Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Marie
Igasped sharply, the sound almost a scream, and scrambled in his lap. "Oh my god, oh my god, what—how—"
Mortification flooded through me so intensely that I felt dizzy with it. I hadn't gotten my period in years. Not since the first year at The Sanctuary, when stress and malnutrition had stopped them completely.
And of all the ways for it to come back, of all the moments, it had to be now? With Wade's fingers literally inside my pants?
A groan tore from my throat, and I buried my face in his neck, trying to hide, to pretend the blood on his fingers wasn't real. Trying to will this entire moment out of existence.
My hand reached blindly across his desk, knocking over a pen, grazing his laptop, until I found the tissue box. I grabbed one and dropped it somewhere on my lap between us.
There. Problem solved. He could wipe his hand, we could never speak of this again, and I could die of embarrassment in peace.
Except he didn't reach for the tissue.
I felt his clean hand trace along my abdomen again, soothingly, and the warmth of his palm seeped through the damp fabric of my sun shirt.
And then it slipped back inside my swim shorts.
My whole body jolted like I'd been electrocuted. "What—"
His fingers found my clit and rubbed lightly, without an ounce of hesitation.
The scream that ripped from my throat was pure shock and mortification mixed together. I grabbed his wrist with both hands and yanked, trying desperately to pull his hand out of my shorts.
"What are you doing?!”
His arm didn't budge. Didn't even shift. He was so much stronger than me, and his hand stayed exactly where it wanted to be, those fingers rubbing slow circles like there wasn't blood coating them. Like this was the most normal thing in the world.
"That's—Wade, that's weird," I gasped, pulling harder on his wrist. "Get it out, you can’t—!”
"I'm proud of you," he murmured against my temple, completely ignoring my struggling. His voice was warm and rough with emotion that made my heart squeeze even as panic clawed at my throat.
"Wade—" I tried again, my fingers digging into his wrist.
"Your body is healing," he continued, and his fingers pressed a little harder, rubbed a little faster, sending sparks of pleasure through my core. “You’re getting stronger every day. Your period coming back means you're healthy now, darling. Happy, safe. That's more than I could ever ask for."
The pleasure built despite my mortification, despite the absolute insanity of what he was doing. My hips rolled up against his hand without my permission, chasing the sensation, and for one blank, mindless second, all I could feel was good.
Then reality crashed back in, and I screeched, jerking away from the movement, staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. "You can't just—this isn’t—!”
He kissed me.
His mouth captured mine before I could finish the sentence, his tongue sliding past my lips to dance with mine, immediately making my brain go fuzzy. His fingers between my legs never stopped moving, and I moaned into his mouth—a sound of pleasure that felt like betrayal.
"I know what a period is, darling," he murmured against my lips between deep, consuming kisses. "And it's beautiful on you.”
His fingers found the perfect angle, pressing and rubbing in tight circles that made my thighs tremble where they were pressed against his. “Everything about you is beautiful."
I whimpered into his mouth, my grip on his wrist loosening without my consent, my body starting to melt into the sensation despite my brain screaming that this was crazy.
He worked me expertly, fingers between my legs, tongue in my mouth, creating a dual rhythm that had heat pooling low, had my hips moving with him.
I pulled away from the kiss after a few minutes, panting for air, my face burning so hot I felt sunburned. His fingers were still moving, still drawing pleasure from my body that mixed with the dull ache of cramps in the strangest way.
"But it’s…” A moan cut off my words as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. My head fell back, my neck exposed, and I felt his lips press there, kissing and sucking. "It's gross, daddy."
The word felt foreign on my tongue. I'd never called any part of myself that before, but what else could it be when there was menstrual blood involved?
Wade's whole body went rigid beneath me, and the fingers between my legs stopped moving.
Then he made a low, almost menacing sound, and sat up fully. His hands grabbed my hips, and he lifted, setting me on the edge of his desk right in front of his chair.
Papers crinkled under me; his laptop was somewhere to my left. The wood was cool and smooth against my bare thighs.
"Wade?”
“Daddy.”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my swim shorts and yanked them down and off. The fabric flew somewhere across his office, leaving me bare from the waist down except for my sun shirt still clinging damply to my torso.
