Chapter 31
Blaise
Days pass in a blur of training, reconnaissance missions with my warriors and the best Dark Umbras, overseeing the production of the sleep concoction with Sariah and a cold battle of wills with her brother.
The darn male regards me as a mere joke, the frivolous vampire I used to be and not the earnest version of myself that I’ve been turning into without even trying.
Our dislike is mutual, but Soren’s opinion of me matters because I know it matters to her. If I ever hope to stand a real chance with Sariah, I’ll need to get into her brother’s good graces.
I’ve never been particularly interested in what other males think of me, especially not when most would have skewered me, undead and all, for sleeping with their wives, their daughters, their mothers… Okay, maybe I deserve Soren’s not so unfounded despisal.
I swirl the last of my bloodwine in the crystal chalice hanging from my fingertips.
It’s almost dusk, and every nightfall brings me a sense of giddiness, as my nights have been spent with her, chained to my own bedpost, shackled to the wall, tied up with knotted ropes while she sensuously tortures me until I beg for release.
I’m not ashamed to admit I find extreme pleasure in the act of submitting to her will, just as much as when I take the reins and ram into her writhing body.
As the sun dips below the mountains and the stars blink into existence, her hushed footsteps resound on the winding staircase leading to the battlement where I’m waiting for her. She reaches the landing and her movements halt, her breathing becoming shallow.
“Blaise, what is this?”
I turn from the crenel and drink her in with hungry eyes.
Her golden hair flows down her back, swaying gently in the chilly breeze.
Her soft cyan dress and cape cling to her figure, while the thigh-high slit in her skirt exposes a sliver of creamy skin I long to touch.
She takes in the candlelit table I’ve asked Nella to help me prepare with bright, curious eyes.
“Well, dinner, of course,” I answer as I pull out one chair and gesture her to take a seat. She approaches warily, scanning my face with the keen eye of a trained spy. I can see the wheels of her enthralling mind spinning behind her arctic gaze, like a cloudless sky in the middle of a winter day.
“You don’t eat dinner,” she says carefully as she takes her seat. I lower to press a kiss on her cheek, murmuring against her rosy flesh, “But you do.”
“You’re not getting soft on me, pretty boy, are you?” she challenges, and I huff out a laugh.
“No need to worry, moonlight. I’ll always be hard for you.”
My innuendo has its intended effect, and she relaxes in her seat, accepting the flute of bubbly wine I’m offering.
I am indeed softening toward her to levels I used to believe as inconceivable, but her mocking tone keeps the confession at bay.
I lift the lid off the plate full of roasted meat and honey-glazed vegetables before taking my seat across the table.
“I just thought we’d replenish our energy for all the stamina-consuming activities we’ll endeavor to later,” I say with a wink.
“Is that a promise or a threat?”
She impales a succulent piece of meat with her fork, bringing it to her parted lips and sucking the juices that dribble down her chin. My cock instantly hardens at the sight.
“Both.”
“Such a thoughtful vampire you’re proving to be,” she chuckles wickedly, her tongue darting past her pouty lips to lick her fingers.
“I’m afraid I’m more selfish than you presume, moonlight. Having you well-fed and satiated is as much for my benefit as it is for your own.”
“Is it now?” she asks before taking another bite of the food. “Then tell me, pretty boy, what flavors my blood nicely for you?”
Sariah leans down the table, reaching two fingers into the honey bowl and taking a blob of the sickly sweet nectar on her fingertips, before bringing them back to her mouth. She hovers the fingers just above her lips, sticky honey gliding down her knuckles.
“Honey, perhaps?” she asks before licking the fingers clean, her tongue swirling around her digits just as masterfully as it does around my dick.
“Or maybe strawberries and chocolate?” she continues, picking up a plump berry and dipping it into melted chocolate.
I watch enraptured as she slowly, lazily moves the fruit to her lips, smearing the chocolate against her mouth before she nibbles on the juicy tip.
I gulp, feeling the blood in my body rushing down south.
How is it that this electrifying female flips the script on me in every situation? It’s like she thrives on bringing me down to my knees, and I’m discovering that I enjoy being at her feet a little too much.
“Dragon got your tongue, pretty boy?” Her grin is full of mischief as she coats her finger in more chocolate and leaves a sinful trail down her neck. “Or maybe you prefer it directly on your snack?”
That does it. I fling myself over the table, platters full of food toppling over and clattering to the ground.
My left knee is smashing a tray of roasted potatoes, the grease staining my leathers, but I couldn’t care less.
My intention was to have a romantic dinner with Sariah under the starry sky, but the air between us is too heavy with arousal and immoral promises.
It’s a miracle in itself that I lasted as much as I did.
I grab her by the throat and bring her mouth to mine, licking the mess she made before plunging my tongue deep inside.
She tastes like pure, unadulterated vice, promiscuous and decadent.
I never want to sully my tastebuds with anything inferior ever again.
I wonder furtively if she would ever agree to be my sole source of sustenance.
To drink any other blood feels like a capital sin at this point.
She grabs my braids and fists them around her knuckles, taking—not asking—control of our kiss.
