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And to my surprise, he lets me in.
Once I’m inside his head, I tap into his pleasure and use it to soothe what’s left of my pain. His pleasure becomes my pleasure becomes our pleasure, and soon I’m meeting his thrusts with my own.
He fucks me like a man possessed, like a rabid beast. Like a demon. I sense his bloodlust, the insurmountable need to consume and devour. But I also sense his restraint. He could just as easily have ripped my throat out like he did to the others.
It’s his love for me that stops him from doing what comes so naturally to a vampire in his mental state. His bloodlust is something he can’t control—just like love itself. Love can be tender and sweet, but it can also be brutal and piercing.
It can draw blood.
On some level, Will knows who I am and that he loves me, but that awareness doesn’t reduce his need to consume. It just transforms his hunger from one form to another. And this new hunger still has to take from somewhere, so he’s taking his pleasure from me.
His grip on my hips tightens as the need within him climbs. I can feel my orgasm building alongside his. Scratching and clawing its way to the top of the mountain.
We hurl ourselves over the other side, freefalling. He comes, and then I come, piggybacking off his pleasure.
He slams into me, holding me steady. His cock throbs. Warmth spreads outward from the place where our bodies are joined. He growls and I moan, my muscles clenching. His final thrusts are punishing, and I take them. Not just because I’m strong enough, but because in my own perverse way, I enjoy it.
The intensity of his desire, and the pain it brings reminds me that I’m still alive, that Will’s alive, and his love for me is stronger than his need for survival.
His fangs graze my shoulder, making me shiver. He licks the spot he just scratched but doesn’t bite down. He’s returning to himself in the wake of his orgasm. But with renewed awareness comes a deluge of regret.
He knows what he’s done to me, and he hates himself for it.
He doesn’t know he’s already been forgiven.
Chapter Seventeen
William
As the cloud of wrath and hunger dissipates, I realize that I have done something terrible.
There’s blood everywhere. All over me and the floor and smeared across the body of the girl in front of me.
Mariah, I remember. Her name is Mariah.
And my cock is still inside her.
No, I think.Please, no...
I check her over in a panic, making sure she hasn’t been bitten. She’s alive, but badly ruffled. Breathing, but dazed. I withdraw from her body, and she lets out the softest whimper. I smell the blood, old and new, theirs as well as hers.
I have done something unforgivable.
An avalanche of regret overtakes me. I press my forehead to her chest. No amount of contrition will ever make up for the damage I have done, but I repent anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, over and over again. “I’m so sorry, my love.”
I kiss her face and the bruises on her body, the violet palm prints on her hips. I kiss her pussy gently, like doing so will make it all better. But I can’t fix this with a kiss any more than kissing a papercut would make it heal faster.
“Will,” she croaks. I move up her body, bracing for the anguish I expect to see reflected at me. But this beautiful, extraordinary creature just smiles at me through her tears. “You’re back.”
I kiss her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sad.” She touches my cheek. “Don’t be sad. We’re free.”
Free.I choke on the word. The irony that she won’t want to be anywhere near me now that we can finally be together almost makes me laugh. I sit up, pulling her into my lap, and begin rocking her gently. She curls up like a cat, her dark head tucked beneath my chin.
“How bad was it?” I ask.
