Chapter 22 Because I Can
Chapter Twenty Two
Because I Can
— Xavier —
“Your jaguar wants a bond,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Shall we give them one?”
Sunday nods, her lips curling into a soft, dreamy smile. She doesn’t hesitate, and that certainty makes something beneath my breastbone ache, makes my eyes sting, makes me love her even more.
Grayson’s smiles, approval etched into the sharp line of his mouth. “Good,” he says, his thumb still brushing her cheek. “I’ll need you first.”
She tilts her head to the side before he’s even done speaking, baring her neck with a slow, fluid motion. Her submission is natural, instinctive. It tugs at every bond between us, saturating the room with her heat. Even Ben groans.
Grayson’s chuckle is low. “No,” he murmurs, his fingers gliding down her throat to rest just above her delicate collarbones. “I think we can do better than that. Lie back, Lover.”
She melts into the bed, her body pliant. Ben shifts closer, his big hand closing around mine, as Grayson kneels between her thighs. His authority is unmistakable, but it’s tempered by the way he touches her—with careful control, but also with so much care.
He sinks into her, his movements fluid. Sunday’s back arches, her body responding like they were made for each other. Her eyes squeeze shut, lips parting as a low, satisfied hum vibrates through our bond, sending a bolt of molten heat to my cock.
The bed dips slightly under their weight, just a little too low for perfect alignment. I move instinctively, grabbing an atrocious throw pillow and lifting her hips, sliding it beneath her.
I make a note to steal it for our nest later.
The way her body reacts—the slight hitch in her breath, that dreamy half-lidded smile—makes energy dance up my spine. Grayson glances to me, something passing between us, and for once, I don’t feel the need to name it.
Then he leans in, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, and pulls me into one of the best damn kisses of my life. It’s not rushed or messy—it’s deliberate, restrained, and it absolutely wrecks me.
His lips are warm, his tongue teasing against mine in a way that feels like both an offering and a demand. He pulls back slowly, his mouth brushing mine one last time, like he’s savoring the taste of us, taking in Sunday’s essence still smeared across my face and lingering on my tongue.
Then his focus shifts to her, his movements measured, almost calculated, as he adjusts his rhythm and depth within her. Whatever he’s doing is beyond human—a skill honed by centuries of practice—and it makes her writhe beneath him, her hips grinding up as though trying to take him deeper. Her head falls back, her body trembling, and I file it all away… every twitch and angle, for future use.
She reaches for him, her fingers curling instinctively toward his shoulder, but he catches her wrist smoothly. Kneeling now, one knee on the bed, his tempo stays steady as he pulls her arm between them. His lips brush the soft, pale skin of her forearm, lingering just long enough to lick a slow, deliberate line up to her pulse before capturing her eyes and sinking his fangs in.
Her gasp cuts through the room, breaking into a soft, keening cry as her back bows off the bed. Her body jolts, thighs trembling as she clenches around him, nails biting into his shoulder. Our bond ignites—a blinding surge of pleasure that streaks through me like sunlight through shattered glass.
I feel it too—the electric jolt of venom flooding her, amplifying everything, pulling her deeper, until she’s lost to it. Her cries build, each tremor rolling through her in waves of molten gold, dragging me with her through their honeyed pleasure.
Grayson doesn’t let up. His pace stays steady, his movements exact, pushing her through every shuddering crest. His fangs remain buried in her arm, a dark and intimate tether.
My jaguar paces, torn between fascination and unease, the predator in me snarls at the sight of her complete surrender. The venom addict in me slobbers for a taste. Grayson’s eyes flick to mine—knowing—and the smirk that curves his blood-smeared lips is pure sin.
He finally lifts his head, tongue catching the last trace of crimson. Sunday slumps against him, dazed and wrecked, and Ben’s there, steadying her with an arm around her waist. But Grayson’s focus shifts—locking onto me.
“Your turn,” he says, his voice quiet, edged with command—the kind that doesn’t ask, just expects compliance.
