Page 17 of Thorns from the Fall

His free hand grips my waist, and I’m not sure whose fault it is when my hips shift forward. When I feel the outline of his cock—not fully hard, but definitely paying attention—I swallow my groan. My breath comes out in quick bursts, and it’s clear he finds it encouraging. He sighs as he savors my blood, and I feel him twitch through his pants. I zero in on the blood drying on his skin, desperate for something to focus on that isn’t his dick, and I lick my lips.

The sound causes Roman to break away, head tilted back to see me, and his deep brown eyes are dazed beneath heavy lids. A wrinkle creases his brow as he catches his breath. He tongues a drop of my blood from a sharpened incisor, and I make up my mind. Grasping his wrist in mine, I yank his arm toward my mouth. Heedlessly, I bite the edge of a tattooed bloom—and drink. It’s a hit to my system as sparks fly behind my eyes. There’s a faint alcoholic tinge to it, and I wonder how much he’s drunk tonight.

“Stabbing you in the back and slicing you open while my cock slides into your ass,” he says. Guttural. Pained. “That one might be my favorite.”

Despite the threat in his words, my pussy clenches. I have to stop myself from thinking about what it would feel like to take him that way. I’m the definition of ‘fucked up,’ but I don’t care. This is helping him, and so what if I’m wet enough that I’m going to leave evidence of my arousal on his jeans? He uses both hands to reach down and squeeze my ass. He kneads my flesh and spreads me, making me think of what he might do if given the chance.

“You wish I’d ever let you fuck my ass,” I say, as if my imagination hadn’t ran wild since the moment he said it. He growls as he adjusts me.

“You think I didn’t see your toys, sweetheart? You’ve got quite an assortment.”

Before I can think of some witty retort about using a plug for his mouth, his thick fingertips are brushing my robe open. When Roman’s fangs bite beneath my collarbone, I cry out, back arching. One of his hands grips my hip while the other tweaks my nipple, drawing a whimper from me. When he doesn’t relent, I consider pulling him free by his hair, but instead I drag his hand to my lips, biting the same place I did when we’d fought. Gentle, this time, I draw his blood into my mouth. I don’t move for several seconds as we drink from one another—and then I can’t stay still any longer.

His dick is firm beneath me as I roll my hips, and his hand encourages each rocking motion with a firm grip on my upper thigh. The friction is mind-numbing, and I can’t stop myself.Won’t stop. Because for now, things make sense.Thismakes sense. I’d been stuck between this idea of black and white, good and evil, and had never imagined there could be something in the middle. When Roman had given me his blood and made meAscend, I’d realized nothing was as clear as I thought. Because of my feelings for him, I’d considered calling everything off. I’d considered allowing myself to die and not go through with the Ascension so I wouldn’t have to betray him. But, somehow, leaving him seemed worse.

Now, I’m sure Roman wishes he’d let me die.

His fingers dig into my skin, and he lifts his mouth from my chest. He removes his arm from my clutch with precise motions. Shoving the robe from my shoulders, his gaze caresses my body, all while his eyes go dark.

“I hate you,” he says, fingertips tracing upward before grabbing a piece of hair and tugging. It’s damp and tangled, and he spreads the singular strands apart between his thumb and forefinger. “Honestly, I don’t think there are strong enough words to describe it. Hate feels too…simple.”

His hand hovers over me, gliding down my body, doing more damage than if he were to simplytouch me. My skin chases his motions, like a cat arching into its owners’ caress.

“Itistoo simple,” I agree. “I wish I hated you. More than anything.”

His eyes lock on mine, and there’s a hint of a smile peeking around the corner of his mouth. “Be careful what you wish for, cockroach.”

Suddenly, his sharp fangs pierce my breast—just above the sensitive bud aching for attention. I suck in a breath through my teeth, the pain harsh enough to make me flinch, but his hand slides up my spine and grabs my hair at the base of my neck. I’m forced to arch into him, but I allow myself to drift away on the ache.

His cock strains at the fabric of his jeans, and I can’t help but roll my hips on the massive bulge. When Roman lets go of my hair, I sit up, slipping my weight to one knee. His head tilts back, and my blood dribbles from his lips. He’s wearing a half-smile,one I’ve rarely seen from him. I fumble with his zipper, wanting to have his body inside of mine one last time. He won’t let this happen again.Iwon’t let this happen again. But I can allow myself a proper goodbye.

I’ve got his pants pulled low on his hips, and I’m working on his boxer briefs when his hand grips mine.

“No,” he says, as if it takes every ounce of concentration. “Fuck no, Gwyn. You think you deserve this after everything you did?” Gravel and sea salt coat his words, and affront weathers his brows. “Never again, sweetheart. You’ll just have to rub that filthy pussy on me and remember how good I gave it to you.”

“Guess I’ll have to wait until you kill me,” I say, breathless. My mind screams at me to stand up, to run away from the predatory man who clearly wants me dead. But my body protests, and I don’t have the energy to fight it.

Or maybe I’m just back on my bullshit, as Hale would say. Risky choices with little regard for my own safety? That’s my bread and butter.

With Roman’s jeans pulled down, all that’s left between his dick and my cunt is the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs. He’s so fucking warm, and I start to rock against him despite everything.

“The best fantasies always start with you begging for my cock,” he admits. He reaches beneath me and adjusts himself, lining his hardness up with my clit. Every rock of my body over his is like a wave. Cresting over my head, it’s hard to breathe through it. In this moment, I’m not sure if dying would be the worst thing—well-fucked and thoughtless, I could just drift away.

“What if I begged for it right now? What if I asked you to fuck me and finish this?”

His mouth twitches and his eyes light up like a signal fire. The message he’s sending is bright enough that I should heed it.

“Well, are you asking?” he asks, and then he’s using both hands, indentations forming in my flesh from his grip as he moves me.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Not yet, I guess.”

“Too bad,” he says, and that signal fire turns into a pyre as he moves, making me crave both his body and the flames. Roman’s head dips low and he’s biting my other breast, and I nearly come from the sensations. He’s so hard, and I’m slick with need. The fabric between us is soaked, and I slow my wanton thrusting. Languid movements draw a groan from him, and he stops drinking.

“We’re going to kill each other,” he says, catching his breath. “You die, I die. You know that right? I can’t live in a world where you exist,” he says, and then he trails off, eyes widening in horror when he realizes what he almost said.

And I can’t live in a world where you don’t.

I’m reckless, spurred on by words unsaid, and I pick up my pace. He moans, gritty and raw. Despite our flesh not touching, the sound is obscene. I brace myself on his arms as his hands mold against my hips. His head lolls back and his eyes close.

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