Chapter 21
Maeve
SEVERIN’S COCK FILLS ME, MAKING my pussy stretch around him.
I’ve fantasized about this moment, have dreamt of him touching me, fucking me, making me forget my own name. But reality is so much better than fantasy.
Beneath me, Severin has his arms slightly spread, and he’s gripping the comforter like it’s the only thing tethering him to this dimension, like if he were to let go, the spirits of Samhain would pull him through the veil, never to let him return.
His eyes, black as onyx in the low light, glare up at me, angry and hungry and pleading all at the same time.
Shifting my weight, I lean forward to brace one hand on his chest. His muscles are firm beneath my fingers, and I dig my nails into his pale skin, eliciting a small hiss.
With my other hand, I reach between my legs, and I make sure Severin can see as I start to touch myself, working my fingers around my swollen clit. His black eyes track the movement, and inside me, his cock gets harder.
I start to ride him, deep and slow. And I keep my eyes open, watching him.
His teeth are clenched now, and even in the low candlelight, I can see the tips of his fangs showing, glistening with a clear fluid. He keeps drawing his tongue across them, like a predator about to enjoy its meal.
And I decide I’ll happily be his feast.
I shift my hips faster, rougher. Still rubbing myself, I slam my pussy onto his dick.
My head falls back, hair slipping over my shoulders, and I close my eyes, trying to memorize every sensation.
Because I know this might be our only time together, know that he might come to his senses after this, refusing to lose his job over us—over me.
So I want to make it a phenomenal fuck.
With my eyes still closed, I chase my climax, getting closer with every second.
And I’m just about to cum when Severin’s hands wrap around my waist, and in one movement, he’s reversed our positions again, pinning me to the mattress, somehow without ever pulling his cock out of me.
“Are you flexible, storm witch?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.
I let out a breathy laugh. “Try me.”
Bracing his hands on the backs of my knees, he presses my legs open and down, until my knees are up near my ears, my pussy fully open and exposed to him. I’m pinned beneath him, at his mercy.
And he’s not gentle.
I gasp as he slams his cock into me, making my breasts bounce. Now it’s my turn to grit my teeth. It hurts, but in a way that heightens every touch, that makes my body tingle with pleasure and adrenaline.
After every few thrusts, he slips his shaft out of me and drags it along my slit, rubbing my clit, keeping me right on the edge of cumming. My breaths come out in panted gasps, and sweat is building up on every inch of my skin.
“Touch yourself,” he says, his breath playing along the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
So I do. I reach between our bodies and find my aching clit. It’s so hungry for release that touching it makes me gasp.
He slows his pace, still fucking me deep, but going slower now, matching the rhythm of my fingers, like we’re partners in a dance.
“Severin,” I whisper, drawing his black eyes to mine.
As soon as he meets my gaze, I take a hitched breath and finally hit my climax.
An orgasm sweeps through me, making my pussy clench and my toes curl.
Severin groans as my walls squeeze his dick, and he fucks me through my orgasm, making me moan until I’m sure the neighboring room can hear me. The blood pounding through my veins makes my ears roar, and I’m lightheaded.
When I’ve ridden my pleasure as far as it’ll carry me, he pulls out of me and cums, releasing himself all over my stomach and gaping pussy lips. The muscles along his neck go taut, and he grits his teeth as more ropes of heat paint me.
Fuck, he’s beautiful. And I’ve allowed myself to get caught in his pretty little web.
For a moment, neither of us moves; we just gasp for breath in the candlelight, our bodies glistening with sweat and cum. Then, slowly and gently, Severin releases my legs, guiding them down.
“Are you okay?” he asks, that hungry rasp gone from his voice, replaced with something softer, laced with concern.
I nod once, then reach up to trail my fingertips across his face. They drift along his eyebrow, then down his temple. His dark eyes flutter closed, and he leans subtly into my touch.
And I get the sudden feeling that he yearns for comfort, yearns to be held. He may not say it, but I can see it written across his face.
“Will you clean us up?” I ask softly.
“Of course.” He presses himself up and off the bed, then goes to fetch a cloth from the wardrobe.
He pours water over it from a copper pitcher before returning to the bed.
With utmost gentleness, he draws the cloth along my skin, wiping me clean, being especially careful as he moves the cloth between my legs.
Then he uses it to clean his cock, which is slowly softening.
