Chapter 33
Evangeline clamps onto my forearm and gulps down my blood as if it's the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted. And though it’s been such a long time since I was this fresh in my power, I can relate to the feeling.
But fuck is her greedy little appetite doing things to me.
There’s a reason the red rooms exist. Because feeding for vampires can be innately sexual.
It taps into our most natural instincts, letting that more animalistic side of ourselves have free rein.
And while our kind has evolved enough to not tear apart every meal we indulge in with the need for violence, that instinct had to be replaced by something.
I let the fingers of my free hand trail over the tresses of lavender hair falling across her back, bringing her in tighter as she feeds, pushing her to drink more even though I know I shouldn’t. I’m rock hard already, and my own bloodlust is making it near impossible for me to restrain myself.
“Okay, Angel.” I lean down, whispering in her ear, caressing the side of her head.
“That’s enough.” But my words do little to tame her.
She doubles down against my arm, using both hands to hold me steady against her mouth.
My eyes roll back in my head at the sensation, my blood no longer freely flowing into her but rather needing to be coaxed out by her lips.
“Angel.”
Her name is a warning, despite the near whimper in my voice.
A wave of pleasure rolls through me and I can’t fight it anymore.
I need her gone or I need all of her. There is no in-between.
I pull her off of me, in an attempt to force more space between us.
But her strength surprises me and she’s lunging for my neck a mere moment later.
Her fangs break my skin, sinking into the flesh just above my collarbone and my knees nearly buckle with the sensation.
“We need to stop,” I say, my muscles tightening as I force myself not to touch her. “I can’t—I’m not strong enough to resist you.” My voice is low, gruff, full of concentrated control.
“So don’t,” she says against the shell of my neck, her lips wet with my blood.
I close my eyes, fisting my hands into her hair as I use what little control I have left to tamp down on the desire burning like fire through me. But it doesn’t work. The floodgates have been opened and with her now bound to me, there’s no more resisting whatever this is.
“Fuck it,” I growl, pulling her away from my neck by her hair and crashing against her lips.
I can taste my blood on her tongue, the melding of us together exhilarating.
She’s scrambling over the edge of the bedframe to get closer to me.
And without hesitation, I lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist and shoving off the fragments of her dress.
One hand under her ass—the weight of it as good as sin in my palm—and one hand around the back of her delicate neck, I hold her to me.
Not an inch of room exists between us as I feel every point of contact between her skin and mine, crackling with electricity.
Her need for my kiss is as frantic as her need for my blood and I’m trying desperately to give her what she desires.
It feels so fucking good to have her, finally.
To hold her against me and chase the taste of her tongue with my own.
But I know this is only a fragment of what I want.
I walk us through the room a moment later, laying her across the bed and sinking to my knees before her.
I run my hand up the length of her leg, stopping only when I’ve hooked my thumb under the seam of her underwear.
I hesitate a moment, locking eyes with her over the naked planes of her body.
She nods, small but sure, and it’s the only confirmation I need before ripping the fabric away.
I hook my hands around her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the bed and eliciting the most delicious squeal from her.
I grin, soaking in the sound as I bury myself between her thighs.
The squeal fades to a moan as she feels my tongue press against her core.
I don’t give her a moment to adjust to the sensation before I’m devouring her. Just as she devoured me.
Her taste is intoxicating, even better than I’d imagined it could be. I need more of it, need to taste her blood along with it. But I won’t allow myself that pleasure. Not yet.
“Oh gods,” she whimpers, her body roiling with need as she bucks against my face.
“Uh uh,” I hum against her clit, and she jerks at the sensation. “Only my name on those lips, Angel.” I close my lips over her sensitive bundle of nerves and suck. Hard.
“Fuck, Aamon,” she cries out, already close. I can feel the build of it in her, the hum of energy in her blood as it connects to mine. It makes me feral, starved, and I lap against her, taking my fill.
“You’re mine now, Evangeline. When you laugh, when you feed, when you fuck. Remember whose you are.”
She cries out, climaxing with reckless abandon. I pull away just enough to bite my palm and squeeze the crimson liquid over her core, returning quickly enough to lap it up along with her wetness.
It’s my penance for turning her, a small offering back to her after I violated her so fully.
It does little to make up for my actions, but the ritual feels necessary.
The mixing of her fluids with my own. She is bloodbound to me now, and no matter how much the actions that led us here sicken me, I find myself desperate to finish the rite.
I rise, taking my time to crawl over her. “Open,” I say through the mouthful. She obeys without question as I spit the mixture into her mouth, her eyes rolling back into her head when the blood hits her tongue.
“A reward, for being so obedient,” I praise. She moans in appreciation as I reach between her legs, pumping my fingers in and out of her as she rides the aftershocks of her orgasm. “That’s what we taste like together, Angel. Fucking honey-dipped blasphemy."
And as wrong as it is, as wrong as we are, I crave its sweet damnation.
Her mouth falls open, her hips moving in rhythm with my hand as she begins to build again.
And I know the words she wants to say before she speaks them, the agreement in her eyes and the way her body is responding to my touch.
But before she has the chance to voice any of it, the door swings open and I look up to find a very stunned and very angry Quinn.