Page 42 of Fangs

Bloodlust

Ibreak the kiss with a snarl.

Lucy’s wet lips chase mine. The scent of her heat, the rich copper of her monthly blood slam into me like a fist.

My cock throbs so hard it hurts, already leaking against the front of my trousers.

She jumped. Off a fucking roof. To wake herself up.

The memory of her body falling—of almost losing her—ignites a vicious poison under my skin.

“Do you know what you did to me?” My voice is low, rough, barely human. I catch her wrists and pin them behind her back. Shadows unfurl from every corner of the room, living darkness answering my will. They coil around her arms, her waist, her thighs—cool silk that tightens just enough to remind her she is caught.

“Do you have any idea what it does to a creature like me when the only thing he wants in this world throws herself from a chapel roof?”

She shivers. Her pulse hammers against my chest.

“I thought—”

“You thought it was a dream.” I laugh, dark and humorless. “Bad girl.” The words drip with promise. “You risked everything. My sanity. My control. My fucking heart.” I lean in until my lips brush her ear. “And now you are going to take your punishment like the good little virgin you pretend to be.”

The shadows lift her and deposit her on the bed. I strip without ceremony—coat, shirt, boots—until I stand naked, cock jutting thick and purple, veins standing proud, the head flushed and glistening. Her eyes drop. Her mouth parts.

“Look at it,” I order. “Look at what you do to me every time you breathe.”

I climb over her, knees bracketing her ribs, and feed the first inch past her lips. She opens for me instantly. Heat. Wet. Perfect. I push deeper, watching her swollen mouth stretch around my shaft, glossy and strained. Inch by inch she takes me until the tip kisses the back of her throat. Tears prick her eyes. She does not pull away.

“That’s it,” I rasp. “Take every inch of the cock you almost made me bury with you.”

I thrust in shallow, controlled strokes, never giving her more than she can handle, never giving her less than she deserves.

“You jumped. You scared the monster who already owns you. Now you swallow what that does to me.”

Her tongue works. Her throat flutters. I feel the orgasm coil low and brutal. My control frays.

“Fuck—Lucy—”

I come hard, flooding her mouth in thick pulses. She does not hesitate. She swallows every drop without being told, throat working greedily, eyes locked on mine. The sight undoes something in my chest.

I pull free with a wet sound. A single bead of come glistens on her lower lip. I thumb it away.

“Good girl.”

The praise is soft. Reverent. The shadows loosen just enough for her to feel the shift from punishment to reward.

I move down her body, ripping away the last of her clothes with my will.

Her thighs fall open under the dark coils. There she is—flushed, swollen, streaked with the dark evidence of her cycle. The scent hits me like blood and sin and home.

She has been through enough. Thomas. The jump. The fear. Tonight she only gets worship.

I settle between her legs and drag my tongue from entrance to clit in one long, filthy stroke. She cries out. I seal my mouth over her and suck—hard. Menstrual blood and slick flood my tongue. I swallow with a growl that vibrates against her cunt.

“This is mine,” I murmur against her flesh. “Every drop. Every tremble. Every broken sound you make.”

I feast. Tongue fucking the tight virgin hole in shallow thrusts while my lips work her clit. Shadows hold her open, immobile, offered. I edge her ruthlessly—build her high, then pull back the second her thighs start to shake. She sobs. Begs. The shadows flex, keeping her exactly where I want her.

“Please—Blake—please—”