37. Chapter Thirty-Seven - Thirst Quencher
There were things I knew about Culver now.
Truths that had settled into my chest with the heaviness of something permanent.
I had been brought here unknowingly, against my will, but I wasn’t sure what to do with all the information.
The way I felt about him hadn’t deteriorated.
If anything, it showed me just how different he was.
I had always wanted a man who wouldn’t leave, and now that I had one, he was obsessive and a stalker.
He had seen every part of me, and instead of running from that, he wanted even closer.
Why?
It was a strange question, but I needed the answer.
A dull ache twisted through my lower belly and yanked me back to the surface with slow, viscous clarity.
I blinked against the soft blur of waking, swallowing hard as sensation rushed back in pieces.
The fog I’d blamed on trauma or whatever I’d been given the previous days wasn’t that at all.
The pain pulsing low and raw inside me was familiar in another way.
I had started my period. Cruel timing, but somehow fitting.
I blinked my eyes open slowly, letting my vision clear as I glanced around the room, carrying a quiet hope deep down that I didn’t really want to acknowledge, only to find the spot next to me empty.
Alone. I was alone.
My heart settled into a slower rhythm, weighed down by familiar disappointment even though I knew I had no business feeling it.
But there was a stubborn little piece of me still holding out for him to stick around a bit longer, maybe just until I drifted off again, because that would mean something, right?
And yet here I sat, feeling let down that he wasn’t still there in the room with me, which pretty much proved I was losing it completely.
The stuff from before hit me all at once then, rushing in like water breaking through after a dam cracks: fuzzy pieces mixed with fear and rough edges that knocked the air out of me, my fingers curling into the fabric.
And if Culver hadn’t shown up when he did, I couldn’t even say what might have happened.
I refused to chase the idea to its end because I didn’t want the full picture settling in my head.
I would have ended up getting shuffled around like some punchline, treated like an object, a toy for guys who mixed up meanness with being tough and acting like they owned everything.
The sheer thought of it made my gut twist hard, and then Breeanna’s name surfaced in my thoughts, tasting sharp and ugly, her poisonous smile replaying in my mind, all the drama boiling down to a guy I’d never even chosen in the first place.
Nothing about Carter stuck except the scars he left behind for me to hide. My stomach flipped once more without me knowing if it was the past catching up or the hormones kicking in. It was likely both, since they had a way of ganging up on me.
Maybe that was what had me lashing out at Culver, why everything inside felt like it was burning up with no place to aim it.
But stretched out in the bed that wasn’t mine, it started to sink in that none of it mattered anymore.
Not Carter or Breeanna or whatever they pulled with their backstabbing and small-time plots, or how they’d tried to make me feel like trash they could toss aside.
The pain didn’t give me time to sit with any of that, hitting stronger as I moved, making me wince while my muscles locked up on their own. I pushed the covers aside, freezing solid when I saw the deep red spread out there.
The bright, harsh color of a heavy flow marked the sheets under me, and I just stared at it for what felt like forever, stuck in a weird mix of embarrassment and flat-out acceptance.
Of course I would be on my period, in his bed no less.
I breathed out steadily through my nose to keep from letting my mind spiral, telling myself it was only blood, my body going through its usual routine.
Even so, a knot of worry tightened in my ribs, wondering if Culver would get mad about it, though I doubted it since he could afford to swap out sheets like these a hundred times over without a second thought. But that wasn’t the point. It was his space, and I had gone and ruined it.
I started to slide my legs off the side of the bed, my mind already turning to how I could track down one of the staff to handle the cleanup without spelling it out, right as the door let out a soft creak.
My breath hitched.
The hallway beyond the room glowed with sharp white light, almost unnaturally bright, spilling in like something holy had split the darkness clean in two. And standing there, framed by it, was a silhouette I didn’t need to see clearly to recognize.
“Culv…” The sound slipped out of me, breathy and exasperated, barely louder than a whisper as I sank back into the bed with defeated resignation.
Heat rushed to my face, crawling across my cheeks and down my neck until my skin burned with it.
Of all the moments for him to walk in, this was the one fate had picked, catching me right in the middle of something so raw and intimate there was no way to cover it up or pretend it wasn’t happening.
I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.
“Ira.” His voice was low. Tight in a way that made my nerves light up, sending a pulse of heat straight through my core. “Were you leaving?”
Something shifted in the room, even though he hadn’t stepped any closer, but I could feel the air thickening, pulling taut with an undercurrent of raw, desperate hunger.
His words carried an edge that made my whole body wake up and pay attention in ways I couldn’t ignore.
Then I caught it: a soft noise that didn’t fit with anything normal, and the way he drew in a breath on purpose.
It was clear as day that he was taking in the scent hanging there.
“Blood,” he said abruptly, voice clipped and strained. “Your blood.”
The moment snapped tight, and before I could even wrap my head around what he was getting at or say a word, he closed the distance in a blur.
I yelped as the space between us vanished; one quick blink and he was right there, his body pressing into mine with sudden force that pushed all the air out of my chest, no chance to get ready for it as his weight settled over me solid and sure, my back sinking into the mattress with the frame groaning under us, his hands already finding my thighs and holding on with a grip that pulled a sharp, aching breath right out of me.
His palms slid my legs apart without pause, fingers pressing in deep to keep me where he wanted, as if the idea of pulling back never even crossed his mind, and I could hear his breaths coming faster now, rough, ragged, and desperate.
Then another inhale, his nose flaring as he took it in slowly, savoring the scent like it was something intoxicating.
His head dipped, and my body went utterly still.
Not locked up from fear, but from how every part of me tuned in sharply to what he was doing, my skin prickling with anticipation.
One of his cheeks grazed the soft skin on the inside of my thigh, cool against the warmth there, his breath brushing over me light and teasing, raising goosebumps in its wake.
I didn’t have a moment to think before his tongue moved, tracing a slow, wet path up along my inner thigh that sent a shiver straight through me, pulling a small, needy noise out of me, my hips twitching on their own.
His tongue pressed flat and steady, sliding over my skin in a long, languid stroke as it followed the faint trace left behind.
My body reacted without permission, tightening inside while warmth gathered quick and insistent between my legs, a slick, aching pulse demanding more.
“Ira,” he murmured, his voice thick and raw, stripped of everything polished or controlled. It didn’t sound like a whisper. It sounded like a confession, rough with need. “Fuck.”
The word hung between us, molten and shameless, and something deep inside me unraveled completely.
My muscles went loose as a tremble worked its way through me, all the built-up strain easing out in slow, languid waves.
My thoughts scrambled to keep pace and push back, to drag up all the mess from before and everything I was supposed to be mad about or scared of, but my body wasn’t listening.
It just gave in under his hold, sinking deeper into the bed like it had been waiting for this kind of release all along.
I found myself opening up to him anyway. His hands and mouth moved over me without hesitation, like every bit of me was something he wanted to take in.
He lapped at my inner thigh again, slower this time, sucking lightly at my sensitive skin.
His teeth grazed just enough to send sparks racing up my spine, and I bit my lip hard to keep from letting out the moan building in my throat.
My body throbbed with slick heat gathering between my legs, shame twisting tight in my chest because he wasn’t pulling back or looking away like I figured he would.
He was drawn to it.
“Culv, I’m… I’m on my period,” I stammered, the words coming out thin and breathless.
I tried to push myself up, to put space between us, but his grip tightened at once.
His fingers dug into the soft curve of my waist, knocking the air from my lungs as he dragged me back down.
The bed creaked beneath us, and the fog in my head thickened.
“Wait,” I gasped, panic and arousal tangling together into a knot I couldn’t undo. “I’m dirty.”