Page 159 of The Midnight Order
I can no more control how fast my heart is beating than I can control the weather.
“I could…”
He snaps his teeth so close to my cheek that I jump, my hands finding purchase on a tree behind me, nails gripping the bark. “Don’t offer a wolf your throat, little lamb. He won’t know when to stop.”
His words whisper over the column of my neck, and I ignorantly elongate it, giving him just that.
“Use my scent as you drink… from the bottle,” I offer, stammering as his nose skims my flesh.
One of his hands cups the right side of my neck, while the other grips my left hip, each feeling like they’re scorching my skin. He’s barely hanging onto his control, and something about it makes me feel so fucking hot.
A blush pricks every inch of my body, traveling lower and lower, culminating in the space between my thighs where every bit of yearning is gathering.
“Lowell…” My voice sputters out, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.
He’s fighting between what he wants and what he knows is right.
While I’m willing to bleed myself dry to quench his thirst, which makes no sense.
“Your willingness is intoxicating, Silver.”
His saying my name sends a shiver through my body, the likes of which get trapped at the base of my spine, only adding to the way I’m shaking.
His lips press to my pulse point, steady and looming. It should feel threatening. He’s a killer. It doesn’t.
God help me, it doesn’t.
It feels like I’m on the precipice of life, effervescent and dazzling.
My hand grips the neck of the bottle, reminding myself its contents are what he needs, not my blood.
“You’re intoxicating,” he whispers against my ear. “You could be the one to take the pain away. Is that what you want to be, little lamb?”
“Yes.” Turning my face into his, I brush my nose over his cheek until my lips float over his.
He closes the distance, consuming my moan. My tongue seeks entrance, begs for it.
My head is spinning, my heart racing. The more my blood races, the higher my delirium soars. Until I’m ready to lie down on the altar in sacrifice for this man.
With a hiss, he pulls back. “Give me the bottle.”
Even as I hand it to him, his lip is pulled back in disgust.
He pulls a mouthful from it, his cheeks bulging. Burying his nose in my neck, he breathes me in.
I hear the moment he swallows, following my throbbing vein from my collarbone up to my ear with an animalistic growl that bleeds into my skin like osmosis.
I’m shaking, using his shoulders for stability as the heat at my apex only deepens.
My scent enlivens him, and the idea of his need for me alone makes my mind so loud and needy.
Sometimes, I feel like there’s no going back to who I was before this manor, before these men. Not because they’re vampires, but because they’ve changed me so incrementally. There’s no way back to that girl.
One more mouthful, and he’s back at my throat, using my scent as his own personal chaser to choke down the blood he doesn’t want while smelling the blood he longs to taste so badly that he doesn’t trust himself.
“Fuck,” I whimper, my panties soaking.
His hand on my hip squeezes, his nails digging into my skin. “I can smell how bad you want me.”
