Page 82 of Stone: The Precursor

“It’s better, but I—I will need more meds. It lasts at least a day.”

Alert to the possibility of her being in more pain, I get up and lift her in my arms. Her towel is long gone, but I don’t focus on her nakedness right now. I stride with her to the bathroom. Luckily, I got up hours ago and put on my pants. It was around the same time a text alerted me.

Park: She’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?

I looked at her sleeping form when I lied to him.

Me: She got home and went up to her apartment. I’d presume she’s asleep.

Park: Thanks. I appreciate you making sure she got home safe.

I turn on the light and set her on her feet in the bathroom. She holds onto my arms. “I’m naked, Stone.”

“I know.” Her nipples are beautiful, and it’s the first time I’ve seen them. They’re small and a perfect fit for my mouth. A flawless landscape for my knife. I only got to see her lithe thighs, smooth calves, and gorgeous pussy the last time. The slight flare of her narrow hips is gorgeous. The concave curve of her belly makes me want to dip my tongue in her navel, and keep going, dragging my tongue up to her breasts, sucking those nipples in my mouth, biting them a bit, making the color darker, browner than they are already.

She pushes her matted hair back and yawns. “I need my clothes.”

“No.”

“No?” Both eyebrows shoot up. “Why not?”

I don’t tell her that having her warm, naked skin against mine feels good. Feels right. I lift her over the rim of the tub. “I’m going to take the disc out,” I say instead. I kneel on the tile, touching her legs, pushing them apart. She braces on my shoulder, yelping. “Stop it, Stone. I can do it.”

I slide my hands over her knee and up, coasting over warm skin.

“I said I can do it,” she protests, trying to push my hands aside, grabbing my wrist from between my legs. When I don’t budge, she clamps her thighs around my forearm.

“Open your legs, Countess. I’ve already touched your pussy, remember?”

“Oh my god. You’re insane,” she whispers, opening her legs.

I look up into her bright red face, amused by her embarrassment. There’s also desire in her eyes. “There’s no use arguing with you.”

My fingers climb up her inner thigh, and I catch the moment she sucks in a breath. I keep going, finally reaching the warmer,humid temperature between her legs. The need to touch inside her warmth is too much to resist, and I push one finger inside.

“Stone. —I, we—,” Her words end on a long, drawn-out sigh, and she slumps forward, leaning her tummy on my shoulder.

The heat inside her is blistering. My fingers are slick. I find the rubber ring covering her cervix. I gently pinch it to pull it out. I look down at the blood on my fingers and my palm. It’s primordial, calling to my baser instincts. I can smell the iron in her blood, and like always, the sight is erotic, but it is so much stronger now, more intense than when I kill. This time, my blood lust is more savage; feral. I want to taste it, swallow it from my fingers, rub it all over my cock. I want the metallic scent in the room. I want to release my cum inside her, have it mix with her flow.

“I’m sorry. It’s gross.”

Not by a long shot.I pour her blood in the toilet, emptying the cup, and close the lid before flushing. “Nothing is gross about a woman’s blood, Countess. It’s natural. It’s human. A gift given to women.” Her mouth opens, and she observes me, but doesn’t say anything in response.

“Do you have another one? Or do you reuse it?”

She looks at me and says quietly, “I reuse it. You rinse it.”

I stand and rinse it, then rest it on a piece of toilet paper. Next, I grab my washcloth from the shower and rinse it out using warm water. I clean her pussy, getting the last traces of blood coating her skin. After each wipe, she shivers, eyes locked on me, not saying another word. But the sight of the blood going down the drain, the sight of freshly washed skin, all of it unravels my control.

“Open your legs. I want to see.”

“Stone. We can’t?—”

“Do it. Let me see.”

I’ve said the same thing to her before. The day in my tattoo chair. I want it again. No, Ineedit again. It’s been weeks since I touched her. Days of avoiding her and this insatiable need. Her brother’s warnings don’t matter right now. My reminders don’t either.

She opens her legs wider. I help her and lift her leg onto the rim of the tub. I touch her slit and growl when it comes away dark pink. I rub the slickness between my fingers.