Chapter 5 Bite Me
BITE ME
Inever intended to kiss him. Not in a million years.
But now he's kissing me back, his fingers curling up the nape of my neck, pulling me closer to him whilst his tongue seeks out mine. Gently probing like he's searching for a long-lost friend.
This man is a good kisser. Annoyingly so. Excellent technique, soft lips, and just the right amount of fervor.
It figures, really. Some of my favorite feeds-and-fucks have been with people I hate, and on paper Angel is no exception. A spoiled, entitled little rich boy with daddy issues. If he was still human, I'd bet his blood would taste like a copper broth of money and misery.
That's harsh. I know it is. I don't actually hate him.
Even for his many faults, there's something about him that's appealing.
He's nice to look at in a polished, well-put-together sort of way.
He smells good. His skin still carries traces of cedarwood and neroli, despite days of sweating out the last beads of his human life.
He's vulnerable, honest, and apparently has a heart.
Maybe he's not so shitty after all.
Fuck it.
I kiss him harder, and a fire lights in my belly.
I twist and swing my leg over him so I'm straddling his lap.
His hands grip the small of my waist, and his fingers find the hem of my vest and dip under it, finding the skin on the small of my back and tracing the lightest feathery touches.
So light I can barely feel them, but they cause a chill to run from the base of my spine and up to my shoulders.
I break off the kiss and pull back to study him. His pupils are blown wide, his dark brown eyes now as black as the deepest parts of the ocean. His soft, stubble-dappled mouth is open, breath coming in heavy gasps that I can feel against my lips.
For a moment, neither of us moves. We just stare at each other, chests heaving. His fingers are still pressed against my lower back, warm and trembling. I can feel his pulse hammering where my thighs bracket his hips.
"For what it's worth, I like you better without the balaclava," he breathes, and his voice is rough and lower than I've ever heard it.
I watch his gaze drop to my mouth, then lower to my throat where my pulse flutters visibly beneath the skin. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. The hands on my waist tighten, like he's trying to anchor himself.
Then the grip of one hand eases and slides over my waist and up my chest until his fingers find my throat. His touch is tender, two fingers on the side of my neck, pressing gently against the steady beat drumming through my skin.
"I can...hear your blood," he rasps.
I mirror him, placing the tips of my fingers against his carotid artery and feel the whoosh of his blood just below the surface.
"And I can hear yours," I say.
He swallows and closes his eyes, breathing slowly, trying to sync with the rhythmic pulse of my blood.
I tune in to the sound of his heart—and there it is.
That irregular, stuttering beat. The change taking hold, rewriting his body from the inside out.
It doesn't pound steadily like mine anymore.
It speeds and skips, lurches and catches, like it's forgetting the rhythm it's kept for thirty-some years. Syncopated. Unpredictable.
Like jazz.
Vampires learn to filter out the noise—the constant symphony of heartbeats and rushing blood—or it would drive us insane.
But during a feed, or in moments like this, we can tune back in.
Drop the filter for a moment and really listen to the steady thrum of a life pulsing beneath the skin.
That wet, musical rush. The sound of someone's whole existence flowing through their veins.
For someone you love, you can even hear it from far away.
"Your heartbeat is so slow," he murmurs, his fingers dropping down to my sternum to feel it pumping in my chest.
I knot my fingers through his and press both our hands into my ribcage and hold it there. "Yours will be too," I say as I slide my hand down to rest over his heart. "You'll see in a few days. You'll be like me."
"I'm still human?" he asks, his eyes curious.
I nod. "For now, kinda. You're more like something in between."
"So what would happen if..." He trails off, jaw working like he's chewing on the words. "Never mind."
"What? What do you want to ask?"
He pulls his hand away from my heart and pushes my wayward curls back from my face and neck with a strange intimacy, like he's done it a thousand times before. "What would happen if you bit me?" he mumbles as if he's embarrassed to even be suggesting it. "Could you still drink my blood?"
He strokes my cheek, then his hand falls away. He touches his own throat. Slides them down to feel the hollow at the base of his neck, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head.
I laugh. "You want me to feed from you? You're joking, right?"
"Maybe." A mischievous smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe not. Maybe I'm curious."
