Page 131 of Bleed

“I won’t,” I pant, another shiver rolling through me. “I trust you.”

I don’t know why, but I do… which is objectively fucking insane considering he almost killed me three days ago. Some deeply buried survival instinct should be sounding every alarm I have, compelling me to run away screaming. Instead, there’s this strange, unwavering certainty burning through my chest. Something deeper than logic, stronger than fear, telling me I’m safe with him. That he won’t hurt me again.

I don’t know if it’s the bond or if I’ve finally lost whatever scraps of self-preservation I have left. Right now, I don’t care.

Elliott lowers his head. His fingers tighten in my hair as his mouth closes over my throat.

Pain flashes as his fangs punch through my skin, and I gasp, my fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

Then the venom hits.

Pleasure detonates through my veins, hot and dizzying, my knees buckling beneath me. Elliott catches me before I can fall, hauling me firmly against his chest as a moan slips from my lips.

His mouth seals tighter to my neck as he drinks. One pull, then another, my fingers knotting in the front of his hoodie.

This is insane.

Last time we did this, I passed out in his arms because he wouldn’t stop. Now I’m standing barefoot in the woods asking him to do it again. Objectively, it’s one of my worst ideas ever. And yet…

Elliott groans against my throat, the vibration sending another ripple of pleasure through me. My head spins, the edges of the world beginning to soften as the venom works its way through my system. For one terrifying second, the sensation is all too familiar– a flicker of fear cuts through the haze.

Then he stops.

Just like that.

Elliott goes perfectly still against me, his fangs withdrawing from my throat. I suck in a shaky breath as his tongue sweeps over the punctures, sealing the wounds before he slowly lifts his head.

For several seconds, neither of us speaks.

He stares down at me, pupils blown wide, breathing heavier than normal. A streak of red shines against his lower lip, and his tongue darts out to catch it.

He stopped.

The hunger is still there in his eyes, but it hasn’t swallowed him whole. He’s in control. Completely.

His gaze searches mine. “Are you satisfied?”

The dam I’d constructed around my emotions bursts.

I throw both arms around his neck, push up onto my toes, and kiss him hard.

Elliott makes a rough sound against my mouth before kissing me back with equal force, his arms closing around me so tightly it steals what little breath I have left. Whatever restraint kept him hiding in the shadows for the last three days is nowhere to be found now.

His tongue sweeps over my mine, tasting faintly of blood and sending another tiny shiver rippling through me. My hands sink into his hair, and he lets me tangle them in the strands as I kiss him like my life depends on it.

Every cell in my body is screaming for Elliott Faulkner. Fuck the past, fuck the danger– in this moment, I just want him so much it fucking aches. And for the first time since waking up at James’ mansion, I stop wondering what any of this means, because I know. I feel it in my marrow.

I gasp against his mouth as he lifts me in his arms, my feet leaving the ground and my legs winding instinctively around his waist. Then he turns us, my back meeting the rough bark of a tree as his hard body cages me in from the front. He rolls his hips, the obscene bulge in his jeans riding right against my soaked center, and I pant as I grind against him shamelessly. His hands are everywhere– one gripping my ass, the other roaming under my shirt and palming my tit.

I’m so lost in it that I don’t even realize his hand has wandered lower until I hear the sound of fabric ripping as he tears my shorts from my body. Then his fingers are pressing inside me, his thumb rubbing my clit in tight, ruthless circles. He breaks our kiss to watch my face, and I moan as he pumps two fingers in and out, stretching me.

“Eli,” I choke, the word barely out before he claims my mouth again. My hips jerk, back arching against the rough bark of the tree, but he just presses me harder into it, using his weight to pin me in place.

His fingers thrust in deep and I whimper, grabbing his wrist to try to slow him down or speed him up– I don’t even know which. He keeps going, faster, deeper, until I’m shaking and so close to coming undone it hurts. Then he pulls back again, his hand stilling while I make a strangled noise of protest.

“Please,” I pant, not above begging for it.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he groans, wrapping an arm around my waist and shoving his jeans down with his other hand. “Every fucking time.”