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She doesn’t have a chance to gasp before I’m kissing her. I’m anything but gentle, and she matches my movements. She’s safe from Emile for now, but she’s not safe from me. She’d ran from me, wanting me to catch her, and now that I’ve found her, I’ll give her what she wants. Gwyn sweeps her tongue into my mouth and her hands are sliding up my shirt and pulling me against her. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m pulling at her hips, at her shirt, at her hair, and I am ravenous. My beard rakes over her soft skin, and I know my kiss is searing. I bite and suck and punish as I take this from her, and I wonder if she feels how desperate I am. She cups my jaw with her hand, and I become fixated when I realize it’s the injured one. She must have grazed it on something while she ran because the slice has opened up further.

I grab her wrist and turn my face into her palm, kissing the cut, and she frowns at me. I nearly snort when I remember I’m supposed to dislike blood. When I gently lick at the blood there, I don’t think she notices. Most of it is dried, and it still bursts on my tongue like that goddamn fizzy candy you get when you’re a kid. It’s more than I have ever drawn from her, and I feel euphoric. I suddenly think of my brother, and wonder if this is what it felt like for him when he had that deal with the demons. I want to laugh, to smile, to just goddamn exist. When I’ve got her blood on my tongue, nothing else matters. For a half-second, I’m convinced everything terrible in my life isn’t real. Remy isn’t dead, and my mom is still alive.

I’m barely able to stop myself from getting lost in that heady sensation, and I pull my mouth from her skin. She runs that hand through my hair, and I’m thankful she doesn’t seem to be phased by my reaction. It takes everything in me not to grab her and continue to feast, but I need to touch her more than I care to admit. Her blood has only made it worse, and I find a part of the hollowed-out tree she can lean against. I half carry, half back her up against it and start peeling those leggings from her skin as my lips find her neck. My canines are out of control at this point, and I gently trace them over her carotid.

I’m playing with fucking fire.

And until I can have her blood like this, until I can pull that thick liquid into my mouth straight from her veins, I’m going to make her suffer too.

She’s gripping my cock through my sweatpants as she arches her neck, giving me access to lave her honeyed skin. I don’t feel as if my actions are my own, my hands moving across her body without my consent. Her leggings are so tight, I’m struggling to pull them down, so I rip them.

“Roman!” she exclaims, but I’m pulling them off her and throwing them on the ground. Within a breath, I’m on my knees in front of her, and I wrench her legs apart. She’s not wearing any underwear, as I suspected, and I swallow hard when I see the plump triangle of skin at the juncture of her thighs. I nearly moan when I think of biting her there.

“What are you doing?” she asks, panting as she pulls at my hair, wanting to bring me back up to kiss her.

“I caught you,” I grunt, leaning forward as I cup the back of her knee, lifting her leg and opening her up for me. All I smell is her wetness and that apple pie scent of her blood rushing to that delicate flesh. It’s maddening. I don’t bother hiding my fangs as they lengthen. She’s not able to see them from this angle, and I don’t know if I care anymore, anyway. She’ll find out soon enough what I am.

Björn and Emile have forced my hand.

“I’m sweaty,” she says, trying to pull her leg free from my grip. “You probably don’t want to do that.” I haven’t heard her say anything more incorrect.

“Stop talking, Gwyn,” I say, and lean forward. I press my tongue to her clit, and her leg twitches in my grasp. She pushes her heel into my back, her shoes still on, and she makes a sound that thrills the predator inside me. I dip my tongue lower, parting her skin and gently tracing back up. My touch is delicate, and she squirms in my hold. She braces both her hands behind her, nails clawing into the wood as she tilts her head back.

I continue licking, soft as satin on her lips and clit, and I use my free hand to snake between her legs and cup her ass. I squeeze, and it takes everything in me not to turn her around and bite her fat ass. It’s so round and soft, and I want to turn it red. She’s panting, and her hips twitch forward the faintest bit, and I can tell she’s holding back. She wants to thrust against my mouth, wants me to increase the pressure.

But I won’t.

I can’t.

I want to drink from that perfect vein on the inside of her leg, suckle at the source of that breathtaking fucking drug beneath her skin. I want to tongue-fuck her while her blood is fresh in my mouth. I need her covered in it so I can lick her clean.

There’s a fine line between want and need, and I have certainly tipped over the edge. I am blood drunk in the worst way, and my teeth begin toache.

I lick her slowly, careful to avoid that sensitive spot, knowing it’s killing her to be teased in this way.

“Oh God,” she moans, and she grabs a fistful of my hair, trying to get her way. I stop my movements, hovering my lips just over her clit, and don’t move again. She groans and lets go of my hair, hand bracing against the tree behind her once more.

I chuckle, my warm breath releasing on her sensitive skin, and her hips jerk of their own accord. Using the hand that was massaging her, I trail my fingertips down the seam of her ass, not pressing deep, just enough to tease her. She lets out a strangled sound as I continue moving forward, and I let my fingertips wander. Even though I want to push inside her, feel the warm hug of her cunt, I stop myself. My fingertips rim her entrance, but I don’t give in to the thrust of her hips.

“Jesus Christ, Roman,” she says, groaning loudly. I slowly lick her clit, applying a bit more pressure, and am rewarded by her leg shaking.

“You like this, baby?”

“No!” she moans, and I laugh against her skin. Slipping one finger into her, I watch as she throws her head back. “More,” she demands, and I stop moving.

“I’ll train you, yet,” I say and she rocks her hips forward, trying to push me deeper inside her. I pull my hand free from her, and she lets out a scream in her throat. Beautiful frustration. I hope it’s as painful for her as it is for me. More, even.

“Please,” she whimpers, and I take pity on her. I don’t bother being gentle as I suck on her clit hard, shoving three fingers inside her when I do. It is an invasion she responds to violently, her heel digging painfully into my back. I think perhaps I’ve hurt her until she moans my name.

“That’s right, Gwyn. You’re so fucking pretty moaning my name like that.” I’m unable to stop the words of praise I want to give her. The feeling is yellow, bright and sunny. I suck on her flesh and pump my fingers into her, paying strict attention to the cadence of her breathing, I bring her closer to the release she so desperately needs.

That she will not get.

She breathes in, almost a gasp, and then holds it a moment. When she lets the air out, it’s the softest moan. It’s so delicate and far more intimate than it should be. I want to breathe it in. I want to taste those gentle breaths, and I want to collect the rough gasps she’d give me when I thrust my cock inside her. With her blood still running rampant through my system, I think my senses are far more responsive to stimuli. Everything is only making me crave her more.

I’m getting carried away, and when I feel her clench around my fingers, I stop abruptly, withdrawing from her and dropping her leg. She nearly falls over, and I reach up and grip her waist.

“What the hell?” she demands as I pull myself to my feet. “You rip my pants, and I don’t even get to come?”