Chapter 32
MARCUS
My mate is coming on my cock. The wonder of it flashes briefly in my mind before I’m coming too, pleasure tearing up my spine and through my groin.
I empty myself inside her in hard pulses.
Leah shakes around me, arching and twisting.
I’m only able to keep my cock inside her by gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
She squeezes me impossibly tight, drawing the orgasm out longer and longer as my fangs throb in her neck and her blood fills my mouth.
She makes wordless sounds against the tape before she comes again with a sharp cry, arching and shaking, then goes limp. The bond pulses with her pleasure, filling the empty places between my organs with soft light. My chest inflates with pride at doing this for her, at the connection between us.
“How you please me,” I tell her quietly, as if someone will hear. These words are only for her. My lovely slayer. The only one who has ever made me feel this way. She hums in her throat. Her magic drifts over my skin, caressing my back.
I nuzzle at the bites, licking them closed, kissing her neck. My mate. My wonderful, soft, strong, ruthless, protective, gentle, magic-filled mate. I kiss her again, but she doesn’t respond.
She’s shaking. I feel a hard stab of fear as I look down at her pale face. I have to untie her. I fumble with the manacles on her wrists, my fingers thick and my hands shaking.
I took too much. I wasn’t paying attention.
She’s mortal, and the bond overwhelmed her.
I overwhelmed her. I was too rough, too much, too strong.
I ignore the wrenching pain in my stomach, an indication that the bond has move past coaxing and will now use pain as a lash to punish me for my nearness to her.
Her teeth chatter. Her eyes are shut, and she’s shivering under me. This is wrong. This is all wrong, and it’s my fault.
I finally growl and snap the manacles, uncaring that the metal is ruined and twisted, before I gently pull her wrists free.
“Little one.” I brush kisses on her eyelids, peel the tape from her mouth, wincing at the red marks on her skin. “Leah. Slayer. You hate that nickname. Open your eyes for me.”
Her lids flutter. Her gaze is unfocused. She’s shivering. I run my hands over her arms, feeling sick at the mess of new pink skin on her neck and the bites on her nipple that still trickle blood.
You do not deserve her, vampire.
“I’m cold,” she whispers.
I don’t know what to do. I’m not warm, not human. I have no softness inside or outside. I did not grow up with kind words, and I don’t know what to do to fix her.
She’s mine to protect. Mine to cherish. I gather her close to my chest, my cock still inside her, and flash her to the only place I know that will help.