I hesitate, my jaguar growling low, caught between the need to assert itself and the shadows of old fears. I step back, my hands falling to my sides as Sunday curls up on the bed. The bond hums with her pleasure, a warm thread of reassurance I cling to, steadying the nerves jangling at the edges of my mind.
Our instincts are at odds with the ghosts clawing their way to the surface. Grayson will expect it. I think. He’ll want to fuck us.
The thought tightens around my ribs like a steel band.
Ben’s never pushed for more, never hinted at needing it. I figured one day, maybe, I’d want it again. Because isn’t that what you do? When you’ve got a cock and you’re with other cock-carrying lovers, it’s expected. And I even liked it, once or twice. Maybe.
This should be natural for me. I’m submissive in bed, mostly . But it isn’t. Not since Texas.
The memories flicker like a bad film reel: hands pulling, voices demanding, no choices, no control. My stomach churns, and the jaguar growls, the weight of it all too much. But this is different. Grayson is different. He’s… safe, ours.
I try to believe it, but the nerves dig in deeper, knotting tight. I’ll offer and it will be okay. The bad thoughts will stay where they belong.
I look at him, his beautiful eyes locked on mine—unreadable. I open my mouth to say what I think he wants to hear, but before I can, he speaks—matter-of-fact, deliberate, and so utterly Grayson.
“How do you want me, Little Cat?” His voice is a velvet thread. “Bent over the bed?” His fingers trace a slow line of fire from my collarbone to my navel. His other hand tilts my chin up, his eyes holding mine, searching. “Or should I kneel for you?”
The words hang between us, and for a moment, I’m sure I misheard. My jaguar growls, pacing in my mind, confused, as I struggle to process it. Grayson—imposing, ancient, always in control—kneeling for me?
It’s the kind of fever dream I’d never admit to, except maybe when Dominga is beneath me, and something wild and very un-submissive rises to the surface. In those moments, I’ve imagined it: sliding into him, my bond mark glinting silver against his perfect skin. A fantasy I’ve kept locked away—private and very satisfying.
My mouth moves before I can stop it. “You’d do that?” Disbelief tangled in every syllable. “Let an Omega, a shifter, a venom—”
He silences me with a sharp kiss, pressing my jagged words back down my throat. When he pulls away, his glowing eyes pin me in place, clear and unwavering.
“I would,” he says simply, his tone threaded with quiet certainty. “I have.”
I blink, stunned into silence. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing softly over my skin—firm enough to ground me, gentle enough to soothe.
“And don’t you ever talk about my mate that way again.”
My jaguar stills, its restless energy settling beneath his hand. His lips curve into a faint smile, his fingers trailing down to rest lightly against my chest. The air between us crackles.
“Now,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, eyes burning into mine, “tell me what you want, Little One.”
I swallow, the words clawing at my throat before I finally force them out. “Fine.” I take a breath, sharp and fast. “I want to fuck you and bite you on the ass again.”
There. I said it. The world didn’t end. Ben’s still holding Sunday, and she’s flooding our bond with waves of pride.
Grayson’s smirk widens wickedly. “See? Not so hard.”
Before I can snap back, his hand slides down my stomach, slipping past the waistband of my jeans. Heat flares in my face. Yeah, I’m still dressed— there’s been a lot going on. His fingers linger just long enough to make my breath stutter before he pulls away, infuriatingly composed.
He arches a brow, eyes glinting. “Think you can lose the pants before you fuck me? A man does like to be romanced.”
I snort, my cheeks burning as I fumble with my belt. “Romanced, huh? Before or after I bite you?” Goddess, that was lame.
Grayson chuckles, his fingers brushing my jaw as he leans in. “Before, obviously. Do I look like a rough trick? I do have standards.”
A scrape of wood interrupts the moment. Ben’s up, rifling through the nightstand drawers. “Uh, guys? Hate to ruin the vibe, but our luggage is still in the kitchen, and there’s no complimentary lube.” Complimentary lube—where the fuck has Ben been staying?
Grayson arches a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I have some in my wallet.”
