Page 52 of Ophelia's Vampire

A firmer touch this time, the pad of his thumb giving me just the pressure I need as he sinks two fingers deep. I ride his hand, shameless in pursuit of the climax that’s already coiling low and hungry in my core.

“Fuck, Ophelia.” Cas’s sweet profanity breaks across the overheated skin of my throat, taut and aching for him as he lowers his fangs to his mark.

The bite isn’t quite so sharp this time. A slow slide, a warm invasion as he claims me with fangs and fingers, insists on my pleasure while he draws from me.

I feel more than hear the growl of approval that rumbles up his throat when I arch into his bite, grind my hips down onto his hand and let myself go.

The reasons we shouldn’t be doing this, the over-thinking and warning bells demanding I put a stop to it, they all go silent and far away. My entire world narrows down to this moment.

Cas. His bite. The flames burning higher, hotter, consuming me completely.

The insistent press of his fingers hitting that sweet spot so deep inside that makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob rasp from my throat.

He pulls back a bare inch, runs his tongue over his mark, and whispers into my skin. “Just like that, Ophelia. Take just what you need from me.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Angling my hips to get more of his touch where I need it most, Cas chases my every movement, murmurs more sweet encouragement, and I’m undone.

My climax rips through me. Shattering, obliterating, stars break behind my closed eyelids, along with a new, unexpected sensation.

Cas’s lips are warm and firm as he slants them over mine. The faint copper tang of my blood fills my mouth as he strokes into me, devouring all my cries with one hand clasped tightly into my hair to hold me just where he wants.

I kiss him back.

Even though in some distant, sane corner of my mind I realize I should probably be repulsed by the taste of my blood on his lips, I can’t make myself care.

It takes a few long, languid minutes for all the tremors to subside, and as I finally settle back into my body, all my muscles are loose and pliant. A stark contrast to the marble strength of the vampire beneath me.

And it’s not just his strength that feels like marble.

Against my hip, the firm ridge of his cock presses into me like a brand. Hard, thick, and probably aching just as much as I was, I slide a hand between us and squeeze.

Cas hisses, hips jerking away like I’ve burnt him.

It snaps some more sanity back into me and I still my hand. “Don’t you want me to—”

Cas is rock hard against my palm, straining at the seam of his pants, but he wraps two gentle fingers around my wrist and draws my hand away.

“I want you torest, Ophelia.” He settles me deeper into his embrace, one sturdy arm around my back and the other soothing strokes over my hair.

We stay that way for a few long minutes, and as the buzzing pleasure of my orgasm and the lingering effects of his bite fade, a deep, contented peace settles over me.

“You’re warm,” I murmur, already feeling the first faint stirrings of sleep slipping in at the corners of my mind.

Cas chuckles. “Better?”

“You felt nice before, too.”

Another soft laugh, the press of lips against the top of my head. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, and I’ll try not to hold it against you when you’re back to hating me tomorrow.”

“Don’t hate you.” My eyelids are heavy. So heavy. And the words bubbling up on my tongue seem to come from somewhere very far away. “Never hated you.”

“Shh, Ophelia. There’s no need to—”

The words won’t stop, spilling out of me with all the regret I’ve carried around for the last seven years.

“I was a little afraid of you,” I confess, and Cas stills beneath me, hand pausing in its stroke down the side of my face. “And really sorry for what happened. For what I did. But I never hated you for it.”

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