Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Noah
Andrew’s words go straight to my cock. Lick anything I want? I want to lick him all over.
But I’m starting with those fangs.
I lean up and meet his hot mouth. His teeth are ordinary, no fangs to be found, but I’m only disappointed for a second. Last time, I seized control, but now he’s in charge, and I’m stunned to realize how much I like the dominating way he takes my mouth.
Pulling back, he looks down at me, and his smile is a dark, wicked thing. “On your hands and knees.”
I don’t move. “Let me see your fangs,” I demand, and he laughs.
“Don’t think you’re giving the orders here, kitten,” he chides, and outrage blooms in me.
“What did you just—”
In an instant, I find myself flipped onto my hands and knees, and I swallow hard, my cock throbbing in time with my racing heartbeat. His strength is a turn-on. Noted.
I look back over my shoulder at where he’s flipping open the cap on the bottle of lube. “I want to see your fangs.” I try not to whine, but it’s not a complete success.
“Patience,” he says, not even looking at me. Well, not at my face, anyway. I shift my weight experimentally, and sure enough, the resulting movement of my ass has all his attention. Hmm.
I move again, this time incorporating a little wiggle, and the bastard smacks my ass, a sharp slap that doesn’t hurt but makes me tingle all over.
“You—”
He cuts me off this time by grabbing my hip with one hand and tracing a lube-wet finger along my rim. I suck in a huge breath as he sets about stretching me, taking his time and making sure to hit all my most sensitive spots, until I’m squirming in his grip.
Finally, he slides his arm around my waist and pulls me upright, his chest pressed against my back and his cock rubbing against my ass, almost where I want it.
And can we just take a second to talk about that cock?
I can feel those spiny things getting stiffer the more he rubs, and the added friction is amazing.
“Turn,” he whispers, and I twist my torso halfway, raising my eyes to his face.
He’s smirking, that smug expression I’ve always hated so much on his face, but I realize now how badly I’ve been fooling myself. I never wanted to smack it off… I wanted to fuck it off, to make him want me so much and come so hard that his face is wiped clean of anything except his need for me.
As I grapple with that revelation, his fangs descend, and thoughts of anything else flee my mind. I’ve seen them before, of course, but never when he was about to bite me.
A shudder rolls through me, and he raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”
“Fuck, yes.” I twist a little more so I can reach to kiss him.
The scrape of his fangs against my lip and in my mouth is surreal, sexy, and then, as one of them nicks my tongue and I taste my own blood, totally fucking hot in a way I never thought I’d go for.
In this moment, I don’t hate blood at all.
When we break apart, we’re both panting, and there’s a wild glitter in Andrew’s eyes. “Turn,” he orders again, and I do, eyeing the headboard and wondering if it’s close enough for me to brace myself against. I like feeling every inch of Andrew against me.
Turns out, I don’t need to worry. His preternatural strength comes into play again as he pushes inside me and holds me in position with an arm that feels like a steel band.
I grab it with both hands, and the play of muscle under my fingers just adds to the sensory input as he fucks me onto his dick…
which is an intense experience. I can feel the friction of his spines against my inner walls—not sharp, not rough, but gently abrasive, maybe like a toothbrush?
But a million times better. My channel twitches and convulses in response, eagerly seeking more.
I don’t think this position would be possible for anyone with ordinary strength, and that makes me pity my fellow humans. Now that I’ve been with a vampire, it would take a lot to make me go back to human-on-human sex.
Correction: now that I’ve been with this vampire.
Because Andrew has just taken my cock in hand and is stroking me in rhythm with his thrusts.
I’m babbling, something about how good it feels and harder, more, and he’s licking the side of my neck, muttering about how much he wants to taste me and how incredible it will feel.
The pressure inside me is building, my muscles tightening, until he commands, “Now,” and I come hard.
There’s pressure on my neck and then the most exhilarating euphoria in my mind, an echo of my pleasure bouncing back at me again and again, drawing out my orgasm until I think I’ll die from it.
I feel Andrew come as he draws my blood from my veins, and his pleasure joins mine, twining together and flooding both of us until we topple sideways across the mattress, our overstimulated muscles too tired to hold us up.