There’s a beat of silence as we all process that. I have the good sense not to ask, but Sunday’s eyes narrow, wary mistrust practically vibrating through the bond.
“Oh?” Her voice is light, but the tilt of her head says she’s not buying it. “You always carry it around like that?”
Grayson’s laugh is smooth, rich, and shameless. “Lover, preparedness is a virtue.” His gaze flicks to me, sharp and amused. “Besides, opportunities arise when you least expect them. And while blood works in a pinch, it’s… messy.”
I make a face, imagining the absolute crime scene that would be.
Sunday isn’t falling for the distraction. Suspicion crackles through the bond, her gift poking at his words, testing their truth. But it’s about us—of course it is.
Grayson leans down, retrieving his trousers with infuriating calm, completely unfazed by her scrutiny. Maybe even enjoying her possessiveness a bit.
And damn, but I love it, too. Should I want her to be so secure that jealousy never crosses her mind? Yeah. But this reminder that she’s just as human as the rest of us? Fuck yes. For someone who so often seems like a goddess floating above us, these moments humanize her, ground her in the best way.
Grayson straightens, wallet in hand. He pulls out a small, neatly packaged tube, letting it catch the light like a prize. His eyes dance with mischief as they flick to Sunday.
She rolls her eyes, her paranoia giving way to exasperation.
Then he hands it to me.
“I’d say, be gentle, but we both know you won’t be.” His voice is silk, threaded with just enough amusement to make my jaguar huff in irritation.
I take the tube, my fingers brushing his as I glare. “Oh, so you’re already an expert on my technique?”
“Let’s just say I have… high expectations.” His eyes glint, a flicker of red threading through them. My pulse spikes. Damn him.
Sunday snorts softly, “Well, I love their technique. You’re in for a treat, baby.”
Before I can snap back, all humor drains from Grayson’s face. In a blink, he’s inches away, eyes burning. His palm settles on my chest, warm against the hammer of my heart.
“We can do this any way you like,” he murmurs, his voice threaded with quiet resolve. “You can take whatever you need from me.”
The weight of his words hits like a rogue wave, unmooring me. I swallow hard, emotion tightening my throat.
His hand stays, steady and sure. “Whatever you need,” he repeats, his voice gentle but firm, an offer, not a demand. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me. And if the bond doesn’t take, we’ll find another way.”
Something unruly inside me settles. I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat, and point to the bed. “Lie down.”
Sunday scoots back, her eyes wide with curiosity. Grayson moves with that same measured grace, muscles sculpted under golden skin. He starts to lie on his stomach, and I blurt, “No.” My voice is stronger than I expect. “On your back.”
He pauses, one brow arching, that infuriating look that makes me want to smack him and kiss him. But he doesn’t argue. He adjusts, turning onto his back with deliberate ease, his face softening into something almost vulnerable.
Abs . Goddess, I’m a slut for his abs. The dips, the grooves, that sharp V-line. I tear my gaze away and focus on my hands, shoving down my jeans and boxers, both ruined after getting way too excited eating out Dominga.
My jaguar purrs, satisfied, even as embarrassment flickers through me. I glance up. Ben’s propped on one elbow, fingers lazily trailing through Sunday’s curls. He catches my eye and winks.
Is it weird to be doing this with an audience? Maybe. But I’m grateful they’re here—Ben’s quiet strength and Sunday’s steady warmth.
And Grayson? He doesn’t care about tops or bottoms. When you’re as powerful as he is, you do what you want.
I push the thoughts away and let myself sink into the moment. My fingers trail down his chest, tracing the smooth planes of skin, warming now from Sunday’s blood and my touch. His eyes are half-lidded, his breath steady but expectant.
I take his cock in hand. His breath hitches—a soft, fleeting sound that I immediately want to hear again. I squeeze, testing, and there it is—the slightest catch, a low, satisfied hum.
My thumb traces the ridge of his beautiful cock, and his jaw tightens, the faintest twitch of his lips betraying his composure. My nerves wind tighter, fraying like I’m balanced on the edge of something vast and unknown.
