Page 53 of Bite
James lets it go with a lazy shrug, summoning the bartender for another drink. Meanwhile, I resume pretending not to watch what’s happening around me whiledefinitelywatching.
Everything is ramping up, the music swelling, the air getting thicker by the minute. I realize that several people have migrated to the bed in the center of the room, forming a tangle of naked limbs and greedy mouths. A dark-haired guy in a silver band is going down on a vamp woman who’s gasping so loudly it’s obscene. Another couple is making out right beside them, hands buried in each other’s hair, bodies grinding in a haze of mutual intoxication.
I can’t help but stare. I should be scandalized, but instead I’m fascinated by the rawness of it all– the hunger, the need, the lack of shame.
I’m so distracted that I don’t notice a man approaching us until he’s standing directly in front of me. He’s tall and solidly built, dressed only in a pair of tailored trousers as black as his hair. His chest is bare, stacked with the kind of muscles that belong in a fitness magazine, and when he smiles, there’s a flash of fang.
“Is she on the menu?” he asks, glancing from James to me and back again.
James flicks an irritated glance up at him, his grip on my knee tightening. “She ismine.”
My stomach does a weird little flip, the low growl of his voice hitting a button I didn’t even know I had.
The other vamp lifts his hands in surrender. “Apologies, my king,” he says with a nervous laugh. He rocks back a step, as if to retreat, but then his gaze skims over me once again, raw hunger evident in his eyes. “She looks delicious,” he remarks, tracing thetip of a fang with his tongue. “Let me know if you get bored of her.”
He pivots and heads for the bar while I let out a slow exhale, turning to James. “Friendly bunch,” I mutter wryly.
“You’ll get used to it,” he murmurs, seemingly unbothered by that exchange.
I frown. “I doubt that.”
James studies me for a long moment, icy blue eyes assessing. “If you want to leave, you’re free to do so,” he says. “I’d prefer you stay, but it’s your choice.”
I look up at him and my belly does another traitorous little flip. For all his power and arrogance, James never pushes– notreally. He’s given me an out every step of the way, I’ve just been too damn curious to ever take it.
“I want to stay,” I decide, intrigue trumping rationality once again.
A slow smile crosses his lips like he knew that’d be my answer. He waves the server over again, and I help myself to two more green shots while we continue watching the party unfold.
It’s one thing to walk into an orgy and pretend you belong, but another entirely to sit on the sidelines and get slowly marinated in the sound of other people moaning, the thick scent of sex, and the skin-prickling awareness that everyone here has probably done this a hundred times before. The only thing keeping me from melting into the couch entirely is James’ hand resting warm and steady on my knee. He’s not even looking at me, at least not directly– he’s busy scanning the room, eyes picking up every shift, every glance, every subtle change in the atmosphere. The way he holds himself is so relaxed and perfectly at home that it almost feels like it’s starting to rub off on me.
Or maybe that’s the alcohol.
Either way, my nerves slowly loosen as time wears on. The party’s picked up at least three more couples since I arrived,and the population of the bed in the center is now at critical mass. There are hands and mouths everywhere, the little cries and gasps filling the air so constant that it’s practically become a soundtrack.
After a while, James leans in close, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re awfully quiet,” he remarks, voice pitched low.
“Just taking it all in,” I reply breathily. Though my anxiety has ebbed, a strange sort of anticipation has taken its place, every nerve now tuned to the frequency of the room.
He lets the silence stretch for a moment before speaking again, low in my ear. “So, do you see anything you like?”
“Like…?”
He gestures toward the center of the room, where a willowy brunette has just gone full cowgirl on a donor with Olympic-level quad strength. “Anything,” he says. “Anyone. If you want to try something, you have only to ask.”
A flush creeps up my neck. “I thought vampires were possessive,” I reply, a little too sharply.
James’ gaze flicks to mine, heat and humor twined together. “We are.”
“And you’re okay with sharing me?” I ask, blinking at him in confusion.
He laughs, low and dark. “I’m possessive over your blood, darling. Not your body. You can use it however you’d like, with whomever you like, so long as they’re human.” He leans back, gaze scanning the room again. “So, what do you like?”
The words hit like a punch. For all my bravado, for all the ways I’ve let myself get swept up in this arrangement, no one has ever actually asked me that before when it comes to sex. Not a boyfriend, not a one-night-stand, not even the awkward guy from sophomore year who claimed to be ‘very attentive’.
“I… I’m not sure,” I admit.
James tilts his head, considering me for a moment. “Then let’s find out.” He shifts on the couch, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me in closer so I’m pressed to his side. “Look around,” he murmurs, “and tell me who or what interests you.”
