Chapter 38
Nyx
It’s true what they say about surviving something that should’ve killed you. You come out hungry—for life, for connection, for anything that proves you’re still here.
I was so eager I tore the waistband of my underwear, tugging too hard in my rush, urgency buzzing through every nerve. Then I was back on top of Cain. I snagged a condom from the nightstand, rolled it on, and then sank slowly onto him, taking him inside one thick inch at a time.
“So good,” I breathed and stilled, my forehead pressed to his. The faint scent of his skin—wild night air laced with something dark, spicy—wrapped around me. His fingers tightened at my nape, drawing me closer until we were touching everywhere.
I moved, and he answered, our bodies finding each other in a rhythm that felt instinctive, inevitable. I was used to Cain’s focus during sex, his control. But this… this was different.
This was making love, raw and unguarded.
This stole the air from my lungs.
This changed everything, like stepping out of a sketch into a painting—lines flooding with color, shadows breaking open into light.
With each advance and retreat, I sank deeper, moving slowly until I couldn’t stand it anymore and sped up the rhythm.
I lifted away from him to get a better angle, hands braced on his shoulders, hips jerking.
He gripped my ass, slowing me down, and I whimpered until he sat up, bringing me against his chest, his lips to the hollow of my throat.
His fangs grazed my skin, sending a bolt of heat straight to my sex. “Just a taste,” he said, like he thought I’d object.
“Gods, yes,” I rasped. “Make me burn.”
His answering growl rolled down my spine. He turned my head, exposing my neck, making me vulnerable in the best way possible—and then his fangs sank in.
I moaned his name and tightened my thighs around him.
He rumbled in pleasure—and released the aphrodisiac into my blood. Magic raced through my veins. I groaned, begged. Moving on him in pleasure-drugged waves as he sucked hard.
He swallowed, then drew on my throat again, driving me even higher. He gave a last, firm pull, then finished, licking the tiny punctures clean. Taking care with me as always.
He grasped my hips and drew me down hard, and I threw my head back, my hair tumbling down my spine. I exhaled his name, drawing it out. “Caaiinnn…”
“Right here,” he murmured. “Always.”
The world stilled. His eyes held mine, blue lightning flickering in their depths.
Then he lifted me up and dragged me down again, thrusting up to meet me. Once, twice, three times until I broke, grinding my pelvis against his, pinching my own nipples.
He cursed, a man pushed beyond his limits. “That’s it. Take what you need. Bad girl. My bad girl.”
Muttering hot, dark things until my climax exploded through me.
“Fuck,” he groaned and jerked, following me into the fire.
Later we took a shower, taking turns washing each other between kisses and orgasms, Cain on his knees with me against the tiles, the hot water drenching us, as he licked me into delirium.
After, he had me sit on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror while he dried and brushed my hair—long, slow strokes while I watched him in the reflection. He finished by putting the brush and hair dryer down so he could fluff my curls with his fingers.
A little bubble of amusement rose in my chest at how intent he was, like he had to make it perfect. “You’re good at this.”
He nuzzled my bare shoulder. “I love your hair.”
“And I love you.” I curled an arm around his nape, keeping him there, turning my face for his kiss.
That led to me on my knees on a thick towel, sucking him off.
“Because you need to know exactly who’s in charge,” he told me. But we both knew he just wanted my mouth on his dick.
We had a late dinner—blood-whiskey for him, wine and a rare steak for me—then curled up on the couch.
My belongings had been delivered to his apartment, and he took in the canvases stacked against the wall.
“We need to set up your studio,” he told me. “You need sunlight, right?”
“Filtered,” I said. Unlike him, I could take small amounts of sunlight, and I loved the heat on my skin, the colors of daytime. “But yeah. I prefer natural light.”
“We can do that,” he said. “And you already made room in my closet.”
I bit back a smile. I’d seen how he’d eyed the clothes hanging next to his neat, black-and-white outfits.
“What about when all the clothes you ordered arrive?” He’d bought out an island store’s stock in my size, and more was on the way from shops in London and Paris.
“We’ll make room,” he returned gamely.
I tapped my lips. “And I was thinking one of my paintings would look good on that wall.” I pointed at the bare wall opposite the couch.
“You’re going to make some changes around here, aren’t you?” He didn’t seem upset, just bemused.
I grinned. “A blank canvas.”
He blinked, and I chuckled and kissed his cheek.
“Don’t look so worried. I love this place—it’s so you. I don’t want to change that. But maybe a little color?”
He pulled me onto his lap and took my chin in his hand so he could meet my eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not just mine anymore, it’s ours. And I don’t care what the fuck you do as long as I have you.”
“Good answer,” I said and somehow that ended up with me bent over the arm of his leather-and-chrome couch.
His voice dropped, rough and hungry. “Gods, I can’t get enough of you.”
“Then take me.”
“Oh, I will,” he said. “But first, I want to play.”
My pants were jerked off, my panties following.
“Play?” I asked.
He slid a finger into my wetness and drew it out again, painting my clit with knowing strokes that made me gasp.
“Yeah,” he said. “And I want some begging in there, too.”
I turned my head so he could see my pout. “What if I don’t want to?” I asked, poking the beast because it was so fun.
He dragged his teeth over my throat. “You’ll want it,” he said. “But just for that, I’m going to make you scream.”
And he did.