Chapter 19 – Cassini
CASSINI
The wanting started the moment she sat in my tattoo chair, and it grew when she straddled me on her couch and saw my fangs. Despite all my excuses about the venom, I know that's not what's driving this. It's her that courses through my veins, not the other way around.
She fumbles with her keys, hands trembling, and I want to tell her there's no rush, that we have all night, but I don't trust my voice right now. Instead, I press myself against her back as she works the lock, my hands finding her hips, breathing in the sun-drenched scent of her that’s haunted me for days.
The door finally gives way, and we stumble inside, barely making it past the threshold before I spin her around and press her against the closed door. Her breath hitches as I cage her in with my arms, my palms flat against the wood on either side of her head.
I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb, marveling at the softness of her skin.
Humans are so fragile, so warm and alive, but Lily—Lily burns brighter than all the rest. Even now, after nearly draining her dry just hours ago, she radiates life and heat and warmth.
I guess this is one of the perks of dating a medium.
She tilts her head up, lips parted, and I'm lost. The kiss starts tender, whisper-soft pecks along her bottom lip, her face resting in my palm, my thumb at the corner of her lip, but it deepens quickly as any trace of restraint crumbles away.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I can taste the desperation on her tongue.
Our hands are suddenly everywhere, mapping out the planes of each other’s bodies.
Frantic and precise, like we’re desperate to feel every single inch all at once.
I push her harder against the door and pin her with my chest, our heartbeats sync and drum together.
A frenzied thudding that threatens to burst out of our ribs.
She slides her hands under my jacket, pulling the leather off my shoulders, and it makes a clank as the buckles hit the ground.
I steady myself with one arm above her on the door as her fingertips trace down my chest, resting at the hem.
She pushes me back, her tongue still swirling in my mouth as her fists desperately tug at the hem of my T-shirt.
When our lips briefly break apart so she can pull it over my head, I catch a glimpse of her face, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight pouring through a nearby window.
The wetness of our kisses pools on her swollen lips, and her pupils are dark and vast. I stare into them, looking to find her, but only a feral hunger looks back.
She tears my shirt away, throws it to the ground, and we close the distance again, biting at each other, mouthing and scraping teeth along neck and jaw and collarbone. I want to feed, and I want to fuck, but most of all, I want to taste her.
I have to taste her.
When I reach for the hem of her own shirt, she swats my hand away, reaching instead for the buckle of my belt.
Her delicate fingers curling around the leather and grasping at the clasp.
She yanks it open, and I groan, feeling my dick, which has already been straining, twitch at the prospect of freedom.
I grab her waist and squeeze, slipping my hand under the soft fabric of her camisole, and she gasps at the coldness of my fingers against her burning heat. She leans into it, rolling her body against me like a wave cresting, desperate for the coast.
Her hands are pawing at my waist, my chest, and wherever she touches me, I can’t imagine anything else ever existing. The urge rises, sharp and bright, to break her open and devour every pounding, shivering pulse she offers.
But then she slips her hand under my waistband, and it’s me who almost collapses.
Lips still locked together, she pulls down my jeans and boxers so that I’m standing there completely naked in her hallway. My pants spilling onto the ground, knotted around my ankles like a pool of shadow.
She pushes me back to take me in and admire her handiwork, and lets out a filthy laugh. We sure must make a pretty picture. Her fully dressed, skirt tugged to the side and hanging off balance, bra straps escaping down her arms and me naked, proudly erect and totally bewitched by her.
I’m so drunk on her essence, so filled with a powerful lust that she could say anything to me right now, and I’d do it.
I’d burn cities to the ground at her command, leaving nothing but ashes in my wake.
I’d rip the throats of her enemies and leave them bleeding and choking if they so much as glanced at her in a way that displeased her.
I’d crawl on my hands and knees through a pile of broken glass and shaved silver in the midday sun if it meant I could have a single taste.
Sono tutto tuo, amore mio, fai di me ciò che desideri.
I am all yours, my love, do with me whatever you desire.
She drags her eyes over me, like she’s deciding what to do next, and it’s almost too much, how she savors it. The anticipation is a slow knife. For a moment, I feel like prey—a thing caught, baited and rendered passive by the weight of her desire.
That's when her hand snakes up to my throat, and I groan, partly for effect, partly because of the way she squeezes—just enough to remind me I’m not the only one with teeth.
I respond by grabbing her wrists and pinning them against the door with one hand.
She yelps and tilts her head to the side to offer her neck.
I lean in, breathing in her scent and I run my tongue from her collarbone up to her earlobe, which makes her yield.
My free hand traces over her body again as I push the full weight of my hardness into her.
Neither of us has spoken a single word since the car, because we’ve said all we need to, but our psychic connection is too powerful to resist, so I reach out into the void and find her.
I need to taste you.
I hear her laugh, but her lips don’t move.
Okay, Cass. Then taste me.
Still naked, I lift her from the ground, and her legs automatically curl around my waist. The fabric of her long, flowing skirt bunches up around her hips, and I grip her thighs hard enough she’ll probably have a trail of little purple fingertip bruises in the morning.
The thought of leaving a mark sends a sick jolt of satisfaction to my core.
I want her to feel it and think about me.
She gasps, nails digging lines across my shoulders, and her head falls back against the door with a gentle thunk.
I awkwardly turn and shuffle us over to the stairs, taking little steps because my pants are still around my ankles. The sound of my jeans dragging against the ground blends with her giggles, and the ridiculousness of it punctures the sexual tension.
I lay her on the stairs and hook her trembling knees over my shoulders, hiking her skirt up higher to reveal the strong thighs beneath. When I lower my mouth to kiss them, it’s like she’s already on the brink.
