Page 55 of Craving Carla

“I warned you what would happen if you got hurt,” he whispers, his breath cool against my skin. He runs his lips over my swollen, bruised cheek, and I wince. He notices immediately, moving to my sore, bruised nose, planting soft kisses on it.

“This is unacceptable, Carla,” he says, his voice laced with barely controlled rage. “I won’t have anyone mistreating you, notnow, not ever. I’m going to show you just how special you are tonight.”

His hands caress me, soothing my aches, and my vision blurs from the tenderness of his touch. Then he pulls back and brings his wrist to his mouth, his fangs extending as he bites down. Blood pours from the wound, mixing with the shower water at our feet.

Amari holds his wrist out to me. “Drink,” he commands. “This will help you heal quickly. I won’t stand for watching your bruises change colors—it will make me cross the bridge and kill more men.”

I shake my head and push his wrist away, but his hand comes around the back of my neck, gripping it roughly. He takes his wrist to my mouth, pressing it against my lips. I try to resist, but he’s too strong.

“Drink,” he repeats, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The blood trickles down my throat, cold and metallic with an underlying sweetness I wasn’t expecting. It slides down my throat like wine, warming me from the inside out.

Amari leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re stubborn and fight against your own wellbeing. That stops right now.”

He pulls his wrist back and presses his forehead against mine as he dips me back under the showerhead, letting the water rinse the blood from my mouth.

“Asshole,” I mutter, and he grins against me.

“You like it,” he says, with a confidence that irritates me because he’s right.

He turns off the water and pulls me out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying me off, then wrapping it around me before doing the same for himself. He moves closer to me, cupping my cheeks that are already starting to heal. I can feel the cuts in my mouth closing up, the pain subsiding.

Amari leans into me, pressing his lips against my nose, then my cheek, and this time I don’t wince. I can’t take the torture anymore. When his lips move from my cheek, I tilt my head up and steal a kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into me.

He grins against my lips, but only for a moment before taking control. His mouth claims mine in a kiss so deep, so consuming that I forget where we are, who we are. His tongue slides against mine, tasting me, exploring me. One hand cradles the back of my head while the other presses against my lower back, pulling me flush against him.

The kiss is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—passionate, tender, possessive all at once. It’s not just physical; it’s like he’s pouring his soul into me, telling me without words how much he wants me, needs me. My knees buckle, but his arm tightens around my waist, lifting me effortlessly.

“Carla,” he breathes against my lips, my name soft on his tongue.

I’m so lost in the kiss that I don’t realize he’s carried me out of the bathroom until I feel the soft mattress beneath my back. Amari rips the towel from my body and climbs on top of me, never breaking the kiss. His hands frame my face, his body pressing me into the bed as his mouth worships mine with such devotion that I have to break away to gasp for air.

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I first laid eyes on you,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “You’re a siren, and your body sings to my heart and mind. I’m bewitched, caught under your spell.”

He pulls back to stare into my eyes with such hunger, such intensity that my breath catches. There’s something wild in his gaze, an obsession, a deep, dark craving that should frighten me but instead makes me feel powerful, desired, unstoppable.

“Carla,” he says, his voice suddenly vulnerable, “will you let me make love to you? I know even I am not worthy of a woman like you, but the honor...”

I grip his face and pull his lips back to mine. “Yes,” I whisper against his mouth, “yes, I want you too.”

Something inside him snaps at my words. His control slips, and he comes unhinged in the most beautiful way. His mouth crashes down on mine, no longer gentle but desperate, hungry. His hands are everywhere at once—in my hair, on my breasts, gripping my hips. He kisses me until I’m breathless, then moves to my neck, my shoulders, my collarbones.

When he reaches my breasts, he groans like a man starved. He cups them in his hands, kneading gently before lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue sends electricity coursing through me, and I arch up into him, seeking more. He sucks, licks, teases one breast then moves to the other, giving it equal focus.

“Perfect,” he murmurs against my skin. “So fucking perfect.”

He pushes my breasts together, taking both nipples into his mouth at once, and I cry out at the sensation, my hands flying to his head, holding him to me. I’ve never felt anything like this—never imagined pleasure could be so intense, so overwhelming.

After what feels like hours of sweet torture, he moves lower, trailing kisses down my stomach, dipping his tongue into my navel. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide as he settles between my legs. But then he stops, just staring at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

I look up, wondering what he’s doing. “What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Please don’t tell me you shaved for that asshole,” he says, his voice edged with jealousy.

“Shut up,” I snap. “What are you doing?”

A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. “Claiming my prize.”

---