Chapter Thirty-Five
Iwake slowly, arms lifting above my head in a luxurious stretch. Silk whispers over my bare skin as I move, and I gradually remember that I am wearing only my robe, and I am not in my own bed. I open my eyes and turn to my side, and Claude is there, already awake and watching me.
I smile. “Hi,” I say, suddenly shy.
“Hi,” he murmurs back. He slides closer, cups my face, and kisses me.
The way he kisses me quickly chases away any self-consciousness about morning breath.
His mouth is soft but hungry against mine, slow and deep, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
I sigh into his mouth and he devours the sound, devours all of me, kissing me so thoroughly that my entire body goes liquid.
Barely giving me time to breathe between each press of his lips, each stroke of his tongue.
By the time he pulls away, I am breathing hard and flushed, and he looks as drunk on pleasure as I feel.
He watches my face as his hands travel down over my body. His palms ghost over my curves through the thin covering of the silk. A pause, a flick of his eyes to mine, and he undoes the robe’s tie.
He gently eases the fabric off my shoulders and away so I am bare before him for the first time, and stares at me like my body is a holy revelation.
He gazes for a long time, so long that I can feel myself flushing, lips parting as his fangs emerge behind them.
Finally he leans in, and his lips press against my mouth, my cheek, the pulse point at my neck, the hollow above my collarbone.
He nuzzles his face between my breasts with a pleased groan.
“Touch me,” I beg.
He obliges, teasing my nipple with first his fingers and then his tongue, lapping at the sensitive bud until it stiffens under his attentions.
Then he bites me so swift I’m still mid-gasp as he pulls back and soothes it with his tongue.
He lavishes the other breast with the same treatment—fingers, mouth, fangs—and slowly works his way down my stomach.
He marks me a half dozen times with his fangs, each time taking only the smallest taste of my blood.
It leaves me throbbing with pleasure, aching for more.
I arch beneath his touch. He looks up at me as he pauses, face hovering over my stomach, his fingers traveling south. As his knuckles graze the heat between my thighs, I suck in a breath.
“Oh, mon chou,” Claude murmurs. “You’re soaked.”
He parts my thighs and lowers himself between them.
But instead of giving me what I so desperately need, he kisses my calf, and then higher, mouth traveling up the inside of my leg.
I cry out as he sinks his fangs into my inner thigh.
So close to where I crave him, but he swaps to the other thigh and bites me again, even higher.
He sucks hard this time, and I arch my back with a gasp as the sensation zips straight to my throbbing core.
I’m shaking, chest heaving, hovering on the precipice between agony and pleasure. I’m dizzy with it. “Claude,” I beg, my voice faint. “Claude, please.”
I reach down and tangle my fingers in his curls, tug him up to where I want him.
He chuckles, sending cool air over my hot core.
Then he finally tastes me—short, gentle strokes of his tongue over my sensitive skin.
He moans, a sound that vibrates against my skin, and then grabs me by the hips and drags me closer, forces my thighs wider, lifting my ass off the bed as his tongue explores every inch of me before swirling around my clit.
In mere seconds I’m crying out and clutching at the sheets for dear life, falling apart beneath his clever mouth. Sparks go off behind my eyes as my entire body trembles with bliss.
His fingers dig into my hips, holding me in place as I shake, each flick of his tongue making my brain short-circuit.
I’ve never had an orgasm like this—it seems to go on and on, endless rolling hills of pleasure.
Just when it seems it’s about to stop, he sucks my clit and curls two fingers inside of me, and I’m back in it, eyes rolling, whimpering helplessly, unsure if I’m coming a second time or if the first is never-ending.
He laps at me until the shakes subside, and then lowers me onto the bed, looking down at me with my wetness glistening on his lips.
He licks it off and hums in satisfaction.
I’m still breathing hard, weak with pleasure. My head lolls back and my eyes close.
“Look at me,” Claude demands.
I open my eyes and drag them up to meet his. His gaze is burning as he takes in every inch of me—sweaty, panting, half unraveled.
“Très jolie,” he murmurs, pushing a strand of sweat-damp hair off my forehead. “So pretty as you come apart for me.” His fingers are cool against my feverish skin, and my eyelids flutter, my nerves so raw that even the slightest brush of his skin gives me pleasure. “But you can take more.”
