Chapter 15 Danica #2
Our bond ignites with shared hunger. His mouth trails fire down my throat as I dig my fingers into his shoulders, desperate for more. He worships every curve with lips and tongue until I'm trembling beneath him.
"Please," I whimper, need making my voice crack. "I need you."
Rhyland locks his gaze on me, his midnight desire darkening it. "Look at me, baby. Keep those beautiful eyes on me—I'll take it away."
He knows without words what I need—to replace every unwanted touch with his claiming—to erase tonight's horror with his love until nothing exists but us.
He enters me with deliberate slowness, watching my expression. There's only completion, only the perfect fusion of our bodies that makes the world fade away. But his careful control isn't what I crave.
"More," I demand, nails raking down his back. "Make me forget everything but you."
"I don't want to hurt you, baby." His voice drops to that dark place that makes me shiver. "After what you've been through—"
"I want you," I cut him off, rolling my hips against his restraint.
"Not this careful version. I want my possessive man, who knows exactly who I belong to.
Who marks me, claims me, reminds me that my body is only his to touch.
" My fingers dig into his hair. "Make me forget everything but how it feels when you own me. "
Something primal flashes in his eyes. His grip tightens in my hair, exposing my throat to his hungry gaze. "You want a reminder?" The dark promise in his voice sends heat pooling between my thighs.
"Yes," I gasp as his thick cock slides inside me slowly. "Remind me."
A growl tears from his chest as he pulls almost completely out, then he drives into me with devastating force, stretching, filling, claiming.
My cry of pleasure echoes off the walls as he sets a punishing rhythm.
Each powerful thrust erases another unwanted memory, replacing horror with pure ecstasy.
"This sweet little pussy belongs to me," he growls, skilled fingers finding my clit. "Every sound, every shiver, every drop of pleasure is mine to command." His touch sets my nerves ablaze while he drives deeper. "Tell me who owns you."
"You," I moan. "Only you."
He shifts his angle, hitting spots that make my vision blur.
My walls flutter around him as pressure builds, turning my world to static and stars.
His powerful body above me, inside me, consuming me—this is what I crave.
My man is marking his territory, burning away the darkness with overwhelming ecstasy.
"Please," I beg, exposing my throat—needing his bite, his claim.
A feral sound rumbles from his chest. His pace turns punishing, the bed frame protesting beneath us.
"You want my dark kisses, baby, while I'm owning this pussy?
" His fingers continue to circle my clit with practiced skill, knowing exactly how to drive me wild.
"Want me to mark you while you drench my cock like the greedy girl you are? "
The filthy words, combined with his possessive touch, make me whimper. This is my Rhyland—the perfect balance of degrading desire and protective love. Our bond pulses with shared understanding; he knows exactly what I need.
"Yes—fuck—" My words dissolve into a deep moan as his fangs pierce flesh. The sharp sting, mixed with his relentless pounding, hurls me over the edge. My walls clamp down as I shatter, my release gushing around his thick length.
"Goddamn—there's my girl." he groans, watching my pleasure soak him and the sheets. "I fucking love watching you fall apart around me." His thumb never stops its sweet torture. He licks the fresh marks on my neck, the gesture possessive and tender.
Another climax builds impossibly fast—the love pulsing through our bond creates pure magic. This is salvation—my man claiming every inch of me while his love wraps around my soul like armor.
After sleeping through an entire day—my overprotective Berserker using his body as my own personal shield unless bathroom breaks were required—we're finally facing the music.
Rhyland decided on group story time rather than playing twenty questions on repeat.
Smart man, even if he's being suspiciously tight-lipped about his vanishing act.
Somewhere between playing my sexy bodyguard and sneaking off to chat with his brothers while I was dead to the world, Rhyland drops another bomb—Apparently, they've got Damon locked up in the basement like some feral pet.
And yeah, I get the whole baby-vamp-bloodlust thing, but that's my brother down there.
Rhyland can growl all he wants about waiting, but we're definitely revisiting that conversation later.
Between psychotic vampire-makers, extraterrestrial disappearing acts, and my newly-turned brother locked in the basement, my stomach's staging its own rebellion. Pretty sure I'm about five minutes away from committing homicide for a grilled cheese sandwich.
I throw on my comfy armor—well-worn sweats and my favorite pink tank that's probably seen better days—and head downstairs. Not exactly runway ready, but after the night I've had? Fashion can kiss my traumatized ass.
