Page 61 of House of Crimson Kisses
I move fast, vampire-fast. I slice all of her clothes from her body before her eyelids flutter shut in a blink.
She’s standing there completely naked and bared for me. Her breathing is heavy and rapid. Breasts rising and falling with the movement. Her cheeks still have the remnants of vampire blood and the rivulets of tears that flowed through it streaking her skin.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“I need you to remind me, Octavia. Remind me why I’m yours. Why I should love you.”
My patience snaps. “Turn around,” I demand.
She does, and a short, sharp breath escapes as she clocks the curtains are open, and the office can be viewed from below. In reality, most of the club goers will be too drunk, too intoxicated or too busy fucking each other to notice us up here, but when did reality ever ruin the power play of sex?
“Hands on the window,” I say.
She presses them up against the glass, her heart rate already increasing.
“Safe word,” I ask.
“Elysium.”
“Good. Mine is villain.” Only when I say the word this time, there’s a weight to it. A weight that I am carrying. The way I keep making the same mistakes, keep playing her villain over and over. Was she right in the tunnel? Am I martyring myself for her?
Is that not what someone in love should do? Martyr themselves for those they adore, even if it means they suffer?
I strip, pulling my clothes off and letting them drop to the floor. With each item, Red’s shoulders rise and fall faster.
I take a bottle of lube from the desk and deposit a load on the end of the strap-on that goes inside me. I push it into myself and flip on the switch for both ends, and then I press myself against her back.
She squeaks, not expecting the vibrations. And then sticks her arse out.
But I’m not having that. She isn’t leading this. This is about her pleasure, and I’ll deliver that to her exactly how I please.
I step forward, pressing her against the glass.
“It’s cold,” she squeals.
I press harder against her, wishing I could see her breasts plastered against the glass.
I knock her feet out until there’s room for the dildo and notch it at her entrance.
She moans, the vibrations teasing her entrance. I grin as her eyes shut and she bites her bottom lip.
I shunt the cock in right up to the hilt, then I drag it out real slow and gentle. Her fingers claw at the glass like she’s trying to find purchase. But there’s nothing to hold on to.
“Octavia?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be gentle,” she says, and a tear runs down her cheek.
It’s almost enough to carve me in two. I know she suffers with the same jagged pull of emotions.
I grab her chin and guide her round until she looks at me.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already have,” she says.
My mouth goes dry. I wish I could explain to her that it was her desperation that made me take them. She pleaded with me and made me promise not to give them back.
