Chapter 5 Bite Me #2
A tingle creeps up my spine, and the ache in my gums becomes painful. I try to pull away, but his grip on the back of my neck tightens, and he holds me there. I could overpower him easily, but I don't.
"More."
"Angel, stop it."
"I need you, Sophia."
The hunger in his voice is unequivocal. He paws at me desperately, lips frantic against the underside of my jaw. He pushes his pelvis up and grinds against me as if he’s trying to get more body contact. Like he wants to mould every part of himself to a part of me.
I recognize that look in his eyes. I've seen it so many times before.
It's the glossy, pleading gaze that comes right before they beg me not to stop.
It's the purest form of need. A primal urge that goes against every natural survival instinct, like a clueless lamb skipping to the slaughterhouse.
He has no idea how hard it is for me to stop and how foolish he is to beg for more.
"Enough," I warn, but there's nothing behind it. I want him just as much as he wants me.
He twists us, reversing our positions so I'm the one pinned beneath him, his forearm braced against the couch beside my head. His mouth crashes down on mine in a feverish kiss, the metallic taste of his own blood still fresh on my tongue.
The buttons of his shirt give way under my fingers, pinging across the floor as I wrench it open, and I slide my hands over the searing heat of his thick chest. The fabric hangs off him in tatters, so I tear off the remainder, throwing it on the ground and exposing the curves of his shoulders.
He shudders as my cold fingertips make contact with his sternum, but he never stops kissing me.
I push him back and scooch up, yanking my vest over my head and letting it fall into the darkness beyond us. The room dissolves at the edges, blurring like a vignette until there's nothing left but the two of us.
His fingers find my zipper—the metallic rasp cuts through the quiet—and I lie back and lift my hips as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of my jeans. The denim drags down my thighs, slow and deliberate, the friction prickling against my skin as I sit naked beneath him.
His eyes, still wide and black, rake over every inch of me.
He mouths something, but it's muffled, the ragged sound of his breath and the blood rushing through his veins the only thing I hear.
The primal hunger that was in his voice when he asked for my bite is now blazing, uncontained, in the way he's looking at me.
This has to be crossing every professional boundary in the book, but I guess I'm screwed either way. I've already kissed him, drank from him, undressed for him. What's one more act of rebellion? Why dip a toe in the ocean when you can dive right in?
There's nothing left but a scrap of fabric between us. A thin pair of black boxers stretching at the apex, housing something desperate to escape. I glance down at it, and when he catches me, he smirks. It's an invitation. A dare, even.
So I tear them off his body, shredding them in the process, and the tattered pieces fall like cinders after a fire. The last remnants of the boundary between us burned away. He doesn't flinch, just gazes down at me in wonder.
I drag my finger down the center of his chest, stopping just below his belly button. I barely touch his skin as I circle it, and he swallows hard.
"I thought you wanted me dead," I tease.
A grin—mischievous, dangerous—breaks across his face. His chest heaves as he sucks in a few deep breaths, like he's trying to steady himself.
"And I thought you were supposed to watch me die," he counters, his voice catching on an exhale.
He leans down to kiss me, and as the heat of his body meets the cool of mine, we melt together for a moment. Creating a balance of fire and ice, and meeting somewhere in the middle.
Just as the kiss deepens, teetering on the edge of all-consuming, I sense the moment to strike. It's a primal instinct, the need to remind him exactly who holds the reins, who the predator is.
In one swift, fluid motion, I twist my hips and heave. The element of surprise, coupled with my superior strength, is all it takes. Angel lets out a choked gasp as his body hits the cushions of the couch with a dull thud.
I'm on top of him, straddling his waist, my knees sinking into the soft flesh of his thighs, pinning his lower body. I brace one hand on his chest and use the other to grip his wrist, holding his hand against the cushion beside his head. My bloodied lips curve into a greedy, satisfied smile.
He blinks wildly, his eyes flashing with indignation and amusement. He tries to buck up—a desperate, half-hearted attempt to reverse the position—but I simply press my weight down, settling him firmly onto his back.
I slide my palm right over his frantically stuttering heart, giving him a gentle, playful shake.
"You're still so human," I sigh. "And even when you turn, I'll always be older and stronger than you."
He slaps my thigh, his lip curling as he grins, "Half human, maybe. But trust me... I'm all man."
"Prove it," I goad.
I shift my weight, a slow, deliberate grind of my hips that makes the breath rush out of his lungs. I hold his gaze, watching the sheer, intoxicating need bloom across his face. His lips part, but no sound comes out, only a sharp intake of air.
"I want you to beg for it," I whisper.
His breath comes out in sharp puffs from his nose as he presses his lips together, straining to contain whatever sound is in danger of escaping him.
"I...don't...beg," he grits out, but his resolve is visibly crumbling. His eyes are softening.
I lick my lips and rock against him.
"You sure about that?" I challenge, reaching between my legs to position him tantalizingly close to my entrance. He groans when I touch him, and his eyes roll back in his head. This is killing me too, but I'll never let him see it.
"Poor Angel. The sad little rich boy's never been refused anything before, huh?
How does it feel to be denied for once?" He moans, but I persist, running my fingertip over his skin in ever-tightening circles.
"You can't buy or threaten your way out of this one.
For once, you're going to have to do as you're told. "
"Fine," he mumbles as he writhes beneath me, trying to free his hands.
"Huh? What was that? I didn't quite catch that."
"Go on," he says, his voice a little louder this time, rubbing his thumbs into my hip dips.
"Use your words," I coax. "Tell me what you want. Come on, you're a big boy."
"I want you, Sophia," he rasps. "I want you so badly it fucking hurts. I want to feel every part of you. I want to reach inside you and fucking devour you. I need you. What more do you want me to say? Just tell me, and I'll say it."
I arch my eyebrow, and he looks up at me like a dying man asking to be put out of his misery. The silence between us is loaded with electricity. A current thrumming and fizzing between us.
Then he says the magic word.
"Please."
"Good boy."