I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question, but either way there’s nothing to do but nod, half senseless with bliss. His smile is dazzling. He leans in to press cold lips to my cheek.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. He grabs my thigh with one hand, lifting it to position me; with the other, he guides himself to my entrance.
I’m wet and ready for him, and he enters me in one long, slow stroke, stretching me out inch by inch until he is fully seated within me.
For a moment he holds himself there, dark eyes locked on mine.
His pupils are blown wide, his expression a mirror of the first time he drank from me: a little wild, a little stunned. I feel much the same.
“Oh, God,” I whimper. It’s almost too much, too good, the way he fills me up.
“Breathe,” he says, nuzzling his nose against mine. “That’s it. Relax for me, mon chou.”
I dig my fingers into his back, so I can feel the way his muscles shift and contract as he pulls out and thrusts into me again, harder. I cry out, and he kisses me to swallow the sound, his mouth slow and soft and sensual against mine as he grinds slowly into me.
“Claude,” I whimper against his lips.
“Yes,” he breathes, his eyes on mine. “Say my name again.”
“Claude,” I beg. “C-Claude— More—”
He picks up speed within me, each thrust a little harder, a little faster, until each slap of his hips against me has the bed shaking beneath us. I arch beneath him, and he groans, whispering French words between kisses, his mouth never far from mine as he pounds me into the mattress.
I gasp as he smoothly rolls me onto my side, his mouth against my neck as he pushes into me from behind. One hand grips my hip, pulling me back against his chest, while the other slides between my legs to rub slow circles on my clit.
“Oh.” I gasp, pushing my hips back to meet each thrust and take him deeper. “Please…” I arch my neck as he mouths me, teasing with lips and tongue and the slightest prick of teeth. “Bite me—”
I’ve barely finished the demand when his fangs sink into my neck. My eyes roll as pleasure shudders through my entire body. I feel—everything. His teeth in my neck, his hand between my legs, his cock still pumping inside of me.
I come apart. Crying out, my body shaking with an ecstasy I’ve never known before.
Blinding, all-consuming. Claude moans against my neck and follows me over the edge with a few frantic thrusts.
He holds me tightly as I tremble through the waves of pleasure.
Even when I finally go limp, eyes shut, breathing hard, he stays inside of me, peppering my neck and shoulder with slow kisses.
He licks at the trickle of blood from my neck, heals the various marks he left on me with his bloodstained lips.
“Mon coeur,” he whispers. “Mon amour.”
I cuddle against him, gripping his arm where it holds my waist, unable to form coherent words yet. I don’t know if I have words for what I just experienced.
After we lie together a while, Claude insists on slipping out of bed to make me breakfast, worried about my blood loss.
“It felt like you hardly fed from me,” I protest, touching my neck, where he’s already healed the puncture wounds.
He flashes me a smile, fangs lending the sweet expression a hungry edge. “Oh, but I intend to eat plenty more today, mon chou.”
Even after my thorough pleasuring, that look still sends a coil of heat through me. I mirror his wicked grin. “Promise?”
He returns a short while later with a tray, still naked, to serve me in bed.
A decadent feast is laid out for me: golden French toast with dripping butter and a dusting of powdered sugar, heaped with whipped cream and fresh berries.
He watches me eat for a while, smiling as I hum in appreciation.
Then he slides between my legs and enjoys his own breakfast from my thigh.
When I move the tray aside and grasp his hair in wordless demand, he pulls his fangs out and eats me again, two fingers curling inside of me while his tongue strokes me relentlessly toward another world-shattering orgasm.
“This isn’t fair,” I pant, lying back on the bed. “I’m all sweaty and disgusting and you’re… perfect.”
He licks sweat from my stomach as he climbs back up my body. His kiss is salty and sweet, tasting of my own pleasure. “Never disgusting,” he murmurs. “But I’m happy to clean you up, if you like.”
True to his word, he soon carries me to the shower in a boneless bundle.
It starts off innocent as he gently massages shampoo into my scalp and holds me against him beneath the warm water.
But soon enough he’s on his knees in front of me, one of my legs hooked over his shoulder as his fingers work inside of me.
I press myself against the wall, whimpering. “Claude… I can’t… I can’t possibly…” I can’t even finish the sentence. My body is weak, my head spinning.