I hook my fingers under the lace edge of her underwear and slowly pull them down her thighs, and she reacts to the cold air touching the most intimate part of her with a shiver.
She props herself up on her elbows and watches me with an amused curiosity as I gently lick and trace the lines of her veins with my tongue.
Her blood courses tantalizingly close, just millimeters under the surface, and I follow the path higher and higher.
The sensation causes her to throw her head back and wail, her fingers tangling in my hair and running along my scalp.
I reach up to her neck and prop her lolling head up, tilting her to watch me. Meeting her eyes and studying her blown pupils and the curious way her canine tugs at the corner of her lip.
My mouth hovers inches away from the warm center of her. I want to make her lose control, to tumble off whatever edge she’s clinging to. I want her to beg for it. I want to hear my name in a breathless, desperate voice.
Do you want me to kiss your micetta, amore?
Yes.
Beg me.
Please, please, please.
Good girl. Let me hear it one more time.
Please.
Then I do. One soft, reverent kiss at first, just to hear how she shudders, and then my tongue—slow, insistent circles that make her groan and claw at my scalp.
Blood drums in her femoral, heat radiating outward—if I let myself, I could bite her right here, quick and sharp, but I don’t. I focus. I savor. She writhes, her heels digging into my back, fingers twisting in my hair until it almost hurts. Maybe she wants it to.
You are so delicious, fiorellina. I whisper through our bond.
The tension builds in her hips and thighs, her whole body trying to arch even closer to my mouth, tremors gathering like the static before a storm.
She tastes like the sweetest nectar I’ve ever had, and the essence of her mingles with the dark copper richness of her blood rushing just beneath the thinnest skin.
This is where you live now. Under my tongue, in my thoughts, in my blood.
I reach a hand between my legs and stroke myself in careful time with her rising moans. I want to drag this out, forever if I can, to burn every second of it into my memory so that nothing else compares. I want to feel her shake apart on my tongue. Her voice drifts to me, between pants and gasps.
A little more pressure. That’s it. Fuck. Right there.
She’s commanding me now, and I’m a loyal and faithful servant, a thing built to serve and please her.
I groan against her, the vibration making her buck and nearly come off the stair, but I hold her in place and double down.
My hands are strong enough to bend steel, more than strong enough to pin her hips until she’s thrashing and on the edge of crying out.
I back off, just enough to make her whine, then take her right to the brink again.
My hand speeds up, working myself into a feverish mess.
I know I should stop, but I can’t help myself, so consumed by her and the heavenly symphony between her thighs.
I pull at myself desperately, filtering the pulse of my own lust through the taste of her, every flick a call to some base instinct that howls for her.
I groan against her, my sounds muffled by her grinding her hips into my lips.
Her voice pulses through me. Wait, not yet.
But I can’t wait. Without warning, I explode in my hand, hot and wild, and wild as I am, painting her calves and the step below with a spend so intense my toes curl and my fangs ache at the edges of my gums.
The force of it cracks my vision for a second—a burst of color and static—and I nearly lose my grip, but I don’t stop, won’t stop, not until she’s writhing and gasping and tearing at me.
I clamp my mouth on her, fingers digging into the meat of her ass, my tongue insistent and unrelenting.
The taste, the heat, the electric current of her climax surges through me like a goddamn flood.
She’s making these wild, feral noises now, her thighs locking around my head like a vise, her hands scraping at my skin as she falls apart.
“Fuck,” she gasps as she comes, and it’s like a ringing of a bell. Bright and clear, it pierces the air. It’s the first word spoken aloud in an hour, and it’s a perfect one.
Breathless, desperate, but so beautifully human.
I collapse into her, and she flops back onto the stairs. We stay there for a moment, both catching our breath, her legs still draped over my shoulders, my forehead resting against her thigh.
The silence is broken by her soft laughter.
"What's so funny?" I ask, lifting my head to look at her.
She gestures around us with a lazy hand, taking in the scene: me kneeling on her stairs, pants still tangled around my ankles, her skirt bunched up around her waist. "This. Us. We couldn't even make it ten feet into my house."
"Shit," I mutter, trying to untangle myself and nearly losing my balance on the narrow step. "This is not exactly how I imagined this going."
"Oh, really?" She sits up on her elbows, grinning at me with flushed cheeks and mussed hair. "And how exactly did you imagine it going, Mr. Centuries of Experience?"
Heat rises in my face. "Well, for starters, I thought I'd at least make it to your bedroom. Maybe show you some of that legendary vampire charisma I have."
She reaches out and traces my stubble with one finger, her touch gentle and teasing. "I hate to break it to you, but there was nothing graceful about the way you nearly tripped over your own pants ten minutes ago."
"I was distracted," I protest, but I'm smiling now too.
"By what?"
"You."
She sits up fully and cups my face in both hands. "For someone who's had a long time to perfect this stuff, you’re acting kinda…human. But hey, I still think we can blame any awkwardness on the whole priest thing."
A wicked grin twitches on the edge of my lips. "I was a man long before I was a priest."
"Oh, I can tell," she says, then her grin returns. "Now, are you going to carry me to a real bed like a gentleman, or are we spending the night on my uncomfortable stairs?"
I finally manage to kick free of my jeans and stand, scooping her up in my arms before she can protest. She squeals and wraps her arms around my neck, laughing as I carry her up the stairs.
"Much better," she declares. "Now, if it’s okay with you, I’d like you to take a few minutes to recover, then do exactly what you promised."
I carry her like she’s a perfect bundle of precious cargo, steadily ascending toward the bedroom. “You know I’m not bound by that ridiculous human stuff, right? I’m ready when you are.”
"Is that so?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as I reach the top of the steps.
"Mmhmm. And we have all night."