Page 116 of Ophelia's Vampire

It’s not sexual, not entirely, though that’s certainly still a part of it as I gasp at all the unexpected sensation and claw my way closer to him. I suddenly can’t get enough of… anything. Enough air in my lungs, enough of Cas’s bare skin against mine, enough pleasure, enough touch, enough…

Cas pulls back, panting, but that pleasure doesn’t fade. It only grows sharper, more insistent, demanding something I can’t quite grasp. I move restlessly against him, a frustrated cry breaking from the back of my throat.

“You’re alright,” Cas soothes, his voice a low rasp as he smooths my hair away from my face, his touch an anchor in the storm that’s threatening to consume me.

“What… what happens next?”

Cas presses a kiss to my forehead before shifting to lie on the bed beside me. He pulls me close and runs more soothing touches over my arms, my shoulders, my back, my face.

His hands are shaking.

Only a little, but enough for me to reach up and curl my fingers over his where he cups them around my jaw. I squeeze, and the shaking steadies.

“Next…” he says, reaching for the open drawer of the bedside table. “You taste my blood.”

The flash of a dagger catches in the candlelight.

“Silver?” Panic creeps up the back of my throat. “I want to bond with you, not kill you. I’m not going to—”

“It would take much more than the nick of a silver dagger to do me in,” Cas assures me. “Just try not to plunge it into my heart, would you, love?”

With that warning, he shifts us on the bed so I’m astride him. Back against the headboard, he holds the blade up for me to accept or deny.

I take it from him, and it’s my hand trembling this time.

I’m not sure I can do this.

Everything in me is screaming how wrong this is. To hurt Cas, to pierce his skin, even if he’s the one telling me to do it…

“Can you… can you help me?”

His eyes are soft and knowing, so endlessly loving as he curls his fingers over mine and raises the blade slowly to his bare chest.

“Of course I can. Together, sweet Ophelia.”

Casimir

I barely feel the bite of the blade as Ophelia and I sink it into my flesh together.

A slight sting, a rush of warmth, and I take it from her and set it aside.

“Are you ready?”

We’ve talked about this part, and though I’m sure in theory she knew what to expect, the prospect of drinking another’s blood must be daunting.

But my brave Ophelia is not one to shy away from her fears. She’s not one to be daunted as her eyes lock with mine, filled with soul-deep determination, before she nods and dips her head.

“I love you, Casimir.”

We’ve said the words so many times in the months we’ve spent together, but they’ve never sounded so sweet as they do in her hushed vow. A breath of air over my wounded skin, and then her lips are there, fastening over the small cut.

By all the gods, I never knew such pleasure was possible.

My back bows with the sharp stab of ecstasy that spreads from the wound through my veins, my bones, my soul. I tangle a hand in Ophelia’s hair and hold her to me, savoring the immeasurable bliss of her drawing from me, of the soft sounds of pleasure that break from the back of her throat.

It’s a pleasure that far surpasses the physical.

Because with each draw and each wave of that pleasure, the tether of our bond knots tighter, settles deeper.

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