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Fey shuddered and gave a small gasp. She came, a soft, mild orgasm rolling through her, his hand pressed against her clit.

Alastair released her, pulling his fangs from her neck and leaning back against the couch, eyes wide.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. Something inside him roared, begged for him to sink his fangs back into her. He was hungry, he realized. Starving. But right now, in this moment, he just wanted to watch her come again. “Do that again.”

Fey was panting, eyes unfocused. “Do…?”

Alastair grabbed her hips, grinding her pussy down onto him, pushing her against his cock and into the palm of his hand. “Use me like that, again, Fey. Take what you need from me.”

It was too soon after her orgasm, too much stimulation too soon, but still Fey gasped when he pushed against her, gasped and arched, murmuring his name as another small wave rushed through her.

Fuck, Alastair thought, watching her shudder in his grip. He felt untethered and raw, intense need crashing through him.

“Bed,” he demanded in a snarl, wrapping his arms around her and under her legs, and lifting her from the couch. “This time I’m fucking you on a real bed.”

Chapter 51

Head still spinning, Fey let herself be carried to the bedroom. She hadn’t expected to enjoy his bite that much, hadn’t expected to lose control of herself like that. But something about the jolt of pain, something about the way he was holding her, completely immobilized against him… she shivered, just thinking about it.

She wanted more.

The moment they were in the room, Alastair tossed her onto the bed, and Fey squealed. He pulled his own shirt off and was on her in a second, hands ripping open the shirt she was wearing hard enough she was sure he was tearing off the buttons.

“Alastair!” she gasped. “Your shirt!”

“Fuck it,” he snarled. He pulled the fabric open, revealing her breasts, her bare body. Leaning over her, he licked a path down her skin, between her breasts and down her stomach. “I’ll buy another,” he said, into her skin, and she arched under him. “Fuck, I’ll buy a thousand of them, just to rip them off you again.”

He bit her again, hard, on the inner thigh just below her hipbone, and Fey jerked underneath him.

“Alastair,” she hissed, half in shock, half in pain.

He pulled back immediately, licking his lips. “Sorry,” he whispered, and Fey was startled to see how wild his eyes were, how out of control he looked.

Blood lust could make a Vampire unpredictable, dangerous. And based on the crazed look in Alastair’s eyes, she might have brought him a little too close to that edge.

“Come here,” Fey demanded, holding out her arms for him, and he came to her immediately, letting her kiss him and pull him down toward her. Letting her roll him over, until he was under her, her legs straddling him.

She pinned him underneath her and sat up on his hips to look down at him.

“Calm down,” she said, and he took a deep shuddering breath. “Maybe, you should just lay back and let me play with you for a while?”

“If you want me to calm down, Witchling, that’s the exact wrong thing to say,” he told her, but the wild animal that had appeared in his eyes was starting to fade.

Fey smiled, seeing more of Alastair returning, his dilated pupils constricting again. She kissed him, swatting his hands away when he reached for her. Kissed him deeply, fully, letting her tongue touch against the sharp tips of his teeth. He groaned, and she moved to the edges of his lips, kissing down his jawline, his neck.

“Fuck, Fey.” He hissed, arching up as she kissed down his chest. His cock twitched underneath her, through his pants. She wanted to touch him, feel his hard length in her hand, in her mouth.

When she reached his waist, and began to unbuckle his belt, Alastair reached for her again, trying to pull her back up to him.

“I need to touch you, Witchling,” he hissed. But she swatted his hands away, smirking up at him as she unfastened his pants and slowly pulled his zipper down.

He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and Fey felt him jerk under her touch as his cock sprang free. Eyes still locked with his, holding his gaze, she trailed her hand up the length of him.

There is a different sort of power here, Fey thought with a smirk. Alastair watched her, eyes wide and desperate, as she touched him. His hands clutched the sheets, and he swore softly as her hands explored. She held him in the palm of her hand, literally and metaphorically, and it felt divine to have such power over another person.

When she took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue over the tip of him, Alastair’s eyes never left hers. But they widened, and he swore, hips bucking off the mattress. She took her time with him, enjoying the feel of him in her mouth.

“Fey,” he moaned. “Fuck, that feels good.”