23. Pippa
PIPPA
The moment he bites down—so gentle despite his intensity and gruffness before—I gasp, gripping his shoulders tightly. My heart thrashes against my ribs like a caged bird, beating in tandem with Shemaiah’s, our chests pressed together.
He frightens me, but not because I’m scared of him.
It’s the feelings coursing through me that have me spooked.
I’m caught in a tangle of my own making.
The regret of lost time. The pleasure of seeing what Shemaiah did to the Frellmans, of witnessing their lovemaking.
The desire to be with Shemaiah in that way, a desire I haven’t felt since before Tobias.
Shame. Newfound hope. Temptation. Need. Trepidation.
“Oh,” I say, my voice a strange sound in my own ears.
Warmth slides through my body from my neck, lower, lower, heating me from the inside out. My core pulses, trying to grasp hold of something, but I’m empty. I moan at the tingling sensation, needing more.
“Shemaiah.” I grip his hair, pulling it.
His leather tie slips free, and his soft locks spill around my fingers. He groans, the sharp sting of his fangs a beautiful pain as he pulls blood from me, sucking deeply, his gentleness shifting toward urgency.
Sensations pulse inside me like flashes of lightning during a spring storm.
Overwhelmed by the moment, I tug his hair hard.
He glides a hand up my thigh, pushing my dress up with it.
The area between my legs throbs as his fingers brush higher.
He lifts me, holding tight as I wrap my freed legs around his waist, his mouth still attached to my neck.
His claws bite my backside, the fabric of my dress tearing as he grips harder.
My bustle smashes against the wall so forcefully it cracks.
He lifts up, then dips, rocking his hips against me, his rigid length pressing into me like a promise.
I mewl at the intense friction, fireflies dancing behind my eyelids.
“Fuck,” he growls against the skin of my neck, rolling his hips again and again. I cross my ankles and push my feet into his backside, wanting more friction. Needing more friction. More him. More.
His teeth dig deeper, and a lightheaded, floaty feeling comes over me. He releases my shoulder, gasping. “You taste so good. So fucking good. I can’t stop. I’ve wanted...” He doesn’t continue his thought because his teeth are back in me, drawing more, swallowing, ravenous.
Between his venom and the firm pressure of his hard body, I’m broken open, torn apart. Thrills of pleasure race through my veins, tingle across my skin, and flutter deep inside.
I understand why people come here now—the addiction of the venom, the undeniable rapture.
Shemaiah called it euphoric, but it’s more than that.
It’s as if I’ve peeled away everything that binds me, everything that confines the world.
I’m seeing it all for the first time, feeling it all anew.
Colors are brighter. Sounds are more nuanced.
The panting breaths he’s taking through his nose as he drinks.
The distant laughter and piano music from the party.
My own moans. All somehow richer and more alive.
It’s as if Shemaiah’s rewriting every cell in my body, waking me to a new reality, binding every cell of me to him until I’m completely his, and he’s completely mine.
But I’m not.
Even tonight, he gave this pleasure to others. The thought sobers me. And I don’t want to be sober. I want to stay in this bliss forever.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “Please, Maiah. I need—”
He pulls away from my neck. “I know what you fucking need,” he rumbles, hesitates a moment, then dives in, claiming my lips with a harsh kiss.
The shock of it slams into me. My body contracts, seeking something to grasp.
His tongue dances with mine, and I taste the blood along with the sweet tang of something else, equally addicting.
I moan into his mouth, my hands gripping his back, holding him tighter.
His touch roams, sliding up and down my body, over my contained breasts.
“Goddess, Pippa. Fuck,” he groans against my skin, and bites me again.
“Yes!” Pleasure tumbles through me, my insides somersaulting and twisting with ravenous eagerness. I paw at his clothing, pulling at his shirt, trying to get it off his back. His skin. I need his skin. Throwing every caution to the wind, I beg. “Maiah. Please. I need you to fuck m—”
He tears his teeth away from my neck and covers my mouth with his hand.
With my back against the house, the cool stone makes me shiver as I wait for Shemaiah to look at me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lingers against my neck, his panting breaths drifting across my skin like those soft touches in the library.
“Maiah?” My voice sounds muffled under his palm.
“Don’t say it,” he growls. Lowering me just enough for the bulge in his pants to press harder against my clit.
“Feel that? I’m hanging on by a thread, so don’t you dare tell me to fuck you, because I will.
