Page 16 of Bloodween

Would this be what it feels like to have a threesome?

“Do you need a break?” he asked. “We can take one.”

My chin dipped into my chest. “Do you think I’m weak?”

His laugh was quiet, wrecked. Then his teeth grazed my skin like maybe he did want to sink them in and taste blood.

“What happens if you bite me?” His eyes met mine. “As him.” I clarified. As far as I knew about turned werewolves, they didn’t have fated mates. Biting wouldn’t cause him to imprint on me, but I was curious what could happen.

“You bleed.”

I chuckled.

“Oh she actually can laugh,” he teased, slowly raising to his feet and then helping me up with ease. I rested against his chest; his skin was hot, heartbeat heavy against mine.

We breathed each other in, the air thick between us.

Then he gave a small tug, guiding me into the dim bedroom. Most of the light was swallowed by the trees outside, only a faint trace slipping through the oversized window.

I stopped in front of the king-sized bed while he crossed to the nightstand and flicked on the small lamp. There wasn’t much to see—just a bed, a dresser with a mirror, a chair, and… a digital clock.

2:34 a.m.

Eight hours and fifty-five minutes.

“Bed,” he said, quiet but certain.

“What happened to that break?” I joked as he invaded my space. He was so close I could smell me on him, and also the iron and ash from the elixir. Had it mixed with my juices, the ones he’d been lapping up like the dog he was?

Lovely.

I moved to climb onto the bed, but his hand wrapped around my braids, forcing me back to him. A guttural cry left my lips, followed by a moan at his touch on my neck.

“It’s over,” he whispered against my ear. “Time to play.”

I turned, pushing him away, but he barely moved, his body solid as stone.

He seized my wrists, keeping me still, and placed my left hand on his print. I swallowed. I’d seen it through his gray pants before, but feeling it made me want to take a step back. Maybe even run.

His head dropped back as my fingers moved up and down his length.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” he asked. “Your touch, your damn smell, your energy.” His eyes snapped to mine. “Are you using your witch magic on me?”

“No,” I snarled. “Your wolf just knows how dangerous I am… and he loves it.”

“He fucking does,” Dorian said through a grunt as his hands closed around my throat. He lifted me by it, clean off the floor, my feet dangling, and slammed his mouth against mine. My legs locked around him, grinding against the hard line between us. One hand stayed at my neck; the other slid down and found me—wet, throbbing, ready.

The air left me in ragged bursts as he rubbed that slick heat, turning my world red as his hand squeezed tighter.

The pleasure blurred fast, flipping into panic when my chest burned for air. I clawed at him, smacked his arm, tried to get a word out—but Dorian was gone.

“pyra dae,” I gasped, the spell scraping out.

Heat burst beneath my skin. His palms tore away with a snarl, the smell of singed flesh hanging between us. Thankfully, the bed was there to break my fall.

I sat there catching my breath, throat still burning, adrenaline still high.

“Sorry,” I blurted as he looked down at his hands. “You were choking me to death.”