By the time he returns to the bed, I’ve shimmied myself under the soft blankets, and he slips in beside me. I scoot close to him, nestling my head into the space between his shoulder and his neck.
And for a long time, we just lie there, his arm wrapped around me, his fingers twirling a strand of my hair. I stare into the candlelight across the room, my body heavy and spent, and a question rises to my tongue.
“Severin,” I whisper.
“Hmm?”
I push myself up and turn to look down at him. “You didn’t drink from me.”
I was certain he was going to. His lips hesitated at my neck, and I prepared myself for pain, for a bite, but then he withdrew, and it left me feeling almost . . . disappointed.
Beneath me, Severin goes very still. The muscles in his jaw feather, like he’s chewing on the words, deciding which ones to let out. Finally, he says, “No.”
I tilt my head, searching his face, trying to make sense of what I see in his midnight eyes. “Why not?”
He reaches up, finding a lock of my hair. His gaze follows his fingers as they glide through the silky strands, and he doesn’t meet my eyes as he says, “Because if I had, everything would’ve changed.”
My lips pull into a frown. “How?”
“Feeding is . . .” He clenches his teeth and gives a subtle shake of his head, then finally meets my eyes. “It’s painful, Maeve. Excruciating. And it creates a connection, whether you intend for it to or not.”
Now it’s my turn to reach out to him. I push my fingers through his dark hair, watching the way the soft touch makes his eyelids flutter closed, then whisper, “I wasn’t afraid.”
He lets out a soft laugh, then takes my hand and flips it over. In a whisper, he says, “I was.”
His lips find the soft skin on my wrist, kissing it delicately. He holds them there for a moment, and I’m sure he’s feeling the beat of my heart thrumming just beneath the skin.
“Of what?” I ask, trying not to break the spell of this moment, this instance of Severin softening enough to be vulnerable with me. He’s usually so cold and unyielding, like marble. It’s nice, getting to see this other side of him.
“Of hurting you.” His black eyes flick up to meet mine, reflecting the candlelight. “And of wanting more once I started.”
“You think you couldn’t stop?”
He draws a deep breath, then lets it out in a sigh, releasing my wrist from his hold and settling back into the fluffy pillows on the bed. “I think I wouldn’t want to. And want—desire—is dangerous to a vampire. And everyone around them.” His gaze goes sharp. “Dangerous to you.”
I shift in the bed, moving to straddle him. His hands find the dip of my waist, and he trails his thumbs across my skin softly. “I’m not afraid of you, Professor D’Arques.”
“Why not?” he asks into the dark.
Leaning forward, I press a gentle kiss to his mouth, then rest my forehead against his. “Because I trust you.”
He lets out what sounds like a mix between a grumble and a sigh. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Miss Vandermere.” His voice is low and rich, and it makes tiny shivers go across my skin.
My lips lift in a smile as I sit back. “Maybe not. But it’s the truth.”
His hands tighten around my waist, his expression going serious. For a long moment, he stares at me, his eyes narrowed, and in the dim candlelight, I watch something flicker across his expression, but it’s there and gone before I can begin to understand it.
Quietly, as if he doesn’t mean to say it at all, he whispers, “Then you’re braver than I am.”
One of his hands lifts from my waist to cradle my head, and he pulls me into a kiss. This one isn’t hungry like the others; it’s gentle, slower. It almost feels like surrender, or something very near to it.
When we break apart, he trails his thumb across my cheekbone, then shifts me, tucking me against his chest. I go willingly, settling into his warmth and the firmness of his body, pressing my head against his chest, where I can feel his heart beating against my ear.
My own special lullaby, I think, sleepiness starting to creep in.
His arm wraps around me, comforting and secure, and his other hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together against his chest.
“Sleep, Maeve,” he murmurs into my hair, his lips and breath brushing the crown of my head.
My eyelids grow heavy, my exhaustion finally catching up with me. Across the room, the candles blur into soft halos of golden light, and I feel myself starting to drift.
Just before I fall asleep completely, a thought surfaces: I wonder if trusting is ever truly wise, when we all know trust can lead to hurt.
Maybe it’s a choice we make not because it’s safe, but because the alternative—holding back, shielding ourselves out of fear of pain—is a kind of death all its own.
I don’t have an answer, but as sleep pulls me under, Severin’s arm still wrapped around me, I decide I don’t yet need one.
That’s a question for another day.