I’ll fuck you so fast you won’t know what hit you.
And you’ll hate me,” he says, voice cracking.
“Don’t ask me to fuck you, Pippa. I can’t.
I can’t.” He claims my lips with a new desperation, circling his hips, pressing right where I want him.
“There,” I cry into his mouth. “Yes, oh yes.”
He strokes, his hardness hitting me exactly where I need it. I whine, biting my lip to keep from asking for what I want.
Tears spring to my eyes, his solid heat hitting me just right, kneading the softness between my legs with perfect pressure. He presses his forehead to mine.
“Maiah,” I cry. “This—”
“Keep climbing, little flower.” His voice is softer, tender now. He kisses my shoulder, right over the spot he bit.
I shake my head. “I can’t. I don’t—”
“I’ve got you.” With Mavarri strength, he lifts and lowers me, each time dragging my pussy against the hard ridge of him.
The friction, the warmth, the pure masculine strength of his arms flexing as his hands grip and work me against him has me in a frenzy. I tilt my hips seeking the precipice. So close.
“That’s it. Take what you need,” he growls.
The fireflies behind my eyes burst into flames, fireworks in the dark. Sparks explode inside me from my clit outward, racing across my back, burning to the tips of my fingers and curled toes.
“Oh,” I cry out, making sounds I’ve never made before. I might be ashamed if I cared, but Shemaiah’s soft voice, his whispered words against my skin coax me through it. I clench around emptiness, float from the heights down, down, down. And still I want more.
Shemaiah pulls away, his hands drifting over my face, touching my neck where he’s bitten me, his mouth dark with my blood. Tearing my gloves from my hands, I reach up to touch him, swiping a thumb across his slippery lips.
“How do you feel?” His voice is quiet, locked in the secret space just between us.
I’m struggling to find a coherent thought.
Struggling to remember this was only for my health.
He’s given me something so beautiful, but the emotions wrapped up in it, around him, around myself, are all supposed to be pretend.
And I know they aren’t anymore. Somewhere along the way, I’ve developed feelings for him. Feelings I shouldn’t have.
“Pippa?” His worry breaks through the cloud of my euphoria.
“Good. I feel… so good.” I rock my hips against him again, a glutton for punishment. My body is still desperate with desire despite the rational thoughts trying to regain control.
“You’re still needy?” he whispers.
I moan, unable to answer. I haven’t had nearly enough of him.
Especially since I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.
If he’ll ever touch me like this again. “Please. Shemaiah. I need you.” Need doesn’t feel like a strong enough word.
I can still feel the fire of his venom coursing through my blood, the hard length of him grinding against me.
“Fuck me.” There, I’ve said it. The words he didn’t want me to say. The words that could be our undoing. The words I couldn’t hold back.
Suddenly, a scream cuts the darkness into shards.
Shemaiah spins, pressing me behind him, his arms caging me against the wall. He releases a growl, the protector, my protector. My insides melt with warmth. No one has ever protected me.
The scream bursts out into shrieks of laughter. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Zarah!” Kay screeches as she runs past, barely visible through the bushes, followed by the white blur of Zarah’s form.
The happy smiles of the two women seem too light for the headiness of a new moon party.
The sight of them, the reminder that we aren’t alone out here, dampens the lust that was overpowering me, making it easier to think, but it doesn’t change what I want.
I came to this party determined to enjoy what time I have left.
I don’t want this interruption to stop that.
Shemaiah releases a pent-up breath before turning around to face me, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.
There’s something distant in his gaze now.
None of the heat that was there a moment ago.
He wipes his mouth, then mine before taking my face between his palms. “Are you alright? I’m sorry I got a little… carried away.”
You’re not the only one. Rather than say the thought, I nod, wishing I could see him better in the darkness. “I liked it,” I whisper.
His expression hardens. “Come. I’ll take you back.”
“I’m not ready to go back.” I run my palms up his chest, channeling a much flirtier woman. My nerves sing from that simple touch.
Shemaiah takes my wrists and pulls my hands away, stopping my exploration. “You need to sleep off the effects of the venom.”
Right. Because that’s all this is.
“You’ll have to fix my bustle,” I say, trying to keep the dejection out of my voice. “We smashed it.”
He walks behind me and attempts to reshape it. “I think it’s a lost cause. But I doubt anyone will notice. Not with the holes I tore in the fabric.”