Page 79 of Taste of Blood

Again.

I feel my body tense for the moment his teeth enter me. I ache for it.

For the pain.

For the euphoria of his feeding.

He licks the skin of my neck and I struggle against the rope, wanting to free myself. To run my fingers through his silky hair. To squeeze the plump cheeks of his ass.

To sink my own teeth into his flesh.

His dick finds that sweet spot inside me as he bites down and starts to milk the wound, and I lose complete control.

“Fuck me, I’m coming.”

Asher pumps two more times then his body goes rigid as his hot cum fills my ass. The combination of coming and his feeding overwhelms me.

I have to remember to breathe.

I don’t know when his mouth leaves my neck and closes over mine, sucking my tongue in deep, swirling his around mine.

Desperate.

I taste my own blood as the kiss becomes frantic.

Demanding.

Raw.

Like he’s trying to consume me.

He groans in my mouth as his hands close around either side of my face to trap me against him. I will myself to relax and his lips move against mine, becoming more passionate.

Transcendent.

Like we’ve moved past mere lust.

He pulls away and raises himself up on his elbows, his cock sliding free of my ass with a sigh of loss. I drop my legs and take a deep breath to clear my head.

“I think we can lose the rope,” he says, reaching over me to untie my wrists.

I rub the soreness out and meet his eyes as he rolls over and lies facing me. Traces of crimson are smeared on his pale chest, the scent of blood and cum mingling in the air. A heady combination.

This is the way it’s always been with us.

This is the way it should be.

I ignore the voice and focus on the moment.

We don’t say anything for several minutes as my heart returns to its normal rhythm, my spent cock still throbbing but sated.

“Can I ask you something?” I venture finally.

“Anything.”

“Why do you still have rope in your nightstand?”

It’s something I wondered as soon as he pulled it out. Not that it’s technically any of my business. We were apart for ten years. What he got up to during that time has nothing to do with me.