the lick of his tongue fire against my nipples. He’s torturing me, forcing me to feel every ounce of pleasure at once, and it’s too much, too much—

My eyes fly wide. With a sob, I claw at the hand around my neck, nails biting against the muscles in his forearm, both from shock and the earthquake that’s threatening to shatter inside of me. He holds me tight, but we’re suspended high above the bed, his body underneath mine. Self-preservation screams at me that we could fall, but the pleasure from his thrusts quells my anxiety. I don’t focus on the expanse of air beneath us, but on his gaze, on the way his eyes drink me in like the sacrament.

I push myself into a sitting position, straddling his hips as he fucks me in intense strokes, deep enough to steal my breath. Midair, I let him control my hips, trust him to keep me safe. I release the iron grip I have on his arms, explore his torso with my fingers, trace over his hardened nipples, scrape along the planes of his abs. We regard each other, letting instinct guide our movements, but it’s the emotion in his eyes that breaks me apart. In those eyes is devotion—it’s fucking religion. Eight hundred years’ worth of regret and pain, condensed to a moment’s relief.

In the worship, there is only the two of us and the continuation of a lifetime cut short.

His cock swells as his back arches, and at once, I know what I need to do. With a wicked grin, I pull my hair to the side, exposing my neck. The light of the moon shines a pale hue over us, but Vladimir is stunning in shades of darkness, in the shadows of his pain, in the depths of his desire. The blood in my veins calls to him, and I offer it freely, the same as my body, the same as my very fucking soul.

His sinful lips part, moonlight dancing off the glint of pearly fang, and in this moment, he is my devil, my prince. His torso rises to mine, and I welcome him, our arms circling each other tight. Vlad’s teeth scrape and scratch over the tender spots they marked before, and when they sink in tandem with his thrusts, it shatters me.

I live, I breathe, I fucking die as he feasts, each draw of my lifeblood a connector that binds our souls together the way they always should have been. Warmth floods me, and I’m so sated and blissed in his arms that I hardly notice our bodies falling gently back to earth. It registers vaguely that I didn’t take in his blood—the Bonding ritual isn’t complete, but I’m too tired to do more than let my eyes flutter shut with his cock still hard inside of me and his lips pressing kisses over my forehead.

When I come to, fingers are stroking lovingly through my hair, and it feels so good that I fight the urge to open my eyes. There’s delicious pressure splitting me apart, the ache in my core undeniable as I realize I’m still stretched around Vladimir’s cock. His chest is hard beneath my cheek, and I crack an eye, grimacing as I adjust to the light.

The reality of what leaving this bed means is a horror I’m not ready to think about, but I try to be brave about it. Having to walk in that chamber and face those monsters is far down on things I’d like to be doing, but Fleur explained my presence was required. She and Vlad argued about it, but in the end, she made the argument that, at least there, I would be surrounded by the family. That if they tried to come for me, it was better to be surrounded by our own, in our city.

“It’s nearly time.”

“How long was I asleep?” I ask. My body aches, but in such a good way that I’m not even mad.

“About an hour,” he answers, a little sheepish in his response.

“You let me sleep on your cock for an hour and didn’t wake me up?” There’s a cute little flush to his cheeks, and below me, his heart rate quickens.

“You wouldn’t let me move you. When I tried, you held me tighter and wound your hips over me, so I filled you up a few times while you slept … Just having your body wrapped around me was enough to do it. Your perfect cunt squeezes so tight when you’re dreaming, my star.” His words send a thrill through me.

“How did it feel?” I whisper, rolling my body against him. The bite of pain is worth the burst of pleasure, the low rumble that’s building in his chest.

“Fucking divine.” His fingers come up to caress over my lips while his other hand drops to my hips, urging my movements on. We shouldn’t, but the world outside is so fucking bleak and in here it’s safe and good.

“So wet, and warm and deep.” He groans, head falling back against the sheets. The sensation has me crying out, sensitive, and he stiffens, sliding his hips out to give me a reprieve. I can feel how fucking full I am of him and I whimper, pushing past the pain to bear down on him once more.

“Gentle, my star.” He purrs, lifting me from his body with ease until his cock snaps back against his abdomen. Vlad places me back where I was, his cum leaking down my thighs, dripping between us. I try and fail to close my legs, but Vlad is having none of it. With ease, he flips us over, ignoring my protests, and shuffles his body down, kissing over my abdomen, my lips and thighs.

“I’m a mess,” I protest, but one swipe of his tongue through my lips sends my eyes rolling. Vlad groans and presses my thighs wider, pinning me down with his huge hands before delving back in earnest, licking and sucking our release from my skin.

“You should see how beautiful you look when your cunt weeps for me.” He groans in awe, and I feel my core clench, the motion causing more of his cum to leak out. “Fuck,” he nearly whines, eyes focused on the sight. He runs his tongue flat over me, collecting his release on the tip, and pushes it up and around my clit. I see stars as he works me over, stimulating too many of my nerves at once.

“Vladimir,” I moan, hands fisting the sheets. My body slides back, overstimulated, but he keeps licking, keeps sucking until my legs start to shake. I’m hot, too hot, and his tongue moves impossibly fast, butterfly wings against my heated flesh, vibrating my clit until spots blur my vision. Two fingers slide inside, the slight ache is lessened by the healing working through my body, but when he presses the pads of his fingers along my walls, tapping out a rhythm in tandem with his mouth, a tidal wave breaks. A gush of liquid heat explodes around his fingers, drips down his hand, and soaks my thighs, the sheets beneath us.

I’m breathless as his tongue glides over me, lapping it up, leaving goose bumps in his wake. My chest constricts as I struggle to breathe and I smash my knees together, clamping his hand in place.

“You taste delicious, my star. I could drown in you,” he praises, kissing over the tops of my flushed, shaking thighs. His own eyes are bright as he looks me over, and when he pulls his fingers from me and stands, he seems unaffected by the fact that I just came harder than I ever have before. That he pulled something from my body that no one else has ever come close to, even me by my damn self.

It’s all I can do to watch him disappear into the bathroom, leaving me in a puddle on his bed. I hear the droplets hitting the floor of the shower, and when he returns to pick me up and carry me inside, I don’t have the energy to protest. I let him wash my hair, working out tension from my neck and shoulders, relishing in the smattering of kisses his lips ghost across my skin. Vlad washes my body with care, meticulous in his duty, ensuring every part of me is treated with equal respect.

The wet spot on the sheets from the left side of the bed is embarrassingly large, but Vlad only wraps me up tight in the comforter and lays me on his chest again on the other side. I should sleep, but I’m wired. In less than an hour, we’ll be expected to dress and head down to the trial. An hour after that, Camille will either be victorious, or a part of Vladimir will die with her.

The quiet settles over us like the weight of a hurricane. We can feel it moving in on the Gulf Stream, see the water rising against the bridge lines, smell it in the air around us. There’s no stopping Mother Nature, and we’re dead set in the path of destruction.