Then he reached beneath his chair and lowered it with a quick adjustment of the lever, the hiss loud in the sudden tension of the room.
My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.
He spread my legs wide with his hands on my inner thighs, and his pale blue eyes locked on the apex between them. On my period blood mixed with my arousal.
He brought his face down.
Panic exploded in my chest. "Wait, what—”
But his hands locked around my thighs like iron bands, holding them open, holding me in place on his desk, and then he licked me.
One long, slow, flat lick right up the center of my core.
Through the blood. Through everything.
I gasped so sharply it hurt my lungs and immediately shoved both hands at his head, pushing, trying to make him stop.
“Are you insane?!”
He didn't pull away. Didn't even pause. Just licked again, his tongue broad and thorough.
"Wade, you can't—that's—oh my god, please, you're crazy—" My words tumbled over each other, desperate, shocked, and pleasured.
He pulled back just far enough to look up at me, and the expression on his face stopped my breath. His eyes were blazing. Fierce and possessive, and absolutely unyielding.
"Give me your hands," he ordered, his voice rough with command.
"What—I need to—"
"Now, Marie."
I hesitated, my hands still pressed against his hair, and he reached up and grabbed both my wrists himself. He pulled them away from his head and pressed my palms flat against my own thighs, covering them with his, pinning them there.
“Sit your ass on these hands,” he growled, his face still inches from my exposed pussy, his breath hot against my wet, blood-slicked skin. "Or I'll tie them to the desk. Do you understand me?"
My throat worked, but no sound came out. I nodded shakily.
"No part of you is gross.” He guided my hands beneath me. "No part of you doesn't deserve my worship. Especially this blood that represents your healing. Your happiness, your body remembering how to be whole again after what was done to you."
Tears blurred my vision. "But it's blood," I whispered, my voice cracking. "It's messy, and it's—"
"It's proof that you survived," he cut me off. "Proof that your body is strong enough to do what it's supposed to do. That you're healthy and mine. I will worship every single part of you, Marie. Including this. Especially this. Keep them under you and let daddy show you how beautiful you are."
I stared at him—at this man in his expensive office with papers and business contracts scattered around us, his platinum blonde hair catching the afternoon sunlight, his pale eyes dark with desire.
He was insane. Completely insane, but he loved me. That much was written all over his face.
He was still insane, though.
"Good girl," he praised, and then he spread my legs even wider, wide enough that I felt the stretch in my inner thighs, and lowered his face between them again.
This time, he didn't tease.
His tongue was everywhere at once—licking, circling, exploring. He mapped every inch of me with his mouth like he was trying to memorize my taste, and he didn't hesitate. Didn't treat me like something dirty that needed to be handled carefully.
He devoured me like I was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
Blood and all.
A cry tore from my throat, and my whole body jerked, but my hands stayed trapped under my thighs where he'd told me to keep them. I couldn't push him away, couldn't grab his hair. Couldn't do anything but sit there and feel.
"Daddy," I sobbed, my head falling back, staring unseeing at the ceiling of his office. "Oh god, daddy, you're—you're actually licking it.”
He was actually doing this. Actually licking blood and arousal and everything mixed together like it was exactly what he wanted.
He was insane. My brain couldn't reconcile the man who wore thousand-dollar suits with the man currently between my legs, doing something no one in their right mind would do.
But he loved me. He loved me so much that he didn't care. So much that he'd do this impossible, crazy thing just to prove a point.
His tongue found my clit and circled it with purpose, and my thighs trembled violently on either side of his head. The pleasure was overwhelming, mixing with the dull cramps, turning discomfort almost transcendent.
Then he moaned.
The sound vibrated against my heat, and I felt it everywhere—in my core, in my bones, in the base of my spine.
He pulled back just enough that I could hear him speak, his voice muffled and rough. "You taste like pure heaven, darling."
My breath hitched.
"Like happiness," he continued, and then his tongue pushed inside me, and he moaned again, louder this time, like he'd found something sacred. "Like my absolute world."
Oh god. Oh god. He was tasting the blood directly, and he was moaning about it like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Tears streamed down my face—from emotion or shock or pleasure or all three tangled together until I couldn't tell them apart.
"I can't—" My voice broke. "I can't believe you're—"