Page 74 of Inked & Bloodbound
The fear is easier to deal with. Maybe I should heed Cass’ warning and leave him to go to that club alone tomorrow, but what kind of person would that make me? A coward? A weak-willed woman? I’m neither.
No, I run toward mess, chaos, and ugliness when I see it. That’s nursing. That’s life. Feeling the fear and pushing through it to do something good with all the pain. When my mother was lying in a motel bathtub with her wrists and throat cut and enough drugs to kill a rhino in her system, no one helped her. Not the clerk who checked her into the seedy downtown shithole. Not the dealer who supplied her. Not the junkie who was in the room with her, who robbed her as she lay bleeding. Back then, I was too small to run toward the mess.
But I’m bigger now.
There’s no way I’m turning away from this. I’m committed now. Even if what happened at the Jackalope scared the shit out of me.
The other problem, the one between my thighs, is also dangerous. I want him, and I want him all the time. My pure, unbridled desire for this man is all-consuming, and it clouds every decision, recoloring red flags through rose-tinted glasses.
Ordinarily, a macho, peacocking display of violence, like back at the bar, would send me running for the hills, but the truth—that I’m so desperately trying to fight—is one that makes my cheeks burn with shame.
Watching him lose control of his inner beast. Seeing eyes glow amber when he’s squeezing the life out of someone, the way they do when he’s feeding on me, doesn’t just make me feel safe and protected.
It turns me on.
I don’t just tolerate his monstrous parts. I like them.
Fuck, I love them. It’s terrifying, but it’s true. I think the blackest parts of him are my favorite.
Cassini’s tongue traces a nasty scrape on my hip bone, and the sensation steals a groan from my throat. I flip onto my back, and he looks up at me expectantly. His open mouth tantalizingly close to where I need him to be.
“Is everything okay, fiore?”
“I want you,” I whisper, my voice thick with need.
This is more than just physical, more than just about silencing the anxious terror that’s coursing through my veins. More than satisfying the itch that’s been growing since he drank from me moments ago. This is a need so raw I’d die if I couldn’t have it.
“I need you inside me,” I croak.
He stills, his body rigid above me. My hand comes up and cups his cheek, my thumb brushing over his smooth, cold skin. He’s still worried about what he’s done to me, what he’s putting me through. I need to show him that I’m all in, that I’ve chosen this, even the broken, ugly parts of it.
“Are you sure, my darling?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I want it to hurt.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hands are on me then, pushing aside the towel, his touch no longer hesitant. He pulls me up to him, his mouth finding mine in a brutal, hungry kiss that leaves me breathless. I can feel the venom on his tongue, the memory of what it can do to my body, and I moan into his mouth.
I lift my hips, rubbing against him, and a low moan escapes his throat. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes glowingamber in the dim light. I can see the monster in them, the one I love, the one that makes me feel safe.
I writhe under him, and he pins my hands above my head, his touch no longer gentle, but firm and unyielding. His pants brush against my bare thighs, the hard, dense muscle of his body pressing down on mine. The soft towel is a forgotten mess at my feet, and all I can feel is the intoxicating friction of his clothes against my skin.
There’s a feral desperation in the way he kisses me, his tongue plunging into my mouth, his teeth grazing my bottom lip. I can taste the venom on his tongue the same venom that made me feel so light and euphoric. Now, it’s a different kind of high—a primal, intoxicating rush of pure want.
My hands find their way to his chest, tracing the lines of ink-marked abs. His skin is ice-cold, and his heart is a frantic drum against my palm. I want him to lose control. I want him to take me with the same ferocity he used to subdue that vampire. I want to be the thing he loses himself in. I want him to give in to his monstrous parts, to stop fighting the hunger that consumes him, to give me all of his darkness, all of his rage, and all of his desperation.
“I’m not fragile, Cass,” I whisper, my voice thick with craving. “I want you to stop treating me like I’m made of glass and just fuck me. Tell me I’m yours. Promise me.”
His jaw clenches, and he looks at me like he’s afraid of what he’ll do next. He’s so used to being the one in control, the one protecting, but now I’m the one pushing him to the edge.
I grab his face and pull him down to me, kissing him with all the desperate need that’s been building inside of me since the first night we met.
And then he pulls away.
His hands release mine, and he sits back on his heels, putting distance between us that feels like a chasm. The loss of his touch is immediate and devastating, like a bucket of ice water thrown over my burning skin.
“What the—” I start, but he’s already reaching for the towel,pulling it up to cover me with gentle, clinical movements that make me want to scream.
“You need rest,” he says, his voice detached and distant as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead—the kind of kiss you’d give a kid, not a lover. “The sun will be up soon.”