Page 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

MALACHI

H er taste ruins me.

It sings in my mouth—sweet and sharp and utterly her. Not just the tang of salt or the electric flash of arousal, but that underlying note of stubbornness, of fire, of the grief she wears like armor beneath her skin. Even here, slick and trembling and flooded with pleasure, she feels like defiance. Blake doesn’t let go easily. Not of control. Not of pride. Not of herself.

Which is why I know what this truly is. Every arch of her hips, every breathless sound ripped from her throat—it’s all deliberate. Her consent is total. Her surrender, a fucking privilege.

And I will never forget it.

I press a final kiss to her inner thigh, then rise slowly, dragging a lingering hand up her soft leg, savoring the shiver that sweeps through her limbs. I watch her expression shift, her pleasure softening into something rattled and undone, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. She’s still recovering—still floating on the edge of bliss, awareness trying to return to a body I’ve already claimed.

I don’t touch her yet. I want to.

But I want this next part even more.

I lean over her, careful not to press down, but close enough for my breath to graze her jaw. “Blake.”

Her eyes flutter open, still dazed—but alert. Curious.

“Do you want to feel everything?” I ask, voice low, the gravity of the moment humming beneath each word.

Her breath catches. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate. Just a second. Then, softly: “I want to feed from you.”

The pause stretches between us. Her gaze searches mine—not frightened, just questioning. And then?—

“I want that,” she whispers.

Gods.

I nearly lose my mind.

“But first—” Her hands move to my jacket and I realize we’re still dressed. Then we’re stripping each other—fierce, frantic, like neither of us can wait another second. I shrug off the jacket in one smooth motion, my hands returning to her jaw, her waist, the curve of her hips. She claws at my shirt, and I tear it open, desperate to feel her skin on mine.

Her fingers roam my chest, drifting over muscle and old scars, worshipping every inch as if it might vanish. I strip the rest of her dress from her, taking my time with the zipper, then the straps, until she’s bare before me.

She tugs my belt with shaking hands, laughing breathlessly against my mouth when the leather finally gives. I help her shove it down, then gently press her back onto the bed and ease her shoes off her feet. I kick off my own, never taking my eyes off her.

We undress the rest of the way together, tangled in half-whispers and gentle touches. My mouth finds the hollow of her throat, her breast, the space behind her knee. Every kiss is a promise. Every sigh she gives me is a vow.

When we’re finally skin to skin, nothing else matters. Not the club. Not the city. Not the shadows lurking beyond these walls.

Only this.

Only us.

Taking a breath, I grip her chin gently. I wait until she meets my gaze. “This won’t hurt,” I swear. “And if you want me to stop, I will. Just say the word.”

Her blue-green eyes are bright with trust and I am wholly unworthy of her.

“I trust you.” Her words are a balm I never knew I needed.

I bend, breathing her in. The smallest gasp escapes—a beautiful sound right in my ear. My fangs throb with the need to sink into her, and I dig my hand into the bed to steady myself. I need to be gentle. She deserves to be cherished, not devoured by a monster.

With aching control, I brush my nose along her jaw until my lips are poised above where neck meets shoulder. Her skin is so soft I can’t resist pressing a small kiss there. She shudders beneath me, and I can’t stop a smirk.

Before reason slips away, I strike. My fangs slice her flesh, sinking easily into her. Blake arches her back, her breath leaving her in a moan. Her blood floods my mouth and I groan, greedily swallowing the life-sustaining liquid. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer.

Her blood is intoxicating, the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. The ache inside me—the one that’s been growing since I first met Blake—finally begins to ease. Her flavor is addictive; I’m lost in her.

Her gasping moans morph into panting breaths. I’m so caught up in her blood, I barely register the way my body shifts above her until one of Blake’s thighs brushes my cock, a jolt of heat lancing through me at the contact. I pull back, my hunger sharpened rather than sated.

“Are you okay?”

I freeze atop her, barely having moved to leave. Looking down, she’s watching me with half-lidded eyes. The scent of her arousal blends with blood in the air. I’m the vampire, yet she’s the one asking if I’m okay.

I swallow hard and keep my gaze on hers. If I look at the thin trickle of blood on her neck, I’ll be back there in a second, lapping it up like I’m starved. “I can stop,” I manage.

“I don’t want you to,” she whispers, her words making my cock throb. “It feels good.”

She releases one hand to cup my face. My eyes close, leaning into her touch, desperate for more. Feeding can be so impersonal at times, but like this—this is always my favorite. A connection between two people, where trust and respect exist.

Her hand slides from my cheek into my hair. I can’t resist as she guides me back down to her throat.

We both moan as my fangs break skin once more. Her fingers tug my hair, sending shivers down my spine, straight to where I ache for her. I’m throbbing, aching to bury myself in her.

I swallow another mouthful and grind my cock against her, slicking her stomach. Blake arches up, moaning my name.

That’s it. I pull from her neck and lap up the blood seeping from her wounds.