I relinquish it way too greedily, letting her guide me onto my back on top of the table, her smooth legs straddling my hips.
I’m pretty sure my hair is sticky with the syrups and sauces staining the once white linen, and a fork is definitely pricking my ass, but fuck, this is one of the hottest encounters of my centuries long existence, and I’ve been having plenty such moments as of late, with her.
“Let’s see how my good boy tastes,” she says in a sultry tone, ripping my shirt open and pouring wine directly on my chest. I hiss when her tongue makes contact with my skin, lapping up the burgundy liquid with slow strokes before peppering open-mouthed kisses down my abs.
Wine has pooled in my navel, and she sips it torturously slow before continuing her path toward my erection.
She frees me with one hand, giving me a languid once-over through fluttering lashes before taking me into her mouth.
I groan, letting my head fall back on the table with an audible thud.
“Eyes down here, pretty boy. I want you to know exactly who’s giving you the best orgasm of your life.”
As if there’s any doubt about that.
I prop myself up on my elbows, watching her head bob up and down on my shaft. She hollows out her cheeks, picking up her pace and sneaking a hand between us to graze my balls with her sharp nails.
A rush of air tumbles out of me as she takes me to the hilt, and it takes only two more times before I release with a roar into the night.
I’m still as hard as the steel of my scimitar, but my body goes entirely limp and my thoughts scatter like snowflakes in the wind.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask in a voice two octaves lower than usual. “How do I taste?”
“You tell me,” she answers with her mouth full, wiping her lips and pushing her tongue into my mouth.
There’s a certain earthy tang mixed in with the sweetness of strawberries and her signature floral scent.
Tasting myself on her sends a shock of galvanism through my system, bringing my frayed nerves to a tipping point.
I haul her up from me and in a rush of heightened speed I jump from the table and plant her ass on the stoned crenel, parting her legs and ripping her undergarments.
Her dress is next, torn from her body with no remorse and floating airily to the ground on the outside of the castle walls.
Her bubbly giggle turns into a throaty gasp as I bury myself into her in a frantic movement, gripping her waist as she leans back over the precipice, holding on to me only by my braids.
Her hair is flapping in the wind and her moans rise to the sky like profane prayers.
I lock one of her legs around my waist, the other resting on my shoulder, and the new angle brings me deeper inside, pushing into her inner walls in a punishing rhythm.
Sariah releases her hold on my locks, throwing her hands above her head into the abyss behind her.
My heart races inside my chest, not only from the adrenaline of the position but from the unwavering amount of blind trust she puts in me right at this moment.
One wrong movement, one thrust too hard, or a slip of the hand, and she would fall to her death.
Yet there’s not one ounce of fear in her gaze, only scorching lust and exhilaration.
Heavens and hell, I love her.
The thought slams into me with vengeful clarity, and the words beg to spill out of me, but I clench my teeth in refusal, swallowing my feelings and drowning them with the slapping sounds of our fevered fucking.
She’s not ready for such a declaration of devotion, and a tiny part of me fears she never will be.
What will it take to break her walls, for her to take me seriously?
Not just as the good boy that can fuck her brains out so thoroughly, but as the male that wishes to give her the moon that sparkles in her baby blues, the vampire that will canonize her for all eternity, who’ll devote every second of his rest of time to be worthy of her love.
My next thrust hits that spot of carnality deep inside her, and she shudders violently, her wails of rapture swallowed by the darkness surrounding us.
Her cunt squeezes me so hard I almost see stars, and I bring her back to me, sinking my fangs into her pulse point.
The taste of blood and chocolate explodes in my mouth.
“Blaise,” she screams with utter abandon, and it will be a small act of mercy if the entire castle doesn’t hear her pleasure-coated chants.
Good. Let them hear. Especially her brother.
Her violent trembling ignites my orgasm, and I paint her insides in hot streams of cum.
If fate weren’t so cruel, this would be the moment when a new life would take place in her womb.
I shake that recurrent thought away with a heavy exhale, licking the wound on her throat and gathering her slack body into my arms.
She’s quiet for a beat too long, and I chuckle, burying my nose in her tousled strands of hair.
“Dragon got your tongue, moonlight?” I parrot her earlier mock, but mine holds no bite, only an overwhelming sense of adoration.
“No,” she answers hushedly, “Only you.” She frowns as if she didn’t mean to say that out loud and straightens, looking over her shoulder to the depths below where her dress lies in tattered ruins.
“Good thing Soren’s mind is too preoccupied these days with thoughts of a certain lady-in-waiting, otherwise imagine his chagrin if he’d find me traipsing naked at this hour.”
She jumps from the ledge, landing gracefully back on the battlement and heads for the stairwell with a sort of delicate dignity completely at odds with her stark nudity.
“You owe me a dress, pretty boy,” she throws over her shoulder before vanishing from my sight.
It takes me a full minute to collect my thoughts.
I owe her all the dresses in the world, all the treasures and comforts one can lay at his beloved’s feet.
One day soon she’ll stop running from the potential of what we could be, and I won’t stop chasing her until she comes to the same conclusion as me.
We are endgame.