30. Roan
Roan
I suck in a sharp breath, every muscle tensing the instant Aria’s fangs pierce my skin.
For half a second, my instincts scream danger— something’s biting you, run —but then a deep, tingling warmth blossoms at the spot on my neck.
My heart pounds, beating an erratic rhythm that matches the fierce pull of her mouth.
It’s not just pain. Sure, there’s a sting, a quick jolt that makes me grit my teeth—but it fades almost at once, melting into a flood of heat that travels down my spine. Her body presses close, the hesitant grip of her fingers in my shirt as she draws my blood, and yet it’s not close enough.
The sensation is heady, intimate in a way I never imagined.
This is crazy, I think, yet somehow it feels…perfect.
I slide my hand up to cradle the back of her head, holding her there as she feeds, not wanting her to pull away too soon. A strange mix of euphoria and dizziness washes over me—like standing too fast, but with sparks of pleasure dancing at the edges.
Is it always like this? Or is it because of her?
The way her mouth moves against my skin—gentle, reverent—makes it feel less like being fed on and more like being wanted. Needed .
And gods help me, I don’t want it to stop.
Ever.
My breath comes in unsteady gasps, and I realize, with a jolt of surprise, that I’m barely aware of anything beyond Aria’s soft, urgent mouth at my neck.
She stops before I lose myself entirely. Her fangs withdraw, leaving a warm trickle on my skin. I swallow hard, forcibly steadying my heartbeat. Aria exhales against my throat, then nuzzles the spot she bit, sending another wave of heat through me.
Her tongue flicks out—slow, deliberate—as she licks the blood from my neck. A strangled sound escapes her chest, half-whimper, half-growl, and it punches straight through me, heat pooling low in my belly. She shudders against me like she can’t help it, her fingers tightening on my hips, and I can feel the restraint in every line of her body, the razor-thin line she’s walking between hunger and something far more dangerous.
She’s still pressed against me, trembling, lips just barely grazing the sensitive skin where her fangs had been. I should be catching my breath, re-centering. Instead, my pulse is a wildfire.
Aria starts to pull back, but I tighten my grip at her waist, voice low, husky. “You got your taste, Mouse,” I murmur, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “I think it’s only fair I get mine.”
She stiffens, a sharp inhale dragging between her teeth. Her head turns just enough for our eyes to lock—and gods, I can see it there. The want. The trust. The flicker of something deeper.
“I thought humans didn’t bite,” she says, but her voice is breathless, teasing.
I chuckle, dragging my knuckles slowly up the inside of her thigh. “I’m not most humans.”
Her skin erupts in goosebumps beneath my touch. “Where do you want to bite me, then?” she asks, tone playful—but her pupils are blown wide with heat.
I smile—sharp, hungry—and lift her easily, guiding her backward until she’s flat on the bed. I settle between her legs, hands skimming up her bare thighs, pushing fabric away.
“Here,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh of her thigh. “And here.” Another kiss, higher now, making her arch. “Might even leave a mark or two. Just so you remember who made you shiver.”
Aria lets out a strangled laugh, her hands tangling in my hair. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it,” I whisper, just before sinking my teeth in—not hard, just enough to tease. She gasps, her back arching, and the sound she makes goes straight down my spine.
“Roan…” she breathes—barely a whisper, more breath than sound.
My name on her lips is a prayer and a curse, and it pulls something fierce and tender from deep inside me.
I kiss her thigh, right where my teeth left a mark—my mark. The imprint blooms against her pale skin, and I press my lips to it with something like reverence, soothing the ache I caused. Tasting it. Tasting her.
But gods, I want more. I want to know how she tastes everywhere.
I push her skirts higher, and she parts her legs without hesitation. My breath catches. Her trust in me—still so new, still so raw—it undoes me more than anything else.
I let my mouth wander the soft skin of her inner thigh. She trembles, a shiver running through her, and her hand tightens in my hair, guiding me, her skirts falling higher.
She’s wearing the thinnest scrap of fabric I’ve ever seen. It clings to her, soaked through, the only thing standing between me and her heat. Between me and everything.
“Fuck,” I murmur, the word catching low in my throat.
My nose brushes the dampness, and I inhale—slow, greedy, needing. Her scent is warm and sweet and dizzying, and I exhale against her center, breathing her in like it’s the only thing that matters.