I’ve reached the end of my rope. I need her—need more of her. I grab her thigh, moving her leg up around my waist. I drop my hips, cock pressing hard against her scorching core. The scent of her arousal is thick in the air and I grind against her as my mouth returns to her neck.

“Mal,” she gasps. Her other leg curls up, ankles locking at my lower back. She’s circled one arm around my shoulders, her hand still buried in my hair. She pulls my head back from her neck and I’m not fast enough to hide the crimson eyes or the fangs I know are still bared.

Blake doesn’t flinch. Her eyes are hazy with need, lips parted, chest heaving—and all I can focus on are her hard nipples pressing against my bare chest.

I groan, grinding against her again. She gasps, head falling back. I ache to touch her everywhere, to memorize every inch. She bucks up, wild and beautiful.

My hunger for blood is gone; replaced now by starvation for the woman below me.

I capture that lower lip she loves to nibble between my lips. She moans beneath me. I cup her breast, thumb circling over a peaked nipple. This is what I haven’t been able to forget since the night we kissed.

When I kiss her, she opens as eagerly as that first time, our tongues clashing.

“Malachi,” she gasps when I pull back. Her legs never unlock from around my waist.

“Blake,” I groan, rolling my hips—and we both groan when my cock catches on her entrance.

She shakes her head, as if too lost to know. “Please.”

I kiss her hard, pulling back to growl against her lips, “You never have to beg me.”

Kissing her, consuming her, I drag my hand down, twist, and my fingers slide between her slick folds.

“So fucking wet,” I groan.

Blake’s hips buck as I circle her swollen clit. She cries out and I swallow the sound, greedy for more. She rocks her hips, aching for friction. I give it—sliding a finger inside her, then a second. I pull back, needing to watch her unravel. Her blue eyes are closed, cheeks flushed, head thrown back.

I pump my fingers into her, Blake’s legs tightening around my waist, her hips lifting off the bed. My cock aches trapped between us, but I ignore my own need.

I’m desperate to see her come again. Blake’s head twists, her nails scraping my chest. I revel in the sting. “I need?—”

“I’ve got you,” I promise. I curl my fingers, searching for the spot inside her that will break her open. Blake cries out and I press harder, knowing I’ve found it. “You’re so fucking gorgeous on my fingers, Blake.”

Her walls flutter and she arches, crying my name, hips jerking frantically. I keep going, thrusting and circling, drawing it out—needing, not just wanting, for this to last.

I slow my pace, ignoring her cry of protest. I lower myself, drawing her nipple into my mouth, worshipping the feel of her bare skin under my lips. I savor her with my tongue—slow, worshipful, desperate to make her come undone again.

Her pleasure is mine.

She’s mine.

Blake is babbling, her heels digging into my back. “Mal—please—I can’t?—”

I pull back, needing her eyes. “You can, Blake,” I rasp, rough. “Just feel. Feel everything. You can cum. You’ll cum again for me, won’t you? Will you let me see you fall apart? You’ve been teasing me since that first day. Now it’s my turn. Cum, Blake. Let go.”

She cries out, shuddering, her muscles clenching around my fingers. I keep thrusting, dragging wave after wave from her trembling body. She’s shaking her head, overwhelmed.

“More,” I growl, burying my face at her throat again. “I need more.”

She cries out as I find that spot inside her just as I bite, sucking down her pleasure-drenched blood. Blake screams, body shaking as another orgasm crashes through her.

I lap at the wound, savoring the last trace of her. She’s a feast laid bare before me, and I’ve never been hungrier—for her, for everything.

She’s gasping, limp and shivering. She’s close—so close. Her walls flutter around my fingers; I move, replacing them with my cock, and thrust, burying myself in one smooth, brutal stroke.

Blake cries out, head snapping back, nails biting into my shoulders.

“Malachi,” she gasps, her body arching as she shatters again.

I snarl against her throat, hips rocking, dragging back then driving deep. Her heat envelops me, velvet-tight and pulsing, impossible to leave. I grind into her, returning to her neck, licking and kissing the tender skin. She bucks beneath me, moaning, wild with pleasure.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” I growl, snapping my hips harder, faster.

Her legs lock around my waist, dragging me deeper. Her hips rise to meet mine, frantic and stunning, her breath stuttering at every thrust.

I keep going. I give her everything. And she takes it—eager, unrestrained, glorious.

My name leaves her lips like a prayer. I make her scream it again.

“You’re mine, Blake,” I snarl as my balls tighten. “Mine.” The words tear from my throat, primal and absolute. Every thrust is a brand. Her nails dig into my shoulders—drawing blood, marking me—and I welcome the sting, greedy for it. I want to wear her marks even as I mark her.

I shatter inside her with a shout that rips free and echoes off the ceiling, guttural and raw, hips jerking as I spill into her.

I collapse into the crook of her neck, still inside her, muscles shaking from the force of what we’ve done—what we are. My cock pulses with her aftershocks, and her body curls beneath mine, a slow, contented stretch ending with a soft moan against my ear. She’s boneless, ruined, perfect.

And mine.