“Xavier,” he murmurs, my full name a low rumble—half command, half beseeching. His hand brushes against mine, not to stop me, but to guide me, firm yet unassuming. “Come here, Little One. I need you.”
That voice does something to me. It cuts through the nerves, the performance anxiety—the fear—because that’s what it is. But boundaries are set, consent given. This vampire is waiting for me to take what’s mine.
I exhale, breathing out the jittery energy, and take him in—really take him in. I want to lock this image away, something to dust off when I’m old and remembering my misspent youth.
His knees are bent, legs spread just enough for me to crawl between them. The scar on his right leg winds like a pale thread. I brush my lips over it, then the other leg—I do try to be fair. He laces his fingers through mine and tugs gently, pulling me sprawling across him. Mental note: Gray is a bossy bottom—I know, I’m surprised too.
We kiss, his hands stroking my back and sides in long, firm sweeps. It’s not lost on me that he’s likely using a technique to calm jittery shifters. And damn it, it works. I feel my body relax, my mind no longer floating near the ceiling.
His fangs are down again, and he’s so careful with me. My chest aches in that strange, tender way. I don’t want to seem fragile, but I crave the way he pampers me. I leave his mouth, working my way down his jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses, nipping at his neck with blunt teeth. He bares his throat to me, and my jaguar stirs, purring approval. Perfect bite spot.
But it’s not our spot.
I move lower, mapping the ridges of his shoulder muscles, the hollow between his pecs, the bob of his Adam’s apple. He swallows, and it skitters away. I give chase, amused and determined.
My hand drifts, grazing his cock, hard and hot against mine. I pause there, prolonging the delicious ache. The subtle flex of it in reaction to my mouth is too good to give up. I roll my hips, and he curses under his breath.
Sunday’s giggle sparks wicked delight in me. I do it again. I love her eyes on us, the way she watches, the way Ben’s fingers are tangled in her hair, keeping him focused on her while we claim this moment.
Grayson’s hands tighten, pulling me closer. He lifts his hips, a silent invitation.
I drop to my knees. The bed’s height is perfect for what I have in mind.
I’m going to eat Gray’s ass.
Vampires are perfect for this—clean, always. No mortal digestion, no mess. He smells like Sunday’s slick and that unnameable scent that’s just him—something dark, woody, and expensive.
My mouth waters, and my jaguar prowls forward. I retreat a little, letting him take over. I give him leave to groom, while I pay attention to the subtle quivers in Grayson’s legs, the way his muscles tense when our tongue brushes his taint, then circles his hole.
Every twitch, every shudder, sends heat curling through me. I’m so hard, leaking all over myself. Maybe we don’t need lube. Omegas are a juicy bunch, after all.
I glance up and see Grayson’s head turned to the side, his tongue poking out just a little. He looks—well, goofy. And just like that, a wave of love crashes over me for this vampire, because what else could it be?
I press my tongue against his hole and savor the sharp intake of his breath. My jaguar purrs in satisfaction, then retreats, letting me take over as I tease and taste, lick and prod. I don’t know how much prep a vamp really requires, but I want this to be perfect. I want him to enjoy this as much as I will.
I tear open the lube packet with my teeth, coating my cock thoroughly, making sure the spines are slick. I pour a generous amount onto my fingers and slip one inside him. Then another. He takes me easily, already relaxed, his hips pushing back, drawing my fingers into that silken channel.
When I add a third, he shudders, his body clenching tight around me. I find his prostate, stroking it, and he convulses, a strangled moan escaping his lips.
“Little Cat, if you don’t fuck me soon…”
I grin, unable to resist a jab. “Patience, Rucio. Do you have any idea how much edging karma you’ve built up over your existence?”
Sunday gasps, laughter bursting from her, and even Ben chuckles. With that connection humming around us, I press forward, slowly, carefully pushing inside.
It’s different from Sunday—tighter at first, then a smooth, uniform heat. Goddess, he feels like silken sin. And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that I’m going to be obsessed with this. I hope it’s not a one-time thing. I want him to need this as much as I do.
