Page 38 of Donovan
"This is a really bad idea," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper, rough with want.
"It isn’t," Donovan countered immediately, firm, certain. "Actually, it’s probably for the best. If you feed from me, you don’t need to feed on anyone else."
His words sliced through the haze in my head. My gaze snapped to him, searching his face, because what the hell was he thinking?
He wasn’t afraid. Not even a little. His lips twitched, like he knew something I didn’t. Like he had already decided something.
"I don’t know what came over you—" I began, but he cut me off.
Donovan tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing, unshakable.
"I’ve already told you," he said, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to make sure I heard every word. "You’re important to me, Declan."
My stomach twisted.
I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, desperate for something, anything, to ground myself.
Because this was dangerous. This, us, was dangerous. The heat between us shifted, grew heavier, thick enough to drown in.
I was close enough to feel him now, the warmth rolling off his skin, the steady rhythm of his pulse, the scent of him wrapping around me.
Familiar. Safe. Something I didn’t deserve.
I was still starving. Still holding onto my control by a thread. And yet, his words made sense. If I fed from him…
I swallowed hard, barely realizing I was entertaining the idea. Donovan leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine.
He was too close. I should have pulled away, but I didn’t.
"Drink from me," he said again, softer this time. A command. A plea.
The hunger inside me roared, deafening now, drowning out my hesitation, my self-hatred, my fear. He was so close.
His pulse thrummed in my ears, louder than anything else, louder than the frantic pounding of my own heart.
His scent was intoxicating, thick with warmth, with life, with something familiar, something mine.
I was losing this battle. No. I had already lost.
Donovan tilted his head ever so slightly, a silent invitation, his breath warm against my cheek. "Take what you need," he whispered.
I let out a low, broken sound, and then I caved. With a ragged inhale, I gripped his waist and pulled him flush against me, burying my face in the curve of his neck.
I could feel his pulse hammering against my lips. I squeezed my eyes shut, my entire body trembling with restraint. I could still stop. No.
With a strangled sound, I sank my fangs into his skin. Donovan let out a sharp gasp, his fingers digging into my shoulders, but he didn’t push me away.
He held on. It was heaven.
His blood hit my tongue, and my body shuddered, every nerve ending alight with sensation.
It was like sinking into warm water after being trapped in a blizzard, like oxygen filling starving lungs, like finally, finally feeling whole. I drank deep, desperate, greedy.
I should have stopped, should have pulled away, but his hands were clutching at me, his body pressed tight against mine, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t.
This was everything I craved. Everything I hated.
A moan slipped from my throat, muffled against his skin. He tasted so good.
