Chapter 20 – Lily
LILY
I’m floating in that perfect space between sleep and consciousness, my body humming with satisfaction for the first time in a long time.
Cassini’s arm is draped across my back, his cold skin providing a delicious contrast against my warmth.
I press my cheek into the chill of his chest and hold it there, enjoying the strange sensation of the tingle creeping up my face.
“Are you sure you’re not too cold?” he asks, the deep tone of his voice reverberating in his chest. “I’m worried you’re going to get sick.”
“I like it,” I say, rubbing my face against him like a needy pet. “I hate being too warm, so this is perfect.”
His voice fills my head, but it’s not intrusive. I’m at your service, amore.
My hands wander to search for the scar between his shoulder blades, but I can’t reach.
I first felt it as I raked my nails over his back as he ground his hips against mine.
It was raised and rough, different from the smooth perfection of the rest of his skin—almost like a brand or burn that had healed badly.
When my fingers traced over it, exploring the strange texture, he’d suddenly flipped me over, pinning my hands above my head so I couldn’t reach it anymore.
The movement was swift, almost violent, and for just a moment I’d seen something flash across his face—not desire, but something darker. Fear, maybe. Or shame.
He kisses my crown, and I lean deeper into him, if that’s even possible.
Desperate to get more surface area, to have more of our bodies touch.
Even though we’re practically fused together, it still doesn’t feel close enough.
I want more. I want to climb inside him.
Or more specifically, I want him inside me. Again.
I guess Paloma was right; this medium thing really is a gift because what woman doesn’t want a mind-reader in bed?
“Again,” I breathe.
“Again?” He arches his eyebrow, but he doesn’t protest.
Instead he flips me on to my back and nips at my lip with his fang, just hard enough to draw blood, and the taste sends a shudder through him.
He pulls my legs around his waist and grinds against me, his growl vibrating through both our chests.
The first time was gentle, too gentle, but there’s nothing tentative now.
He’s past tenderness and into something deeper.
Knowing that he trusts me with this, the animal side of him, only turns me on more.
When he enters me again, it’s with a single relentless push, and I arch into his body with a throaty sound I barely recognize. His hands clamp onto my hips, fingers bruising and hips grinding in a perfect, brutal rhythm. I want to take all of him, every edge and craving, and break him open.
Again and again. I could do this forever.
My greedy girl. I could do this for an eternity.
His mouth is everywhere—my neck, my jaw, the slope above my shoulder. Between each fevered kiss, I feel his fangs graze my skin and the dangerous want that tightens him.
“Tell me I belong to you,” I breathe. Tell me I’m yours.
He grips my hips and slows his pace, grinding into me deeper with long slow strokes.
“You are mine,” he says, teeth gritted with effort. “All of you, understand? You are mine, fiore. Body. Mind. Blood. You belong to me.”
The words are a curse, a plea, a vow, his every thrust branding them into the core of me. I know what I need, so I push my thoughts into him with the same force he’s pounding into me.
Bite me.
Are you sure?
Fuck, yes. Devour me.
“Please,” I cry out, fingers digging into his skin, and he throws his head back and shudders.
The heat of his bloodlust mixes with the rush of his venom, and as he sinks his teeth into my neck, the pain ricochets straight to pleasure. I gasp, clawing at his chest, wanting him to empty his entire being into me. I want to eat and be eaten and never let go.
“And you are mine. All mine. You belong to me,” I pant, bucking my hips to meet him.
His eyes flash with burning amber, and he moves harder, faster, until the world fractures into white light and wave after wave of release hits me. He follows right after and the tremor that runs through him is as deep and final as my own, a fierce, shared surrender.
I pull him in with my heels and hold him against me as the last pulses run through my boneless body. His body slows, his desperate hunger replaced by a deep, resonant tenderness. He’s still inside me, but the frantic rhythm is gone, replaced by a gentle, rocking sway.
He releases his fangs and draws his head back slowly, a long, agonizing slide that leaves my skin tingling where his has been.
The small, wet line of a connection stretches between us for a breathless instant before snapping, pulling the air with it.
I gasp. My blood clings to his mouth like a dark, glistening lacquer.
