Chapter 42 Jules
Jules
At first, I don’t understand what Lucian is doing.
He kisses his way down my body slowly, deliberately, as though he’s savoring every inch of me.
His mouth is warm, his touch unhurried, and despite the deep, coiling ache in my abdomen, my skin prickles everywhere he touches.
He worships the slope of my shoulder, the valley between my breasts, the soft swell of my stomach.
He lingers there, nuzzling the gentle curve, his breath hot through the thin silk of my nightgown.
This is… nice, I think hazily, lost in the sensation of being adored. But also—where is he going?
Then his large, warm hands slide to my thighs. He grips them gently, his thumbs stroking the sensitive inner skin just above my knees. He nudges them apart, not forcing, just asking—a silent request that sends a jolt of awareness straight to my core.
Panic flares, bright and sudden.
“What are you doing?” I demand, my breath hitching as another vicious cramp tightens low and hard inside me, a cruel reminder of reality.
“I want to make you feel better,” he murmurs, his voice a calm, steady anchor in the storm of my discomfort. “If you’ll let me.”
“Make me feel better how?” I ask, even though part of me already knows, the idea taking shape in the fog of pain and his overwhelming presence.
His dark gaze lifts to mine, holding me captive.
“By tasting you.” He says it plainly, a fact.
“Because of my nature, I have blood magic. I can draw the flow down, ease the pain in your body, soothe the muscles clenching inside you.” A pause, his eyes searching mine.
“But only if you allow me. Only if you give yourself to me completely in this.”
My heart stutters against my ribs.
“You… you want to put your mouth on me?” I blurt, the words clumsy and too loud in the quiet room. “Right now? When I’m—when I’m bleeding?”
I can’t believe I’m even saying this out loud. Years of conditioning rise up all at once—embarrassment, shame, that old, ugly whisper that this part of me is something to hide, something unclean, especially now. I feel exposed—vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with nudity.
Lucian looks at me patiently, almost sadly, as if he can hear every one of those poisonous thoughts.
“My darling,” he says softly, the endearment a balm, “I am a vampire. Blood is the essence of my being. The source of my power, my pleasure, my very existence. The idea that any part of you could be anything less than sacred to me is an insult to us both.”
“But I thought you wanted to drink from my wrist,” I say weakly, grasping for familiar ground. “Or my neck. Not… not there.” I swallow, the confession burning my throat. “Isn’t that blood… dirty? Different?”
His eyes flash, fierce and unmistakably offended, a storm crossing his features.
“No part of you is dirty,” he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
“You are beautiful. Exquisite. Every soft curve, every secret place. This,” he says, his hand sliding higher up my thigh, a hair’s breadth from where I ache, “is a part of you. Therefore, it is perfect. It is life. It is power. And right now, it is calling to me.”
I hesitate, still uncertain, swimming in a sea of old shame and new, terrifying possibility.
“So you really don’t mind… tasting me right now? You want to?”
A low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. “Little one,” he says, his voice dropping to that velvet-dark register that makes my stomach flutter, “I have been longing to taste you since the moment I first saw you in the Crimson Eye. I have dreamed of parting your lovely thighs and burying my face in your sweet pussy, of learning every flavor of your arousal, your pleasure. To taste you is a privilege, a gift. It is a depth of intimacy I have craved with no other.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my inner thigh, and I gasp at the contact.
“Now—will you let me ease your pain? Will you let me worship you as you deserve?”
Another strong cramp hits me then, sharp and twisting enough that I gasp and curl inward despite myself, a small sound of distress escaping me.
That does it. The pain shreds the last of my hesitation.
“All right,” I pant, the words tumbling out in a rush of desperation and trust. “If you can make the pain stop… do it. Do whatever you want. Please.”
His expression softens instantly, the fierce intensity melting into something tender and patient.
“Just relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hands soothing on my trembling thighs. “Let go. Let me take care of you. All you have to do is feel.”
He eases my thighs apart, his touch reverent, and lowers himself between them.
The world narrows to the sight of his dark head bowed, to the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over my pussy through the damp silk.
He lifts the silk ivory nightgown, his eyes never leaving mine, watching for any sign of refusal but I don’t protest. At this point, I’m in so much pain I’m willing to let him do anything to stop it.
The first sensation I feel is warmth—the heat of his mouth pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over my mound, through my neatly trimmed curls. Then pressure—gentle and knowing—as he dips lower and his tongue finds me.
He begins to lick…and suddenly, the pain begins to ebb.
It’s not instant, but it’s undeniable. I feel a strange, pulling sensation, deep inside, like a skilled hand reaching into the heart of the cramp and unraveling it thread by thread. It’s like a tight fist inside me is slowly unclenching, soothed by the slow, languid strokes of his tongue.
He doesn’t focus on my clit—not yet. He licks gently but firmly and I feel the tension leaking out of my body to be replaced with a spreading, liquid warmth.