"Why? Wasn't one vampire bite enough for you?"
He cocks an eyebrow. "I don't remember the first one. But I'm pretty sure whoever bit me wasn't half as beautiful as you. Sophia, would it be so terrible? I'm only human for a little while longer, and I'll never get another chance like this."
My voice wavers. "I don't know. You're still so feverish, and I'd be scared I'd hurt you."
"You won't. You're here to protect me, remember?"
But God, I want to. The thought alone makes my fangs ache. I can smell the heat of the fever on his skin, sweet and sour, mixing with whatever traces of humanity are left in his blood. It would be so easy to lean in, to sink my teeth into him.
But it's not real.
The only reason he even wants me to do this is because we kissed and now my aphrodisiac laced venom is currently working its way through the last human parts of him and making him crave me.
Making him want to give himself up to me.
It's instalust on a chemical level. Supernatural roofies that make him want to offer up his throat like a sacrifice.
He brings my hand up to his throat as my resolve wavers. Who am I to deny a dying man his last wish?
Maybe just a taste.
"Okay," I say with a swallow. "Just a little."
His eyes glaze with anticipation. And like a polite little snack, he sits up straighter and presents himself to me. His breath grows shallow as his heart pounds like a kick drum.
I lean in slowly and trace my fingers over his neck, and he tilts his head to the side, exposing the long line of his throat.
My fangs descend fully, and I know my eyes are glowing yellow. The color they go when I fight, feed, and fuck. Like two pinpricks of candlelight flickering in the hazy light of the chamber.
"You're sure?" I whisper against his skin.
He nods, and when I look up, his eyes are squeezed together tightly. His teeth gritting as he winces in anticipation.
"Here goes nothing."
I stick out my tongue and lick an X to mark the spot.
Then I bite him.
He gasps as I sink into the soft flesh of his neck.
His whole body going rigid beneath me as his hands fly to my thighs and pull me down against him hard enough to bruise.
It's a pleasant feeling to know every part of him is hard because of me.
I grind against him to confirm, and he twitches and swells against my thigh in response.
Judging by what I can feel, there's a good reason he's so cocksure.
As the molten heat of his blood floods my mouth, a pleasing warmth floods to the place between my legs that's desperate to feel more of him inside me.
He tastes delicious, but the flavor is a little different from regular human blood. There's a strange duality to it—still warm and rushing with mortal vitality, but underneath there's something vampiric. Something dark and electric and ancient. Something earthy and rich.
A muffled moan escapes my lips. I'm embarrassed, but I'm unable to stop myself whimpering. The blood is intoxicating. Addictive. Every pull sends a shockwave of sensation through my entire being. Wave after wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
His hands are everywhere. One moment they're around my waist. Pawing at my hips. Under my shirt and cupping my breasts. The next they're sliding into my hair and pulling at it.
I have to stop. I can't take too much. Not when there's so much on the line.
He groans a low warning, and it rumbles through his throat. A signal to warn me that my time is running out.
My fangs pulse with need as I detach and pull back, licking his wound shut with my healing venom.
I've hardly spilled a drop, but I clean his neck anyway.
Running my tongue along his skin and feeling his weakened pulse push against it.
When I'm done, I plant a tiny, tender kiss on the place I bit, leaving a red lip print in blood behind.
I lick my lips clean as I sit up. He's lying with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly. A tiny, contented smile on his lips.
"How...um...how was that?" I ask, chewing the inside of my cheek. "Was it everything you thought it would be?"
"No."
"Oh."
"It was more."
My face cracks into a smile. "I'm flattered. I've always been told I give good...neck."
His eyes flutter open as he eases himself up on his elbows. "I'm serious. I've never felt anything like it. That was unreal. I felt like I was high, or floating or something. I want to do it again, and again."
"You're only saying that because of the venom," I tease. I wink as I pull back to dismount his lap, but he reaches for the back of my neck and yanks me down to kiss him. Rough and desperate, clutching my curls in his fist.
"Fuck," he groans as he nips at my bottom lip. "I want more. I want you."
"I think you've had enough," I murmur.
He pulls my head back and desperately kisses my throat, coaxing my fangs to descend again. I turn away as he utters a single word against my skin.
"More."