I could get addicted to blood sex.
I wake up feeling pleasantly sore and only a little horny. It’s a big difference from every other morning since I moved in here—they all began with a steel-hard cock and an awareness of waking up alone again.
This way is much better.
Especially because Andrew is cuddled up against my back and his morning wood is trying to say hello.
If you’d asked me in the past, I would have said I hated cuddling and that overnight guests either needed to stick to their side of the bed or leave—not that I had any experience with overnight guests.
More like behind the school gym and ten minutes in the bathroom at a house party.
Anyway, turns out I would have been epically wrong, which is just as well, because Andrew is a champion snuggler.
Like, the guy’s a heat-radiating octopus.
I had to get up to take a piss in the middle of the night, and he woke up and hissed at me for trying to get out of bed, then wrapped himself around me like he was a tortilla and I was the meat filling when I got back.
That should annoy me, right? Maybe it will come summertime when I’m dying from heat…
although, the air con in this place is awesome, so maybe not.
For now, it’s nice to know he notices when I disappear.
You know, in case I get kidnapped in the middle of the night.
At least he’d wake up and be able to chase my abductors.
Wow, that got dark all of a sudden. I guess I’m still a little worried about Tish finding out about me being alive, even if I do have a vampire bodyguard and the ability to set any attacker on fire.
In case you’re wondering, I can do other things too. But the fire thing is by far the most painful and destructive, and if someone’s trying to kidnap me so they can perform genetic experiments, I kind of want them to suffer. Does that make me a bad person?
Meh.
I never did get around to doing any training last night, so I should probably flex my mental muscles now. I open my mind to the magic, and it’s instantly there, a reassuring presence. Even if someone does manage to lock me up again, I won’t be alone. That’s a huge comfort.
But what to do now… huh, wouldn’t it be cool if I could use the magic to make and deliver breakfast in bed? Too bad that’s not possible.
Is it?
I wriggle around until I’m lying on my back, ignoring Andrew’s sleepy mutter of protest, and stare at the ceiling.
Theoretically, it might be doable. I can manipulate and move objects telekinetically, although my “fine motor skills” still need work.
But yeah, the concept of making breakfast using magic is sound, even if it might get messy until I’m able to practice more.
The problem arises from the fact that I’m not in the kitchen and can’t see what I’m doing.
It’s not like juggling lightballs or fireballs, which were created by me and are tied to me.
Inanimate objects have no energetic resonance for me to sense. If I can’t see them, I can’t move them.
Unless…
I purse my lips and think about it some more as Andrew throws an arm over my stomach and cuddles closer.
The magic is an energy that surrounds everything, right?
And it has an awareness of things—we established that when we proved it responds to wishes like “protect me.” So maybe it is possible for me to use it to manipulate an item I can’t see or feel?
No time like the present to test that theory.
Focusing on the ceiling, I think about the remote control for the living room TV.
It’s on the coffee table, near the left corner closest to the couch, pointing toward the TV in a perfectly straight line.
I know this because that’s how it always is once the TV is turned off.
Andrew has this annoying anal habit of lining up the remote in the exact same place and position.
Once I noticed it was always in that spot no matter where I left it, I tried moving it around—one night, I even got up after he’d been in bed for an hour to do it.
The next morning, it was back in its place and Andrew was giving me the evil eye.
Heh. I should totally do that again.
So it’s one item that I can definitely envision without having to guess. When I have a firm image of it in my mind, I reach out to the magic and show it the visual. Then I imagine the remote rising off the coffee table and floating across the living room.
The magic reacts. I can’t tell if it’s actually working or not, but something is happening, because I’m feeling strain.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I visualize the remote coming down the hallway.
Thank fuck we were too busy getting to the bed to close the bedroom door, because I don’t think I could do both at the moment.
I raise my head and glance toward the doorway. This is the moment of truth. If it worked, I should see the remote float into view any second now. And if it didn’t, I’m going to have to get up and see what’s happening in the other room, because this kind of effort means I’ve done something .