I begin to move, and his reactions are even better than I imagined. His head falls back, eyes closed, and each surge forward makes him tremble. His fingers wrap around my forearm, like he’s afraid he’ll float away. I love being the one who keeps him grounded.
A few minutes in, the coil in my belly tightens, warning me I’m not going to last. I lean over him, and he pulls his knees back, spreading wider, letting me sink even deeper. His submission steals my breath.
I lean down, my voice a raw whisper. “I’m going to come in your ass. And then I’m going to keep fucking you.”
Grayson licks his lips and nods. No smirk, no retort. Just a needy little moan. I wrap my hand around his neglected cock, knowing it’ll shatter my control. I pump him a few times, and my orgasm crashes through me, pleasure flooding between us, making everything slicker, warmer. Our scents tangle together, and I’m distantly aware of Sunday drawing closer, her eyes dark with hunger.
“Sit on his face.”
Her eyebrows lift. “What?”
“Sit on his face, Dominga. Don’t get up until he makes you come.”
She hesitates for a heartbeat, but then she climbs onto him, his hands sinking into her ass as he pulls her down, sealing her to his mouth. The sight alone makes me harden again, still buried inside him.
With that first edge taken off, I let myself play. My rhythm slows, deepens. I drag my fingers over his cock, watch his abs twitch and contract, his body fighting for control.
And I become singularly focused on breaking it.
Sunday’s hips move in tight circles, her head thrown back, breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. Ben is feasting on her tits, licking and sucking at her nipples, and each time he pulls back, she whimpers, her body trembling.
That’s what finally makes me snap. Watching them—Grayson’s fingers digging into her, Sunday’s hips growing more frantic, Ben completely focused on making her writhe and moan. It’s too much. I lick my dry lips. I need him in my mouth.
Pulling out, I brace my hands on either side of Grayson’s hips, and take him as deeply as I can, sliding my lips down his length in one smooth motion. No teasing, just the rush of pushing him to the back of my throat. His hips stutter, and I grin around him.
I support myself on one arm and keep bobbing, up and down, slow and deliberate. My other hand slips back, fingers finding that slick hole and inside, his swollen prostate. I press and massage, my jaguar humming with satisfaction at the way he shudders and clenches.
Then Sunday’s voice cuts through the haze, electric and raw. “Oh, fuck, Gray. Oh my God. Shadow, whatever you’re doin’, I’m feeling it too. Don’t stop.”
Their bond. The realization zips through me—fucking him is like fucking her too. And yeah, I really like that.
She collapses onto Ben, and he doesn’t miss a beat, driving into her again, both of them caught in the same loop of need and release that’s got the rest of us tangled up.
Grayson’s cock jerks, his body going taut beneath me. He comes with a low, broken moan, and I swallow it down, smug and satisfied. I press a kiss to the tip, feeling it twitch, still trembling from aftershocks.
My jaguar prowls forward, suggesting I bite him—his hip, his thigh, hell, even his golden cock. But instead, I help him turn over, his body languid and loose now.
His hand shoots back, fingers reaching for mine. I take it, something warm and soft settling in my chest at the way he seeks out that extra connection.
I start by licking our spot, high on his left cheek, savoring the way his muscles flutter under my tongue. I should feel nervous, maybe worry about whether this will work, but after the last thirty minutes, I can’t find a single fuck to give. Shifter bond, blood bond—none of it matters. It’s him I want, and the connection? That’s just the wrapping paper.
My jaguar shifts our teeth, and they feel strange beneath my human lips—big, dangerous, perfect for the job at hand.
I squeeze his hand—a silent warning—and he stays relaxed, open, accepting. I bite down, and his ancient blood fills my mouth, alive with magic and smoke. The bond snaps into place, immediate and electric. My jaguar leaps across the connection and is instantly met by that smoky, presence curled in Grayson’s mind.
Shadow and smoke dance together.
The rightness of it staggers me. I curl up beside him, my lips and tongue brushing over the mark, tending to it, wishing he didn’t heal so damn fast.
Then, I bite him again. Because I can.