The moment we hit the bottom step, I'm tackled by a crying squad of bestie fury. My guardian angel, rainbow-haired rebel, and sweet Sable—the trifecta of my girls create a group hug that threatens to squeeze the life I just managed to keep.
"Can't breathe," I wheeze, though I'm grinning like an idiot. "Unless the plan is to finish what those psychos started?"
"Don't even joke about that!" Seraphina smacks my arm, her eyes watery.
Emily gives me her patented 'I will hex you if you ever scare me like that again' glare while Sable's doing her best not to ruin her mascara with the tears she's totally failing to hide from her big brown eyes.
"Ladies, if you could avoid crushing my girl?" Rhyland's amused voice rumbles behind me. "I just got her back in one piece."
I shoot him a look over my shoulder. "Please, like you weren't just claiming every inch of me upstairs with that overactive stamina of yours." The scandalized gasp from Seraphina and Sable's knowing smirk is worth the predatory heat blazing in his gaze.
"Seriously?" Emily's eyebrows hit her hairline, her rainbow hair looking like she lost a fight with an F5 tornado.
"You just escaped Satan's sugar baby, and you're up there banging your—you know what?
Viking dick time is over. This bitch and I have a date with several bottles of very expensive alcohol. "
"Food first," I groan, my stomach choosing that moment to growl loud enough to wake the dead. "Unless you want me face-planting in those expensive bottles of yours."
She yanks me toward the kitchen, where Erik and Lucian are holding court on the island. The moment I appear, Erik's stoic facade cracks. He crosses the space in three long strides, wrapping me in an embrace that screams 'protective vampire brother.'
Rhyland told me how Erik tried to outbid my buyer, willing to spend every penny he had to save me. My heart swells with love for my silver protector—beneath that brooding exterior, he's got a heart of gold.
"Little Huntress," his refined voice cracks slightly. "I should have reached you sooner. My failure to—"
"Oh my god, stop writing poetry about your feelings and give her here," Lucian yanks me from Erik's arms. "Jesus Christ, you'd think getting your neck snapped would make you less dramatic.
" He squeezes me tight, dropping a kiss on my head.
"Besides, your whole 'martyr in a tactical vest' routine is seriously harshing my buzz. "
Erik's eye roll could win Olympic medals, but I catch the slight upturn of his lips.
"Welcome back to the shit show, princess," he winks, ignoring Erik's death glare."Better watch out—Erik wrote three haikus about his guilt while you were gone."
"I hardly think—" Erik's dignified protest gets steamrolled by Emily slamming shot glasses onto the counter like she's arming for war.
"Shut it, Mr. Tactical," Emily commands, amber liquid sloshing as she pours with terrifying efficiency. "Next person who opens their mouth before downing four shots gets transformed into the tackiest garden gnome Target's ever seen. Complete with a fishing pole and little red hat."
Lucian, being Lucian, naturally opens his mouth—probably to ask if his gnome transformation would be anatomically correct and well-endowed—but Emily's 'try me, bitch' glare has him snatching his shot glass.
I'm seated at the island, and then, like the food gods have answered my prayers, Rosa drops a mouth-watering plate in front of me—a perfectly grilled steak cooked medium-rare, garlic mashed potatoes drowning in butter, and roasted asparagus that smells like heaven.
I beam at her like she's just handed me the keys to paradise.
"Oh my god, thank you, Rosa!"
When Lucian said he had staff on speed dial, I thought he was full of shit. And right now, I could kiss her entire face for knowing exactly what my starving ass needs.
Rosa's been our personal kitchen goddess since she arrived a couple of weeks ago, right before our little dance with the apocalypse—AKA Azrael.
Her culinary magic has been blessing our taste buds three times a day, heavy on the Mexican cuisine because apparently Lucian's immortal ass can't function without his daily dose of authentic enchiladas.
That man may have decades under his belt, but his devotion to Rosa's cooking borders on religious fervor.
Not that I'm complaining—pretty sure she could make a gourmet meal out of a pack of ramen and some pocket lint.
"Eat up, carina," Rosa says with a knowing smile.
I don't waste time with manners, attacking my steak like I'm auditioning for National Geographic while everyone else throws back shots. Rhyland hovers behind me like my own personal bodyguard as I demolish my plate with zero shame.
Through a mouthful of heaven, I wave my fork at Erik and Lucian before jabbing it over my shoulder at Rhyland. "Alright, spill it. All of you. Starting with why your psycho maker is obsessed with my man and ending with whatever cosmic field trip yanked his brooding ass through that vortex."