Page 57 of Inked & Bloodbound

“So, what do you say?”

He doesn’t look at me, but his knuckles strain as he grips the steering wheel. The car lurches as it speeds up. The dial on the speedometer creeping higher and higher. His voice is much rougher now, hoarse and serious.

“I’m going to take you home and fuck your brains out.”

19

CASSINI

The wanting started the moment she sat in my tattoo chair, and it grew when she straddled me on her couch and saw my fangs. Despite all my excuses about the venom, I know that's not what's driving this. It's her that courses through my veins, not the other way around.

She fumbles with her keys, hands trembling, and I want to tell her there's no rush, that we have all night, but I don't trust my voice right now. Instead, I press myself against her back as she works the lock, my hands finding her hips, breathing in the sun-drenched scent of her that’s haunted me for days.

The door finally gives way, and we stumble inside, barely making it past the threshold before I spin her around and press her against the closed door. Her breath hitches as I cage her in with my arms, my palms flat against the wood on either side of her head.

I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb, marveling at the softness of her skin. Humans are so fragile, so warm and alive, but Lily—Lily burns brighter than all the rest. Even now, after nearly draining her dry just hours ago, she radiates life and heat and warmth. I guess this is one of the perks of dating a medium.

She tilts her head up, lips parted, and I'm lost. The kiss starts tender, whisper-soft pecks along her bottom lip, her face resting in my palm, my thumb at the corner of her lip, but it deepens quickly as any trace of restraint crumbles away. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I can taste the desperation on her tongue.

Our hands are suddenly everywhere, mapping out the planes of each other’s bodies. Frantic and precise, like we’re desperate to feel every single inch all at once. I push her harder against the door and pin her with my chest, our heartbeats sync and drum together. A frenzied thudding that threatens to burst out of our ribs.

She slides her hands under my jacket, pulling the leather off my shoulders, and it makes a clank as the buckles hit the ground. I steady myself with one arm above her on the door as her fingertips trace down my chest, resting at the hem. She pushes me back, her tongue still swirling in my mouth as her fists desperately tug at the hem of my T-shirt.

When our lips briefly break apart so she can pull it over my head, I catch a glimpse of her face, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight pouring through a nearby window. The wetness of our kisses pools on her swollen lips, and her pupils are dark and vast. I stare into them, looking to find her, but only a feral hunger looks back.

She tears my shirt away, throws it to the ground, and we close the distance again, biting at each other, mouthing and scraping teeth along neck and jaw and collarbone. I want to feed, and I want to fuck, but most of all, I want to taste her.

I have to taste her.

When I reach for the hem of her own shirt, she swats my hand away, reaching instead for the buckle of my belt. Her delicate fingers curling around the leather and grasping at the clasp. She yanks it open, and I groan, feeling my dick, which has already been straining, twitch at the prospect of freedom.

I grab her waist and squeeze, slipping my hand under the soft fabric of her camisole, and she gasps at the coldness of my fingers against her burning heat. She leans into it, rolling her body against me like a wave cresting, desperate for the coast.

Her hands are pawing at my waist, my chest, and wherever she touches me, I can’t imagine anything else ever existing. The urge rises, sharp and bright, to break her open and devour every pounding, shivering pulse she offers.

But then she slips her hand under my waistband, and it’s me who almost collapses.

Lips still locked together, she pulls down my jeans and boxers so that I’m standing there completely naked in her hallway. My pants spilling onto the ground, knotted around my ankles like a pool of shadow.

She pushes me back to take me in and admire her handiwork, and lets out a filthy laugh. We sure must make a pretty picture. Her fully dressed, skirt tugged to the side and hanging off balance, bra straps escaping down her arms and me naked, proudly erect and totally bewitched by her.

I’m so drunk on her essence, so filled with a powerful lust that she could say anything to me right now, and I’d do it.

I’d burn cities to the ground at her command, leaving nothing but ashes in my wake.

I’d rip the throats of her enemies and leave them bleeding and choking if they so much as glanced at her in a way that displeased her.

I’d crawl on my hands and knees through a pile of broken glass and shaved silver in the midday sun if it meant I could have a single taste.

Sono tutto tuo, amore mio, fai di me ciò che desideri.

I am all yours, my love, do with me whatever you desire.

She drags her eyes over me, like she’s deciding what to do next, and it’s almost too much, how she savors it. The anticipation is a slow knife. For a moment, I feel like prey—a thing caught, baited and rendered passive by the weight of her desire.

That's when her hand snakes up to my throat, and I groan, partly for effect, partly because of the way she squeezes—just enough to remind me I’m not the only one with teeth.

I respond by grabbing her wrists and pinning them against thedoor with one hand. She yelps and tilts her head to the side to offer her neck. I lean in, breathing in her scent and I run my tongue from her collarbone up to her earlobe, which makes her yield. My free hand traces over her body again as I push the full weight of my hardness into her.