Chapter Eighteen
Mateo
Buried Memories
Her words gut me.
‘Maybe that’s how I want it.’
Every wall I’ve tried to keep between us crumbles under the weight of that quiet defiance.
She doesn’t flinch from me, doesn’t shrink from the monster I know I am.
She tilts her chin as she dares me to prove her wrong, and the trust in her eyes is more terrifying than any blade Noah ever held to my chest.
I should stop this. I should step back, draw the line, tell her all the reasons she’s wrong to want this, to want me. But my body betrays me, my blood already thrumming with hers, my fangs sharp and aching.
“You don’t understand what you’re saying,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “You don’t know what it means to be mine. To bleed for me. To....”
“But I want to,” she interrupts, her fingers curling tighter in my hair. Her lips tremble, but her eyes don’t waver. “I’ve lived my whole life with nothing. No true family. No one who wanted me, not really. Empty days. Empty nights. Until you.”
My chest constricts, tight and painful.
“I want to belong,” she says fiercely. “And I want it to be with you. To you. Don’t you dare tell me no again.”
The desperation in her voice shreds my last restraint. I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her anger, her fears, her fire. She meets me with equal force, lips and tongue colliding in a messy, hungry clash that tastes like everything I’ve denied myself for too long.
Her nails rake down my neck, and I groan against her mouth, sliding my hands over her hips, pulling her tight against me. The quilt bunches under her knees as I press her deeper into the bed. She arches, meeting me, her body as desperate as her words.
I break the kiss, panting against her lips, my forehead pressed to hers. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Harlow. My bite isn’t gentle. It isn’t kind. It will bind you to me in ways you can’t undo.”
Her lips part, trembling. “Then bind me.”
Fuck.
The sound that rips from my chest isn’t human.
It’s a growl born of centuries of hunger and longing.
My hands shake as I cup her face, as if she might vanish if I don’t hold her.
“You’ll never be free again,” I warn her, my voice breaking.
“Not from me.” I need her to know the truth before we move further.
“I don’t want to be.”
Her words destroy me. My cock is painfully hard, begging to be set free, but I hold back.
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring every gasp, every soft sound she makes.
Her mouth is heat and surrender and defiance all at once, and I drink it down like a dying man.
My hands roam, tugging at the oversized shirt she must have found in the consort suite, baring inch after inch of the soft skin I’ve ached for.
She whimpers into my mouth when my palms slide under the fabric, up over her ribs, brushing the underside of her breasts. The sound undoes me.
I pull back, staring down at her. Her lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and wet with want. “You’re sure?” I rasp. “You need to be sure, mi alma.”
She doesn’t hesitate for a single second. “I’m sure. I love you, Mateo. I want this. I want you.”
My chest caves. I lower my head, pressing my mouth to her throat, where her pulse beats so frantically it tempts me to sink my teeth in right now. I groan against her skin, trembling with the effort it takes to hold back.
“You don’t know what that does to me,” I whisper, my fangs grazing her neck.
“Show me,” she breathes.
Her throat is laid bare beneath me, the frantic thrum of her pulse calling to every dark, ravenous instinct I’ve spent days, years, centuries holding back. I should pull away. I should warn her one last time. But I don’t have the restraint in me anymore.
Her hands fist in my shirt, tugging me closer, and her whisper sears me. “Please.”
I break. A guttural growl tears from my chest as I sink my fangs into her soft flesh.
Her gasp shudders into my mouth, half cry, half moan, and the first rush of her blood floods my tongue.
Hot, rich, and intoxicating. It’s lightning in my veins, wildfire in my chest, a taste more potent than any blood I’ve ever known.
My entire body shudders as I drink, clutching her tighter against me, my hand splayed across her lower back to anchor her to me.
And gods help me—she clings back.
Her nails dig into my shoulders through the fabric of my shirt, her legs tightening around my hips, pulling me closer as if she craves the taking as much as I crave to take.
She moans loudly, my cock pressed against her heat through the fabric of our clothes.
Every swallow of her lifeblood binds me deeper to her, every drop stitching our souls together in ways that feel both holy and profane.
Her heartbeat momentarily stutters, then steadies, syncing with the rhythm of my own. I groan against her skin, pulling harder, desperate for more, for all of her.
“Mateo...” she breathes, her voice breaking, but not in fear. In surrender. In need.
The sound nearly undoes me. I force myself to pull back before I take too much, licking the wound closed, sealing my mark into her skin. My breath comes ragged against her throat, blood still hot on my tongue.
When I lift my head, her eyes are dazed, pupils blown wide, lips parted in a mix of shock and aching desire. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are swollen from our earlier kiss, and it takes everything in me not to crash back down and devour her whole.
“You...” My voice is shredded, raw. “You’re mine now. There’s no undoing it. I’ll never let you go, Harlow.”
Her hand trembles as she cups my face, smearing her own blood across my cheek. Her smile is faint, but it holds more certainty than anything I’ve ever known. “Good.”
The word ignites me, and I crush my mouth to hers, kissing her with the copper tang of her blood still on my lips. She gasps into me, tasting herself, tasting us, and moans so sweetly I nearly lose control.
I drag the shirt over her head, baring her completely, and my breath catches. Every curve, every line of her is a vision I’ll never deserve but will spend eternity worshipping.
“You’re beautiful,” I rasp, my hands roaming reverently, possessively. “And now you’re mine.”
Her eyes shine, wet with tears but fierce with fire. “Please ... Mateo...”
The sound of her begging drives me wild. I lower my mouth to her chest, kissing, sucking, biting lightly, leaving a trail of marks that scream possession. She arches into me, her cries filling the room, every sound she makes sinking straight into my soul.
Her hands tug at my clothes, frantic and desperate, and I strip them away, needing nothing between us. When I press against her, skin to skin, every piece of me fits against her like she was carved for me alone.
I push her back against the bed, my body braced above hers, trembling with the effort it takes to hold on to some shred of control. “If I take you now, I won’t be gentle,” I warn, my voice rough, eyes burning into hers.
Her legs part, wrapping around my hips, pulling me closer. “Maybe that’s how I want it,” she whispers again, defiant, daring, and so fucking beautiful.
I groan, burying my face in her neck. “Mi alma ... you’re going to be the death of me.”
Her hands slide down my back, nails biting into my skin. “Then die with me.”
I thrust into her in one hard stroke, and she cries out, clutching me tight, her body clenching around me in exquisite shock. My own moan rumbles low in my chest, vibrating against her skin as I sink deeper, losing myself in the heat, the tightness, the absolute perfection of her.
“Fuck.” I pause, trembling, barely holding back. “Tell me to stop,” I choke. “Tell me to stop now, Harlow, before I can’t.”
Her eyes burn into mine, wet and wild. “Never. I don’t want you ever to stop.”
That’s all it takes. I move, hard and deep, claiming her with every thrust, every groan, every whispered vow that spills from my lips in Spanish, in English, in every tongue I’ve ever known.
She meets me with equal fire, her hips lifting, her cries growing louder, her nails carving her claim into my back.
We are fury and fire, need and surrender. Each kiss is a brand, each thrust a promise. And when I bite her again, drinking deep as she shatters around me, I feel the bond snap into place like chains of silk and flame binding us together forever.