“Roan, what are you—”
Her voice stumbles into a tremble as I kiss her through the thin fabric. Once. Twice. Then harder.
I can’t stop. The little taste I get isn’t enough.
“What does it look like I’m doing, Mouse?” I murmur, my lips brushing against the wet cotton, my voice thick with hunger. “I’m getting my taste.”
I pull back just enough to look up at her from between her thighs.
And gods.
Her cheeks are flushed the prettiest shade of pink, lips parted, her chest rising and falling in shallow, shaky breaths. But it’s her eyes —wide and dark and locked on me—that nearly level me.
“You’re beautiful, Aria,” I say, the words falling out before I can soften them.
There’s a weight to them, something fierce and real that settles right behind my ribs. My heart pounds loud enough I swear she must hear it.
I want to see her come apart. I want to be the reason.
I curl my fingers around the waistband of her panties. “Let me make you feel good, Mouse,” I whisper, my voice hoarse now. “...Please.”
There’s a beat—her eyes search mine, something unspoken passing between us—and then she nods.
A smirk curls on my lips, sharp and hungry.
I slip the panties off slowly, savoring every inch of revealed skin. When they fall away, she shifts, legs closing slightly, as if instinctively trying to hide herself.
No. Not from me.
I press her thighs open again, gently, firmly. And what I find makes my breath catch.
She’s glistening. Wet. Wanting.
There’s a small patch of dark brown hair, surprisingly short. Unexpected, perfect. So Aria.
I lean in, pressing my mouth to her cunt like it’s something sacred. Her slick heat coats my tongue as I slowly trace her slit, teasing her folds open. Every lick is a prayer. Every gasp she gives me, a reward.
Her clit peeks out, swollen and needy, and when I circle it with my tongue—light, slow—she gasps, her fingers gripping the sheets like a lifeline.
“That’s a good girl,” I rasp, breathless against her.
Gods, I want to touch myself, but I don’t. Not yet. Not until she falls apart for me.
Her clit gets harder under my tongue, and I groan, burying my face deeper, tasting her like I’m starving. My fingers slide between her legs, finding her dripping entrance.
She’s soaked.
“Please, Roan,” she begs, hips rising to meet my touch. She’s desperate.
And I give her what she wants.
I sink two fingers into her slowly, deeply, curling them just right. Her walls tighten around me, warm and pulsing, and I growl against her cunt, licking her clit with renewed hunger. My tongue and fingers move together—driving her higher, chasing every moan that falls from her lips.
She bucks against my mouth, a wild, beautiful thing, and I hold her open, driving her to the edge.
When I suck her clit hard between my lips, her back arches off the bed and a guttural cry rips from her throat. Her cunt clenches around my fingers, and her whole body shudders.
She’s gorgeous like this—ruined and panting, her pleasure painted across her face.
Slowly, I slip my fingers free, bringing them to my mouth. I suck them clean with a soft groan, savoring her taste.
“Roan, come ‘ere,” she breathes, tugging at my shoulder.
Gods, yes.
I crawl up her body and kiss her like I’m starving for it. Desperate and deep, mouths open, tongues tangled. I know she can taste herself on my tongue—and I want her to. I want her to know how delicious she is.
I kiss her deeply, exploring her mouth as she opens it to me.
As we kiss, her hand slips between my legs, palm pressing against my aching core. I groan into her mouth, hips rolling into her touch.
My pants are damp, and her fingers boldly stroking me there are only serving to dampen them further.
“Fuck, Aria,” I pant against her lips, then kiss down—her neck, her collarbone, anywhere I can reach. My hips move on instinct, chasing the pressure of her fingers.
Her fingers hook into the waistband of my breeches, tugging urgently. I lift my hips to help her slide them down, and we toss them aside.
She slips her hand under the damp fabric of my underwear, and when her fingers brush my clit, I nearly cry out.
“Fuck, yes,” I whisper hoarsely. I tilt my hips into her hand, needing more, needing her.
She teases my clit—then suddenly, pain. Sharp, exquisite pain.
Her fangs sink into my neck.
