Page 38 of Auctioned for Her Blood
Her body makes contact with mine, and she exhales—hard. My fangs pulse, determined to spring into action and plunge into her vein, but I catch myself.
I want to fuck her first, fuck her before she’s under the effects of my venom. Even though the bodies of sleeping humans respond to pleasure under the influence of vampire venom, vampires who fuck unconscious humans are depraved. There are few lines I won’t cross but that’s one.
Besides…for some reason I want her to remember the feeling of my dick ramming inside her. I want to imprint myself in this woman—both in her cunt and her mind.
“I, ah…” Her heart gallops, sending her sweet, sweet nectar racing through her body, and the scent of her blood is intoxicating, heightened by the hormones that reveal her emotions and desire.
Poor thing can’t decide whether to be excited or afraid at the moment, and I can’t help savoring the knowledge that I am inciting both.
Her fear—fear and anticipation of what she thinks I might do to her—hardens my cock to a point that’s unbearable, and I hold her tighter to make sure she feels it pulsing against her hip and belly.
Her breathing grows even more thready and her lips part. She is beyond ready to be fucked. Leaning toward me, every part of her body is inviting me to do whatever I want.
I step back.
“Wine would be lovely. Thank you.”
Her knees quiver as she walks slowly toward her kitchen, moving like a fawn on new legs, or more accurately like a wench who’s already been thoroughly pounded by my hard cock.
My need is rock hard and pressing against my leather trousers, and I lean against the door jam as she fetches two short glasses and pours us some wine.
I want this woman; I want her more than I remember wanting any woman in my entire life. I should take her right now in the kitchen. Fuck her hard and fast, and then put her asleep to let her cunt recover as I drink from her vein.
It would be so easy to claim what I want—what I fuckingneedfrom her—and leave her none the wiser, ignorant of how I used her as a source of nourishment after the pleasure.
Vampire venom is what’s kept our species a myth for millennia, what’s allowed us to peacefully coexist with humans. Until recently, our two species’ symbiotic relationship existed in the shadows, near-perfectly hidden, until our damned king revealed our existence to humanity, putting innocent vampire lives at risk.
Turns out, humans, although weak, are dangerous when armed with stakes, silver and ignorance.
Watching Ember from behind, my urges goad me to grab her, to lift that dress above her ass and plow straight into her, to drive until she can’t take anymore and then to drink, to take what I crave even more than her cunt.
But for some strange reason, I want… Fuck. I want her to know who I am first,whatI am.
What is wrong with me?I’m no rapist, but neither have I ever asked for permission to fuck or feed, never mind confessed what I am to a human. Never had to. The women I’ve wanted have been beyond keen to rut, and I always take what I want.
But something about Ember is making me hesitate. Clearly it’s been too long since I’ve plundered.
Fear snakes through me, icing my veins.
Once she knows the truth—what I am—she may not say yes, and then I’ll be forced totakewhat I want, take it from her like the pirate I am.
Because I don’t have the willpower to leave this apartment without having Ember—without totally possessing her vein and her cunt. But I’m also certain I’ll regret claiming either without her consent.
It’s the most foreign feeling I’ve had in my life. I know what I am—I am and have always been bad—but for the first time in my life I regret it.
We move into her living room, and she sits on the sofa, then nervously touches the cushion beside her, inviting me to sit close.
I sit at the opposite end of the furniture, bending up one leg and turning toward her, casual as all fuck, not a care in the world. I should get an Oscar.
She looks disappointed that I’m so far away.
“Sorry,” I say softly, the word foreign on my tongue.
“What for?” She takes a sip of her wine, clearly trying to mask her emotions, her desire.
I slide my foot back to the carpet and grin. “Boots on the furniture.”
“Oh!” She laughs, a spontaneous outburst that cuts the tension. “Don’t worry about that. Your boots look clean. But—” She interrupts her own thought and frowns slightly. “Feel free to take them off, if you want. Make yourself comfortable. Please.” She smiles softly, and then her teeth scrape the edge of her lip.
