Page 99 of House of Crimson Hearts
I want her.
The scent of my blood coursing through her veins is only the start. Though as I inhale a deep breath, I realise is faded so much I can scarcely smell it. And yet, I still need her to let me drink her.
But I won’t. Not against her will. Never against her will. So I stop and move my lips over my teeth to protect her.
“Why did you?—”
“It was too close. I could’ve cut you,” I say.
Red seems to understand because she doesn’t question it. Instead, she tugs my hair. “Fuck me with your fingers.” She loosens her grip enough to let me bring my hand up.
But I have different ideas. “I have something better,” I say and suck her whole clit into my mouth. A throaty moan erupts from her lips.
I release her and disappear to my wardrobe, looking for the new toy I bought. I bring it out. It’s a strapless strap-on, I insert the anchor end in myself. It makes the other end appear like I have an erect cock, only this one is a deep maroon. I flick the button to make it vibrate inside me.
“How do you feel about str—” I start.
“YES,” she says. “Fuck yes.”
I grin. “Oh, good.” I slide between her legs again and this time I guide the cock to her entrance and push it in just an inch.
She leans back against the chair, her eyes already rolling shut, her nipples hard. I push the cock in and hit the button to make her shaft vibrate too.
“Sweet Mother of Blood,” she breathes, and she couldn’t have said it better.
Waves of rhythmic pleasure spill between us, from clit to core, washing from one body to the next.
“Give me your hands,” I say.
She holds them out and I use my strength to lift her up and into my arms and carry her, still joined to me, to the dresser where I deposit her. This is a much better angle than the armchair.
“A thousand years is hell on the knees,” I say, and she laughs.
The funny thing is, I can’t smell myself on her anymore. I think we fucked the blood lust away. But she hasn’t asked me to stop. Hasn’t pushed me away, not like all those other times.
I falter, wondering if this is the night I tell her the truth. But she grabs my arse and pulls me forward, forcing the cock inside her deeper.
“No more fucking around, I need to come. I need you to make me come,” she says and swipes her mouth over mine.
I grind into her, slamming the cock deep into her pussy. She moans against me. Gripping my shoulders to keep balance.
“YES,” she says. “AGAIN. MORE.”
I stop thinking, analysing, obsessing, and I just fuck her.
Hard, and raw and full of memories and fury and all the unspoken secrets I’m keeping.
I drive into her harder and harder.
The photo frames on the dresser fall off. The jewellery box knocks onto the floor and spills its contents, but I ignore it all because the way she cries my name is like a drug. It’s almost more intoxicating than the smell of my blood mixed with hers.
She digs her nails into my shoulders where she’s holding on so hard. Her hips rock against mine where she pushes back and tries to drive the cock in deeper.
She moans my name again and again, the rhythm matching the vibrations inside me. It makes my own pleasure build. She releases one of my shoulders and slips her fingers to her clit.
“No,” I snarl and slap her hand away. “Mine.”
I stick my fingers in her mouth. “Make them wet,” I demand.