He doesn’t wipe it away. Instead, a slow, satisfied smile stretches his lips as it drips down his chin. My breath hitches as his tongue darts out—a single, deliberate flick that searches for the final drop.
Delicious.
As I reach up with my fingers and trace the line of blood trailing his neck. “In case you didn’t get it the first time that was…”
“Incredible,” he finishes, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’ve never experienced anything like that. Feeling what you’re feeling, hearing your thoughts so clearly.”
“It definitely has its advantages,” I say with a grin, remembering the way our minds stitched together completely. “Though I have to say, some of the things you were thinking were downright sinful—and from a former priest, no less.”
He gasps in mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “Me? You’re hardly innocent yourself, birichina. In fact, I seem to recall you were the one begging me for more.” His eyes gleam with mischief. “And being a gentleman, I was only too happy to give it.”
“Birichina?”
“Little rascal.” He laughs. “And you are one.”
I seriously need to learn more Italian…
Yes, you do.
Ever since he first fed on me, the space we occupy in each other’s minds is becoming easier to access.
It’s not like it is at the window where I’m trying to sort through a swirling, chaotic mess.
This feels sacred. It’s a beautiful emptiness that we can return to at will.
A door I can choose to open and step into.
I can close my eyes and push against the edges of his mind, and he can push back, joining me in a place only we can inhabit.
A space of our own.
“Do you ever miss home?” I ask, tracing my fingers over some elaborate Latin script on his inked forearm.
“I miss it every day,” he says. “But I cannot return, not yet.”
“Why?”
“Too many reasons.” He sighs, then kisses my scalp, pressing his nose to it and inhaling deeply.
I tear myself away from him and prop myself up to get a good look at him.
God, he looks gorgeous in the low light of my bedroom.
His dark waves and soft curls falling in random directions across his forehead.
Moonlight filters through my half-closed blinds, painting silver streaks across the masterpiece of his torso.
Black and grey ink winds across his skin—a huge cross anchoring the center of his chest, Latin words spiraling outward like sacred verses etched in shadow.
I’m staring, but he’s not bothered. He returns the favor by dropping his eyes to my bare chest and biting his lip.
I laugh out loud. “All this filth, and still you haven’t taken me out on a single date. Some gentleman!”
He leans over to brush a strand of hair from my forehead, stroking it between his fingertips. “I have a remedy for that. I am taking you out tomorrow night. We’re going to hit the town.”
A date. A real one? My stomach does a little flip at the thought of getting all dressed up for him. He’s only ever seen me in casual clothes, shitty scrubs, and pajamas. It’s time he saw me in a pretty dress—something nice and slutty to remind him I’m a woman.
“Great. Finally, you’re making an honest woman of me. So, where are we going, or is it a surprise?”
“The Jackalope. It’s a vampire bar. I want you to practice listening to their conversations. It’ll give you an opportunity to really hone your skills. Pick out useful information, follow the voices, stuff that can help us with finding Megan.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a little deflated.
His eyebrows knot together. “What’s wrong? You still wanna help find her, right?”
I cover myself up with the sheet. “I do, of course I do. I just thought it was a real date, not a recon mission. Besides, I still don’t understand what you need from me. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to help.”
He reaches out a hand, and I take it. His chilly fingers wrap around mine, and he tugs me closer. “I didn’t tell you the whole story about Megan. Why Beau is so worried. There’s a part of our culture you don’t know about yet, and it’s not pretty.”
“Okay…” I say, bracing myself. “What is it?”
“The blood we drink is totally influenced by the human’s diet. So for example, if a human drinks a lot of red wine and only eats the finest Italian meats, their blood will taste like Chianti and prosciutto.”
I cringe, thinking about my love of junk food and unrefined palate. “Well, that’s embarrassing. I probably taste like frozen tater tots and bad coffee.”
He brings my forearm up to his nose and presses it against my skin, inhaling deeply. “You are delicious, my darling, and when I drank from you, I tasted stewed lamb and thick Irish butter.” He bares his fangs playfully. “Oh, and a little hint of nicotine. You naughty, naughty girl.”
I blush and tug my arm back, but he holds it firmly in place. “I’m not a smoker. I swear, I was just stressed out. Was it terrible?”