Page 19 of House of Crimson Hearts
“Take it, Red. Take what you want from me.”
I rise up on tiptoes, our mouths level now. Sharing the club’s sticky air. She grips me suddenly. A vice-like hold keeping me balanced on my toes.
I lean in. My breathing restarts, faster now. Pumping blood around my body, throbbing between my legs. This close to her, the scent of oud and old spices mixes with the iron dribbling from her wrist. It’s intoxicating. Messes with my head, I want everything. Her blood, her body. Desire swims through me. I lean in.
“Take it,” she whispers as my tongue slides over my lips.
I do.
Our lips brush, a shiver runs down my spine so exquisite my eyes roll shut. Fuck. My pussy drenches my knickers.
So wrong.
My heart thuds against my ribs, making blood roar in my ears so much louder than the club’s music. I can’t hear anything except the rush of adrenaline and the screaming desire pushing me forward. Octavia is still as death. Allowing me to ease forward in my own time. The only reason I know she’s alive is the intense grip of her fingers. A bruising hold on my arms that grows tighter with every second.
I lean in, let my tongue glide over her fang. It’s cool and sharp, it nicks the fleshy pulp of my tongue. And yet it is consuming; my whole body fizzes to life as my blood mixes with hers. Her lips close over mine as her tongue slides into my mouth, caressing, dancing. Licking up every drop of blood I can give her.
She sucks my tongue into her mouth, locking me against her lips. Her eyes shut and she lets out a whimper as my blood reaches her taste buds. She snaps, releasing my mouth and lifts me off the floor and onto the table beside us. Her crimson eyes burn hot like molten furnaces.
“Delicious,” she says.
“Fuck me,” I say.
“You found your words,” Octavia says.
I grab the buckle of her belt and pull her hard between my legs. All my protests from the beginning of my dream have vanished.
She slides her hand behind my neck.
“I’ll give you everything you want, Red… you just need to ask.”
I unbuckle her belt, my heart pounding as I slip my fingers under the fabric.
A siren rips through the air.
Louder it screams. Louder.
The club lights flash on.
No. Fuck.
Not a siren. An alarm.
My alarm.
Shit.
My eyes ping open and the mortification of what I’ve just dreamt about sits heavy in my mind. I scream into my pillow and then drag myself to the shower. Much as I wish I didn’t… I have to get rid of this lingering ache. My fingers slip through the water and between my legs.
“Fuck,” I growl. I lean one hand against the wall as the other glides between my folds and up and over my clit. I grit my teeth, furious with myself, but I need to get rid of this… this… urge. It’s wrong. It’s probably the most fucked up thing I’ve ever done, touching myself like this after a dream like that.
I run the water over my face wishing the urge would leave. This is just one more reason to get rid of the addiction to blood. I wonder if the dealer sold me dodgy blood as well as some kind of magic vanishing vial. I’m definitely going to have words with them tonight.
* * *
When I’m out of the shower, watery light seeps through my window. My head throbs, a dull pulse reminding me that no matter how much I take, addiction means it’s never enough.
I get dressed, make breakfast and eat in a silent fury trying to erase the dream from my memory. As I exit my flat, I bump into Lincoln.
