Chapter Twenty-Six
“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” Winifred said, in a voice so soft it made Marcus’s heart leap into his throat.
He brushed strands of hair over her shoulder. “I could not bear it if I broke you.”
Hundreds of humans had died by his hand before he’d developed the control necessary to push back his vampiric nature. It had been nearly two centuries since he’d accidentally taken a mortal life during a feeding, but he dared not bite her while there remained even a miniscule risk.
She screwed up her nose. “I am not a piece of pottery, Marcus.”
He gathered her against his chest. “You do not understand. You are”—he grasped for the correct words—“the light that has brightened the dark confines of this castle.” She was more than that, of course. She was his rescuer, perfection personified.
“I need you,” Winifred whispered.
He exhaled a shaky breath as he unbuttoned the fall of his trousers and released his cock.
What he was considering doing was dangerous, given how tenuous his control had been as of late, but he’d told her the truth.
He burned for her with a fury that was beyond his ability to ignore.
He grabbed a pillow, lifted her hips to place it beneath her, then brought the head of his cock to her quim.
She ran her fingers down her abdomen. “W-Will it fit?”
“It will.” He pressed a kiss to the scar between her breasts. “We don’t have to do this. There are other ways… ways that would be better for you.” It would take everything in him to stop, but her comfort and safety were his only concern.
She clenched her fingers in his shirt. “No. I’ve waited long enough. Make me your wife.”
Her determination filled him with a fluttering warmth, even as the slight movement of the fabric draped over his bruised flesh made him wince.
He ignored the pain and rubbed his shaft through her folds, coating himself in her essence and giving her ample opportunity to change her mind.
When she relaxed, he grasped her hip in one hand and entered her.
She gasped, but he was used to her reaction to his coldness. As expected, she soon relaxed and tilted her head back.
He had only penetrated her an inch, but he already trembled with restraint. He wouldn’t be able to last long, but this moment, her first experience, had to be as perfect as he could make it, given the circumstances.
She took him easily until her curls were pressed against his. He savored each twitch of her sheath. The urge to move was overwhelming, but he held himself in place until she stopped squirming.
“What next?” she asked, between panting breaths.
He drew back until he nearly fell out of her, then eased back in. The scorching heat of her quim clasped around him was almost too much to bear.
“Again,” she demanded.
He did as she’d asked, while also forming a protrusion out of the base of his cock with his blood. With each thrust, it rubbed against her clitoris and vibrated. There were other things he could do to enhance her pleasure, but she was already so close that he would save them for another time.
Then his rhythm faltered, and he felt her slip away from the edge.
He grunted in frustration and tried to slow down, but he was too close to his own limit.
Unable to resist, he withdrew his fangs, leaned down, and brushed the gentlest of scratches along her collarbone.
A bead of blood formed and dripped down her pale skin.
As she cried out and spasmed around his cock, his resistance shattered.
He leaned forward and licked the blood away.
The moment it touched his tongue, he came apart so powerfully that he saw spots.
When he could think again, he curled onto his side and drew her back against his chest. “That was…extraordinary.”
She placed her hand atop his. “For me as well, but…” She twisted around until they were face to face. “Why did you apologize?”
He ran his fingertips along a faint, white mark on her collarbone. “I vowed I would not taste your blood again, but I couldn’t stop myself. At least it was only a drop.”
Such a small amount, yet it had chased away the minor aches that had plagued him since he’d awoken that evening. He felt even stronger than he had after Smith’s donation, all thanks to her.
She sniffed. “You could have taken more.”
That statement made his stomach twist into knots, so instead of responding, he tugged her so her cheek was against his chest. He still could not believe she was in his bed and had allowed him to taste her mouth, her flesh, her blood. She was everything he’d dreamed of and more.
He wished he could be the same for her. She was not a beautiful creature to be caged so he alone could admire her plumage and her song. She deserved excitement. Novelty. The company of people who would appreciate her passion for history.
All things he could not give to her in his current state.
He draped an arm over his eyes. Mere hours ago, he had accepted that his life was nearly over.
Now, he could not bear the thought of leaving Winifred.
What he felt for her was so far beyond the mere concept of “love” that it was laughable.
According to Cordon, if she were his mate, they would have bonded already.
Unless she did not feel the same way.
He dismissed the thought. If Winifred did not love him yet, he was certain she would, in time. But if fate were so cruel as to place her in his life but not have her be his fated mate, then he did not want one.
There had to be another way. The scientific world rarely operated in absolutes.
All he had to do was identify and extract the component out of human blood that alleviated the symptoms of atrophy.
Then he could devote his life to Winifred and forget about the messy complications of mating and telepathic bonds once and for all.