Chapter 4
Ashiver of lust rushes down my spine when his woodsy sweet scent encapsulates me. It’s all-consuming, just like the big bull beneath me. Flaring my nostrils wide, I suck in another breath until the ache in my fangs becomes too much.
“Feed, Vanessa.”
I don’t question it, and I certainly don’t think about how fucking awkward it’s going to be after we both come in our pants… except I’m not wearing any.
I can’t be held responsible for my own actions right now as his presence—and my hunger—take me under in a tidal wave of unadulterated need.
Turning my brain off, I focus on the steady drumbeat of his heart under my palm and sink my fangs into his shoulder.
Sweet like maple syrup, his blood fills my mouth. I moan and gulp it down.
It’s been a few years since I’ve fed on a living creature, so the succulent flavor takes me off guard. And I want more. It’s nothing like the chalky tang of my usual blood supplement.
Beneath me, Jean-Luc’s body shakes with a throaty groan. The fingers in my hair tighten and hold my mouth to him.
Driven by instinct and lust, my hips rock, dragging my naked core against the harsh denim of his pants. Electricity shoots up my spine, and I moan as another wave of fresh blood fills my mouth.
He tastes so fucking good. So perfect. Like he was meant for me.
To my surprise, Jean-Luc’s grip on my hip tightens, encouraging me to ride his thigh harder.
So I do.
With each rock forward, my clit grinds against the denim, and lightning strikes behind my closed eyelids.
“Mon soleil. Fuck, that’s good.” His voice is a low rasp. Gravelly and thick with desire.
Suddenly, the hand in my hair snaps to my other hip and I’m lifted—like I weigh nothing. When Jean-Luc settles me back on his lap, it’s so my legs fall on either side of his hips and my aching cunt glides along the steel bar in his pants.
Holy shit! My minotaur replica dildo is definitely to scale. If anything, it’s a little smaller than the bulge I’m currently rubbing on like I’m in heat.
I whine against his skin as I swallow another mouthful of his sweet nectar.
The ache in my stomach subsides, but now, there’s an excruciating burn further south.
“I’m gonna come.” My whimpered words are muffled against his flesh, but I know he heard them when he presses my core harder against his jeans.
“Make a mess on me, Ness. Soak me. Show me what my blood does to you, ma belle.”
His words, along with the honeyed taste of his blood on my tongue, set off a chain reaction in my body. Eyes squeezing shut, my fingers clutch his fur. My hips stutter as a jolt of pleasure strikes my clit, radiating out to my limbs.
Jean-Luc’s hips buck, his clothed cock rubbing against my sensitive bud and prolonging my orgasm.
At the first ragged moan to spill from his lips, I quickly retract my fangs and lick the wound shut. For some reason, I need to see his face when he comes. I need to know what I do to him. The pleasure I’m giving his big body.
Fingers denting into my hips, he holds me hostage and thrusts one more time. Head tipped back against the couch, his beautiful eyes roll and his mouth opens on another deep moan. The sound is drugging, vibrating through me until I shudder with the aftershock of my orgasm.
His release seems to go on forever, until he finally collapses against the couch and his death-grip on my hips loosens.
Like he’s floating back down to Earth, his eyes flutter open, and he raises his head. “That was…” He clears his throat, eyes landing anywhere but on my face.
Pink coats his cheeks, peeking out from behind the dark scruff, and my lips curve into a small smile.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed. It’d be pretty weird if you didn’t explode in your pants from a vampire bite.
” My eyes trail over his heaving chest, down his sturdy belly, to the wetness seeping into the front of his jeans.
The dark spot grows bigger and bigger before my eyes.
That’s a lot of cum.
My pussy practically purrs at the idea of this massive bull rutting me until I’m leaking his release. Teeth pinching my bottom lip, I fight to keep my horny whine inside because, if the shock written across his face is any indication, Jean-Luc is not up for round two.
Clearing his throat again, he unceremoniously dumps me onto the couch and springs to his feet. “We’re running low on firewood.”
What? My eyebrows knit together, and I turn to follow his hulking form as he heads to the front door.
“But it’s dark. And we’re in the middle of a snowstorm.
” Tan and white fabric next to me catches my eye.
“...And you don’t have a shirt.” But my words are met with a slamming door and rattling hinges.
Well, fuck me. That could have ended better. I thought we were onto something when he told me to make a mess and soak him.
Guess not.
Shrugging, I stand and adjust the sweater so my ass is covered.
Now that my belly is calm and my gracious host has disappeared, I might as well make myself at home. An evening snack sounds pretty good.
Contrary to popular belief, vampires do eat regular food. Blood provides certain nutrients we can’t get in normal food, and it quenches our baser predatory need to, ya know, kill things.
Unnecessary murder is sort of frowned upon in modern society.
Pulling ingredients from the fridge, I set about making a sandwich with all the trimmings. Am I being presumptuous? Probably. But it’s his fault for leaving me unsupervised in his home.
I grab a plate from one of the upper cabinets, chucking the sandwich on and taking it to the small round dining table. But… a flash of red in the window draws my attention.
The woman reflected back in the glass is me, but not quite. I lean closer, breath fogging up the icy window.
“Oh, no.” I tug at the skin beneath my eyes, then rub them with fisted hands. When I blink them open again, the problem remains. My eyes are fucking glowing! Bright red like Rudolph’s freaking nose!
“No, no, no.” This was supposed to be some snowed-in fun with a grumpy minotaur, not being shackled to said grump for the rest of my life.
Peeling back my upper lip, sure enough, my fangs are longer than normal.
And when I bring my hands out in front of me, gone are my manicured petal pink nails.
Instead, all ten fingers are capped with razor-sharp black claws.
How did I not notice those while I was making my snack? “Fuck my life. He’s my mate.”