Chapter 31 #3
A sharp sting – brief, precise – tears through my innocence. Then he’s withdrawing just as slow.
Valentin looks down and freezes then, his nostrils flaring at the sight of my blood on his cock. ‘Netheris fires, you’re exquisite.’
He pulls out completely and before I can cry out at the loss, he’s dropping his head, his mouth fusing once more to my pussy.
Oh holy demons of Hell.
My jaw drops as I watch him suck at my core, his eyes rolling with pleasure as he tastes my virgin blood – and no, I did not think he meant it literally before.
A feral convulsion hits him and for a second I think he’s been electrified.
His fingers dig deep into my thighs almost to the point of pain and I feel him lap furiously at my entrance. ‘Fuck, Eira. Your taste… it’s…’ I can barely make out the words as he shakes his head, then dives back in. Even more feral this time.
‘Valentin!’
The male who surges up two seconds later is even more unhinged. Hair falling over his face, eyes ablaze with manic craving, he thrusts back inside me.
‘More,’ he groans, then bares his fangs in a silent roar. ‘You will take more.’
This time he drives in deeper, stopping when he hits my very end.
I cry out again, the rush so intense it knocks the breath from my lungs and replaces it with another I can’t stop.
Every nerve in my body ignites at once, pleasure turning molten, then liquid, flooding through me, my knees softening as if my body is trying to kneel.
The beast above me fucks me with relentless rhythm, gliding through a heated channel that can barely accommodate him, a channel he’s hellbent on claiming.
The moment it shifts fully into pleasure, it’s like the whole world catches fire.
Valentin moves with control that borders on worship, holding my gaze, kissing my mouth, my throat, repeatedly, silently and wickedly forecasting his intent.
‘Now, my beautiful little hunter.’ The words are thick and guttural against my throat.
And I find myself arching my neck, baring myself even better for him. Fingers dig into my hair to hold me in place.
My first scream comes with his hard slam deep in my pussy.
The second arrives when Valentin sinks his beautiful fangs deep into my throat.
The pain is instant. Electrifying.
And. So. Very. Exquisite.
It puts every eye-rolling gushing retelling of the experience I’ve heard from women and men over the years to horrible shame.
Between my thighs, I feel him grow thicker, his whole body trapped in endless shudders as Valentin pulls my life force into his mouth.
Swallows with groaning relish.
Then comes back for more.
Something flickers at the back of my mind. A warning I need to remember.
But I, too, am caught in the full grip of the heat and euphoria.
And the sensation that grips me deep inside, the one that feels like a thousand times more delicious than the feeble self-administered orgasms I’ve experienced in the past, barrels into me.
I scream as I explode. Keep screaming as Valentin’s mouth remains fused at my throat, suckling at the puncture wound as he fucks me through my climax.
I’m flying through the stars, bursting through one nova into the other. Absolutely certain there will be nothing left of me when he’s done with me.
And he keeps fucking and sucking. Pushing me through one climax into the other.
‘That’s it, little hunter. One more. You can do it.’
I give him one more. Then another. Another.
Until the smell of blood fills the air. Starts a curious flood at the back corners of my jaw that slowly fills my mouth with a stark, clawing hunger. Escalates when Valentin fucks me harder as he drinks me down. As my nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood.
Blood I curiously stare at before, with a feral little moan, I flick my tongue at.
He tenses for a single moment, but then his hips keep thrusting, driving delirium with every motion, as he drags his tongue over the bite before he lifts his head.
‘Does my fierce little hunter have a craving too?’ he slurs, his fangs and bottom lip faintly red with my blood.
I barely recognise the woman whose head bobs in a nod.
Who watches his eyes flare with a special kind of madness as first he drags his tongue across his left fang, hard enough to slash the flesh and create a small well of blood. Then as the bead drops to the tip of his tongue, he lifts his middle finger, pricks the soft pad against his right fang.
I’m floored with sensations I can’t describe as Valentin lowers his head, dragging his blood-soaked tongue across my bottom lip. And when my tongue darts out to lick it, he swoops, stroking my tongue with his.
At the first taste of Valentin’s blood, a million sensations bombard me, each more feral, more euphoric than the last.
And sweet angels in heaven, now I get it. Why men, women and creatures who roam this Earth crave vampire blood. It’s… it’s… ‘Oh… Gods.’
He groans against my mouth, his finger probing our joined mouths. More of his blood spills onto my tongue and a higher madness engulfs me as I suck on his finger.
Then… I feel it before I hear it.
A presence. Brushing the edges of my mind.
Little hunter.
I jolt so hard my breath stutters. Then I freeze, pussy clamped around him and eyes flying to his. Then to his unmoving mouth.
Little hunter, he repeats and I know he didn’t say the words out loud.
“Valentin?” I blurt.
He doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he looks… delighted.
Sì, cacciatrice.
Why the response in his ancient mother tongue sends fresh jolts through me is a matter for later. I shake my head but his gaze remains steady. Knowing.
“Did you just—?” I rasp, and then the voice is there again, lower, darker, threaded with heat that belongs nowhere near my thoughts.
Yes. I am here, Eira.
Oh. My. Gods. My skin goes tight with shock. And he hisses when I clamp tighter around him. “How?”
His mouth curves, sinful and satisfied, and then the words slide into my mind like velvet over a blade.
You took my blood. You invited it.
A shiver goes through me so intense it borders on panic – and then turns into something else because the intimacy of it is obscene.
This is him inside my head while his cock is inside me, his attention and his shaft both stroking places hands can’t reach, his voice filling the private space where I keep my secrets and turning it into another kind of bed.
“Can you do this with everyone? Other than your Twelve, I mean,” I whisper aloud, because my voice feels too small for what I’m experiencing. And already there’s a possessiveness that makes me a little feral to think it’s a gift shared freely.
His hands tighten on my hips.
Not everyone. A pause, almost wry. Not lately. I have not gifted my blood in a long time.
The words feel profound and heavy. Too heavy. Too pleasing.
“Because you haven’t turned anyone in—”
In over a hundred years, he confirms, and I feel the quiet weight behind it, the choice, the restraint, the loneliness he never names.
“But you can do it with anyone who’s tasted your blood?” I press, fascinated and unnerved.
If I will it, he says. It is a thread. A thin one. But it exists.
My pulse skitters. “Does that mean you can hear me? Read my mind?” I ask, and then immediately hate myself because it sounds too much like fear mingled with… hope?
What the hell?
His eyes darken.
No. Only what you give me. Another pause, and this one is deliberate. But you give me so much when you forget to guard yourself. Or perhaps it’s when I’m inside you like this?
Heat coils in my belly at the implication. And he pushes up inside me in an effortless display of raw power.