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Her fangs glinted in the low light, sharp and dangerous. With every breath, I could feel their imprint against my skin, digging lightly into the throbbing pulse point at my neck.
A single strand from her braid had come undone, framing her flushed face.
“Just go, Twyla,” she breathed. “This Call is too much for us.”
Our eyes locked as a frustrated scream welled in my throat.
Dear gods, my body was still on fire, aching for her touch. Pathetic, desperate words were queued on my tongue, corralled only by the scraps of dignity I still possessed.
My core ached, unfulfilled and unable to keep up with her hot and cold behavior.
“Go!”
She raised her voice and I backed away instinctively, scrambling up the stairs.
The house was a blur as I rushed past, shutting the service room door with a loud thud.
I was going to crawl out of my skin—there was no doubt in my mind. Breath tumbled from my lips as I leaned against the sturdy doorframe, fists clenched, trying to get my body under control.
But as I closed my eyes, all I could feel was the rasp of her breath on my skin, the scent of her pheromones high in the air, the clasp of her fingers on my waist... Oh gods, the way she said my name...
I needed a release—a quick one. Just a small indulgence to relieve the pressure tightening my core.
With trembling fingers, I slid the lock into place, my free hand hiking the work shirt to my waist. Without preamble, I delved into my swollen folds, seeking the sweet release I so craved.
My breath burst in a violent gasp at first contact.
“Fuck!”
The muted scream reverberated around the small service room as a crippling pain shot through my body.
I cursed again, retracting my fingers as my knees wobbled and hit the floor.
What the hell?
I examined my wet fingers for signs of blood because surely, that kind of pain meant that I shouldbe bleeding. But my fingers only displayed the clear evidence of my desire.
Panic crawled up my throat, and I took a deep breath, trying to keep it at bay. It seemed like a futile task when I was already on my knees with my dress hiked up around my waist and a sharp pain cresting between my legs, but I tried all the same.
Groaning, I shuffled forward to the mirror in the corner of the room, trying to get a look at what was going on down there.
As I spread my thighs in front of the old mirror, a gasp stuck in my throat.
I was swollen.
And so very red.
My lips were twice their usual size, puffy and almost an angry red. I tentatively placed a slick finger against an outer lip and stroked downward—a gentle caress that usually gave me pleasure in the privacy of my own bed.
But this time, the tip of my finger accidentally brushed against my clit and I let out a sharp hiss, trying not to keel over from the sharp pricks of pain.
Dear gods, am I diseased?
As I split my knees wider, scooting closer to the mirror, my nether lips parted, revealing the slick, reddened opening. Breaths escaped my lungs in panicked gasps as I tried to make sense of it all.
For a long minute, I simply stared at myself. Curls tumbled over my shoulders, sticking out in all directions. Knees parted as wide as they would go. My sex glistening, swollen and almost...raw.
I hastened to close my thighs with a snap, just to erase the image reflected in the mirror, and a bolt of pain zipped through me, drawing another cry. Each touch was pure agony.