He’s not just kissing me there…he’s worshiping. I can feel the subtle pull of his blood magic, a gentle suction that eases the painful pressure…that seems to draw the ache itself away from my womb. The feeling of him between my thighs is somehow primal and deeply intimate.
I still feel a little strange at first—a bit self-conscious.
I’ve never been with a man who wanted to be here—who seemed not just willing, but eager to go down on me.
In the past, this kind of attention was always a means to an end—a perfunctory warm-up.
Something to endure or politely fake enjoyment through until the “real” sex began.
But I’m beginning to see that for Lucian, this is the real thing.
He is completely, utterly focused on me…
on my responses…on the tiny gasps I make when the pain loosens its grip and something warmer, sweeter, and infinitely more dangerous takes its place.
I can feel his intent in every movement of his tongue—pleasing me, soothing me, worshiping me.
He is claiming me in the most fundamental way possible.
“That’s it, little one,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against my sensitized flesh, making me jump. “Let the pain go. Give it to me. Your body is so perfect like this, so open for me. So sweet and rich. I could feast on you for eternity.”
“Oh,” I moan softly. “Oh, Lucian.”
My fingers curl into his thick, dark hair without conscious thought. I’m not trying to guide him—I just need something to hold on to.
The ache fades further, replaced by a rising, coiling heat that has nothing to do with cramps. My breath begins to come short and uneven as Lucian shifts his focus, his tongue finding the swollen, needy bud of my clit. He circles it slowly, lazily, in a rhythm that seems designed to drive me wild.
“Oh God…oh, please!” I pant.
“You taste so good, little one,” he groans, his voice hoarse with desire. “Your blood is ambrosia. And I love this wet, hot little clit begging for my mouth.”
He sucks it gently, making me moan and gasp again. Sparks of pleasure rush through my system, shocking in their intensity. My hips buck upward as my body begs for more.
Lucian looks up at me, his chin glistening, his eyes dark and intent—blazing with possessive lust.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he urges, his voice a rough caress. “Let go for me…let yourself come. Show me how good I make you feel.”
Then he redoubles his efforts, his mouth sealing over me, his tongue lashing my clit with relentless, perfect strokes while his blood magic continues its deep, internal pull, easing the last remnants of discomfort and replacing it with pure, undiluted ecstasy.
At last, I can’t hold back anymore—I can feel the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave above me, about to come crashing down and drown me with its intensity.
“Oh God…yes!” I moan.
I grip his hair, my hips lifting instinctively off the bed, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. A broken moan tears from my throat as the pleasure crests.
“Lucian!” I cry his name, the pleasure rolling through me in wave after wave, deep and rhythmic, echoing the cramps but transforming them into something glorious…something that leaves me shuddering and weak with desire.
I tug his hair fiercely, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he drinks me in—steady and relentless—gentling his tongue to lap softly as the spasms subside. He draws out every last drop of sensation until I’m boneless and utterly spent— limp and trembling against the sheets.
When he finally rises, Lucian gathers me into his arms, pulling me close against his broad, solid chest. He kisses my forehead, my eyelids, my sweat-damp temple.
“Good girl,” he murmurs softly, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You were so brave for me. So perfect…opening your thighs for my tongue…letting me care for you.”
I sigh, still floating in a haze of endorphins and warmth.
“I feel…better—so much better. It’s gone. The pain is all gone.”
“As long as you’re flowing,” he says quietly, his hand splayed possessively over my lower belly, “I want to be here for you…easing your pain…taking care of you.”
“My cycle usually only lasts a few days,” I say with a shaky little laugh.
“Then for as long as you need me,” he replies, utterly serious, his eyes holding a dark promise, “I will gladly be between your thighs. My mouth on you…my cock in you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. Your pleasure and your comfort are mine to provide.”
I laugh weakly, nuzzling into his neck.
“Your way of easing cramps is way better than Midol and a heating pad.”
He smiles at me, a genuine, rare expression that lights something inside me.
“That’s because your body understands what I can do for you. It recognizes its mate.” He pauses, his arms tightening around me. “And it craves me the way I crave you—completely…obsessively…in every way imaginable.”
His words worry me a little—so he’s obsessed with me now? Is that all right?
Honestly, I know I should be scared but instead what I feel is flattered.
Lucian is absolutely the hottest guy I’ve ever been with.
And yet, he looks at me like I’m the hot one—like I’m some kind of a supermodel.
I’ve never had that before—never been seen as a beauty queen.
It’s nice to be admired not despite my full curves but because of them.
Also, when Lucian looks at me that way, I almost forget that he kidnapped me and brought me to the Shadow Realm against my will.
Wrapped in his arms, the pain a forgotten ghost and my body humming with a profound, satiated peace, I find myself thinking that maybe—just maybe—letting this ancient, dangerous, impossibly tender Vampire Don take care of me isn’t the worst thing in the world.