Page 105 of The Blood we Crave

One of the deeper cuts bleeds freely, streaming down my stomach towards the center of my belly. It landing right in Thatcher’s drawing path, but he doesn’t let that stop him.

No, he smears the red liquid across his finger like a paintbrush and my body a canvas. I can’t believe my eyes, looking at him like this on his knees. Etched, detailed and sculpted from stone, a god amongst mortals.

The pain reduces, trickling down from my mind as lust boils in my stomach. Rising from the temperature of my body, making my thighs tighten and my core ache.

Touching Thatcher isn’t like coming in contact with anyone else. It doesn’t feel the same. It’s more than just superficial, I feel it in my bones. The depths of my soul purrs at the feeling of his skin on mine, coaxes me into a state of bliss.

Nothing my imagination dreamed up could have done this justice.

The way time seems to pause as he leans farther towards my torso, forcing my legs open in order to make space for his broad shoulders. The sharp chill of skin touching such an intimate part of makes me shiver. It cools the heat, making everything feel that much more real.

“You’re so cold.” I gasp, the towel sunk between my legs hiding my delicate center from his view.

“Some would argue you’re too warm,” he whispers. His mouth hovers right over the middle of my stomach, less than an inch from the red streaks that paint my skin. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? You’re too warm and I’m too cold.”

We are the light and the darkness, creating the gray matter that hangs in the balance. We are good and evil, proof that it all lives within each of souls regardless of life’s interference.

I’ve always known what I was to Thatcher, what he was to me. This moment made me feel like he was a little closer to seeing it too.

“I’m your rose.” I mumble, sucking in a sharp breath when his cool lips touch me. The wet feeling of his tongue swirling against me, licking up the blood he’d coated there. “You’re my thorns.”

I look down at his white hair, watching him shake his head.

“No,” he mutters, every movement of his lips I feel deep in my center. “You’re my ghost, Lyra Abbott. Mine and only mine. You watch me, you exist for me.”

Blissful agony spreads throughout my bones, so overwhelming that I don’t even notice his sneaky fingers pulling the towel. It’s only when the cool air of his room brushes against my slicked folds I notice I’m bared naked in front of him.

Completely exposed. Vulnerable. This is my weakest moment, and he is right here to see all of it. All my sharp edges melted away the moment those knives dove into Michael’s brain. In front of Thatcher, I’m nothing but a hollowed, fractured girl desperate to feel love. To feel wanted.

“What does that make you?” I ask on a gasp, glancing down just in time to watch his head move farther south, his mouth stained red. I have a shiver ofdéjà vu, remembering having this exact fantasy months ago.

“I’m the man you haunt.” His bottom lip drags past my belly button, my stomach quivering. “Your scent, your smile, your touch. You have haunted me every single day since the moment I looked at you.”

He bowed his head, placing a tender kiss on my inner thigh, his hands gripping the backs of my legs, stroking them with gentle swoops as if he was afraid I’d split beneath his touch.

My heart soared with my body. Every fiber of my being was burning beneath his icy touch. The tightness that overtook my chest and core were almost unbearable. I felt as if I could explode, and he’d barely done anything.

The sadistic hands of a killer tapped the top of my knees. Warranting entrance. Hands that had tormented without mercy and granted death without compassion. My thighs parted further, letting him between.

Blood stained and vicious. It could only be these hands I craved.

“Sweet, so very sweet for me, pet.” He hums.

My erratic breathing pumps my chest up and down in rapid pace. I fiercely want his mouth on my pussy. Aching for him in a way that can only be described as feverish.

“Thatcher,” I whimper. “Please, I need…”

Fuck, what did I need?

“You need?”

My eyes meet his, the piercing fixed stare he gives me.

“Everything. Anything. Just please.”

The first swipe of his tongue against my folds drags a moan from deep inside of me. Bolts of lightning buzz across my lower half, nothing has made me feel more alive or closer to death. He licks up and down, dragging through my folds, tasting me with a guttural groan that vibrates my core.

“Am I the reason your desperate cunt taste so addictively good? She wants to be sweet for me, doesn’t she?”