Page 57 of Craving Carla

“No more,” she pleads, “I can’t take any more.”

I climb back onto the bed, positioning myself between her legs. I stroke my dick, coating it with the wetness from her pussy. She watches me, her eyes widening slightly at my size. I lean down, capturing her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Her mouth opens to me, her tongue sliding against mine. I can feel how completely she’s surrendered to me, and it’s the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.

“This is an honor,” I whisper against her lips. “Having you like this. You won’t go a day without knowing how special you are to me, Carla. I’m going to worship you for giving me this.”

“Amari,” she breathes, her voice barely audible.

I position myself at her entrance, pressing just the head of my dick inside. She’s tight—so tight I have to grit my teeth against the pleasure. I know this is her first time, and despite the desire raging through me, I force myself to go slow, to be gentle.

It takes everything in me not to thrust forward, to claim her completely in one savage stroke. The beast in me wants to mark her, ruin her for anyone else, leave an imprint of myself so deep inside her that she’ll never forget who she belongs to. But the part of me that adores her, that wants to worship her, holds back the beast.

“Look at me,” I tell her, and those green eyes—those magnificent eyes that first captured me—fix on mine. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She nods, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders. “I want this. I want you.”

I push forward slowly, easing inside her inch by inch. Her body resists at first, then yields to me. A tear escapes the corner of her eye, and I lean down to lick it away, tasting the salt on my tongue.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” I whisper, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. “So perfect for me.”

I grab her wrists, pulling her hands above her head and pinning them there with one hand. My other hand cradles her face as I press my forehead against hers. This doesn’t feel like fucking. I’ve fucked hundreds of women over the centuries, used their bodies for my pleasure and thought nothing of it afterward. This is different. This is making love.

I’m making love to Carla.

When I’m fully seated inside her, I stay still, letting her adjust to my size. Her warmth surrounds me, hot, tight, and perfect.

“You feel like you were made for me,” I tell her, my voice rough with emotion. “Like your body was crafted to fit mine perfectly.”

I release her wrists, moving both hands to cup her face. “You’re so beautiful,” I say, stroking her cheeks with my thumbs. “So perfect. I’m going to keep you forever, Carla. Give you the world. Take care of you and your children.”

I begin to move, slow, shallow thrusts that make her gasp. I’m not going to last long—not with how tight she is, how warm, how perfect. Not with the trust and vulnerability I see in her eyes. It’s been centuries since I’ve come this quickly, but I can already feel the pressure building within me.

Every thrust feels like coming home. Like finding something I’ve been searching for since I first opened my eyes as a vampire. Each whimper she makes, each flutter of her eyelashes, each subtle shift of her hips to meet mine—it all feels like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place. The void that’s been inside me since Granada, since watching my world burn to ash, is filling with her—with Carla’s scent, her warmth, her existence.

Carla closes her eyes and arches her back, her walls clenching around me as she comes again. She moans my name, digging her nails into my back, and I follow her over the edge, my release hitting me like a freight train. I pump into her, filling her with my seed, marking her from the inside out.

I collapse against her, spent but still craving more. Her arms wrap around me, holding me close as I plant soft kisses against her neck. The pulse there, the steady rhythm of her blood moving beneath her skin, calls to me. I want to sink my fangs into her, to taste her essence, to claim her completely.

The urge is almost overwhelming, my fangs extending without conscious thought. I dig my nails into the mattress, fighting against the instinct. My whole body trembles with the effort of restraint.

Feeding and fucking have always been separate pleasures for me, distinct and unconnected. But with Carla, every part of mewants to claim her—with my seed, with my bite, with my very soul if I could give it to her.

But then Carla surprises me, tilting her head back with me still inside her. “It’s okay,” she whispers, wrapping her hand around my neck and pulling me down. “Bite me, Amari. Claim me.”

I lose all control at her words. My fangs pierce her neck, and her blood—sweet, perfect, peachy—floods my mouth. My dick hardens again inside her, and I begin to move, thrusting into her as I drink deeply. This isn’t an ordinary feed. This is a claiming. I’m claiming Carla as mine, marking her for any supernatural to see.

She whimpers as I rock hard against her, pumping in and out while drinking from her. When I pull back, I swipe my tongue over the wound—something I’ve never done before, a gesture of tenderness I’ve never felt compelled to offer any other woman. I come again, filling her a second time, overwhelmed by the connection between us.

In the back of my mind, I know what this means. I’ve just claimed her like a fated mate, even though my heart doesn’t beat for her. I’ve broken Fate’s laws, spat in the face of sacred tradition. And I don’t care. I’ll break every law, fight every god, challenge Fate herself to keep Carla with me.

I pull back to look into her eyes, which are heavy-lidded and dazed. She reaches up with weak fingers to touch my lips, smiling as another tear escapes. I pull out of her and sit up, pulling her with me, suddenly afraid I’ve been too rough.

“Thank you, Amari,” she murmurs, her voice weak. “Thank you so much for making me feel special.”

I pull her close, rocking her gently, relieved that she’s okay. “Don’t thank me, Carla. Don’t ever thank me for giving you the bare minimum. You deserve so much more than this. Give me time, and I’ll prove it to you.”

“No,” she says. “You’re fated?—”

I pull back, making sure she meets my eyes, needing her to understand. “I don’t care. I want you, Carla. I crave you. I need you. And I’m never letting you go.”

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