My whole body tenses, a shock of agony and ecstasy crashing through me. Her fingers keep moving against my clit as she feeds, and I cling to her, gasping as pleasure builds hard and fast beneath my skin.
I let her feed, tilting my neck, moaning as her fingers stroke me through it and I buck against her hand.
Her teeth pull away from my neck too soon, leaving a trail of blood trickling slowly from the wound. She laps at it as she flicks my clit.
“Gods, you taste like—”
I cut her off with a kiss, crushing my mouth to hers. I taste blood— my blood—on her tongue, and it only makes me hungrier. I suck on her tongue, then slide mine deep into her wet mouth.
Her moan echoes in my mouth, and I’m close—so close.
When I come, it’s all heat and light and need, my body shuddering against hers, hips grinding into her hand.
I collapse against her, breathing hard, chest rising and falling in sync with hers. After a moment, I shift, rolling to the side.
Her skin is soft against mine. And when I finally catch my breath, I glance over—and smile.
She's mine.
And gods, I'm hers.
Tangled in sweat-damp sheets and tangled limbs, I pull her close, brushing her hair back from her flushed face.
After what feels like forever, I murmur, “I’m going to be so smug about this.”
She snorts softly, curling into me, her legs tangled with mine. “You already were.”
“Fair.” I press a kiss to her forehead, her skin still warm where she rests against me. “But you’re mine now, Mouse.”
She hums, the sound barely audible but content, one tiny fang peeking out from behind her lips. “I already was.”
That hits me harder than it should. I lie there in the hush of the room, my body aching in the best way—sated, warm, like I’ve been put back together with something stronger than sinew or bone. Something that sounds like belonging.
She shifts slightly, dragging her fingers along my side, and lifts her head just enough to look at me. Her gaze flicks over my face, soft and serious. “Are you okay?” she asks.
The question shouldn’t catch me off guard, but it does. Most people don’t ask. Most don’t care past what they can get from me. But she’s looking at me like she wants the truth, like it matters.
I nod slowly, letting my hand trail through her tangled hair. “Yeah. Better than I’ve been in a long damn time.”
She smiles, but it’s brief—replaced quickly by something more thoughtful. “You lost blood,” she murmurs. “Not much, but still. You should eat.”
I open my mouth to brush it off, but she sits up, pulling the sheet around her like a makeshift cloak and pushing to her feet with more grace than someone who just drained me should have.
“Stay here,” she instructs, suddenly all business again. “You may feel dizzy for a bit. Let me get you something to eat from downstairs.”
I blink at her, propping myself up on one elbow. “Are you seriously trying to fuss over me?”
She glances back, all challenge and fire. “Yes. Someone should.”
I scoff. “You barely fed.”
“You’re pale,” she fires back.
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “So are you.”
“That’s different,” she mutters, reaching for her cloak.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed with a grunt, ignoring the slight wave of lightheadedness. “Aria, I’m fine. I’ve fought half-dead before. A little blood loss isn’t going to knock me down.”
She whirls around, hands on her hips now, expression pure exasperation. “Exactly. Which is why someone should look out for you when you won’t.”
I stare at her for a beat… then laugh. A low, rough sound that spills out before I can stop it. “You’re bossy when you’re happy, you know that?”
She blinks, a little caught off guard—and I catch the flicker of a smile she tries to hide.
And gods help me, I want her to boss me around like this every damn day.
“Somebody has to keep you in line,” she shoots back. She looks so alive—shoulders squared, eyes bright. Even her posture seems lighter, like she’s finally rid of a burden that weighed her down.
Gathering herself, she heads for the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t…fall over or anything.”
I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “Sure, Mouse. I’ll try not to keel over in your absence.”
She darts me a playful glare, but her cheeks stay pink. Then she slips out.
I watch her go, every step, every shift of fabric, memorizing the shape of this moment. Because there’s something dangerous blooming in me, and it’s got her name all over it.
Once the door shuts, I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My hand drifts to the closed little pinpricks on my neck, fingertips grazing the faint sting. Strange how something that should feel dangerous turned into something… intimate .
I let out a small laugh, still a bit dazed, and lean back on my palms.
I’ll stay put—for the moment, anyway—just like she said. And as the lingering warmth from her bite pulses softly at my neck, I wonder if, for the first time in my life, I’m actually okay with being fussed over.