Page 76 of Will It Hurt?

Her blood, warm and intoxicating, spread across my tongue like the richest wine.

I savored every tremor, every quiver, tracking the way her breath hitched with each lave.

“Oh, f—”

The curse faded into a choked gasp. Her pulse fluttered wildly beneath my touch, and I could hear it— feel it—like a siren’s call just beneath the surface, the rush of her blood. The scrambling of her heartbeat.

I pressed a kiss to the rapidly fading wound, the taste of her lingering on my lips .

With a soft whimper, she tilted her head back, exposing more of her throat to me.

A silent invitation—a trust so deep it nearly unraveled me.

The hunger was still there, still simmering beneath the surface and biting into my belly with ragged hooks, but this wasn’t about taking. This was about healing, about tending to her in a way that left her whole rather than drained.

I ran my tongue along the last traces of the wound, sealing it completely, and turned my attention to the range of bruises.

Damn Indira! I had known her to be cruel, but this was barbaric. It was a wonder that Aisla was still alive. Still breathing.

A little voice in my head sprang forth to remind me that I had left similar bruises just days before, but I snuffed it out quickly.

We had made peace with each other. Hell, I’d saved her life tonight. There was no reason to dig up the none-too-distant past…

…especially when she pressed her neck into my palm like a kitten waiting to be stroked.

Here, the bruises interlaced with one another, spreading over her skin like ink in water, weaving into one large reddish-purple mark. I set the flat of my tongue against the widest part of the bruise, licking gently.

The taste of her skin and blood lingered on my lips—salt, warmth, magick, and something uniquely her . I wanted more. Not out of hunger, not out of need, but because there was something unbearably intimate about this, about having her bare before me, trusting me to take away her pain.

My tongue traced the edge of another bruise, this one higher, just beneath her collarbone. She gasped at first contact, her breath stuttering as I pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss over the mark.

Her pulse hammered beneath her skin, rapid and uneven, and a tendril of satisfaction curled through me.

Movement at the edge of my gaze made me pause.

“Are you touching yourself?” I whispered wetly against her neck.

Aisla stilled, freezing like a rabbit caught in a trap I had designed especially for her.

“No,” she lied, but the evidence proving otherwise was everywhere. The gathered peaks of her nipples, the pant in her breath, thighs splayed apart... And most of all, the fingers that had disappeared between her legs.

“Liar.”

“It’s unfair to turn someone on and not let them do anything about it.”

“Is it now?” I queried. “Perhaps I had something better in store for you. Something more than just your fingers.”

“Tease.” The rasp in her voice slid over my skin like velvet.

“Don’t stop, little wytch,” I whispered. “After all, how else would you be able to fully appreciate my tongue if you had nothing to compare it with?”

“You’re so cocky.” But the words were more appreciative than accusatory. “But maybe you have the right to be.”

I gathered a fold of her flesh between my teeth and bit down. She arched into me, her fingers moving quickly beneath the water.

“I can almost taste you,” I whispered in her ear. “Your blood, your pussy. Every bit of you is exquisite.”

She breathed: “Which do you want more?”

There was no answer that wouldn’t be a lie .

Her pulse throbbed so close to the surface, tempting, calling to me like a whispered invitation. If I leaned in just a little more, just barely , I could feel that fragile beat against my mouth, let my fangs break the surface and take—

But then she moaned, soft and wanting, and my gaze snapped to the fingers moving rapidly under the steaming water.

In and out she thrust, her hips moving to meet her fingers.

In a matter of minutes, maybe less, she’d find her peak.

And I wanted that. I wanted her to come apart as I drank from her neck.

The need clawed at me from both sides.

“Does it bring you pleasure to torment me?”

“Far too much pleasure,” she confirmed like the deviant she was.

Her free hand curled over my hair, holding tight as she surged toward her peak.

I watched, hypnotized by every fluid movement as she rode her fingers, back arching, spine bowing, skin quivering…

God help me. I never thought I’d be ruined by someone else’s orgasm.

But as she whimpered and trembled around her own fingers, I found myself enthralled beyond words.

“Okay,” she said, her breathing ragged as her hips splashed back into the water. “Maybe it was more like sixty percent money and forty percent you.”

My smile was hidden against the column of her neck.

“Is that so?” I teased. “If I make you come again, will it shift the numbers? Hmm? Should I try for fifty-fifty?”

Her laughter broke over me like a warm wave.

“You can try,” she said. “But I can’t guarantee it.”

I let the edges of my teeth drag across her skin. She leaned into my bite.

“Carry me outside,” she said. It was an order. “Into the bedroom. The moonlight. It will help me heal. ”

Slowly, breathlessly, under the moonlight, Aisla came to life again, the creases on her skin melting away as power surged from her fingertips.

I found myself between her thighs, buried in her core, fulfilling my earlier promise.

Even as she thrashed and bucked beneath me, I didn’t let up, didn’t stop.

My tongue continued to urge her towards another peak, then another, memorizing every cry and every ripple until she lay boneless on the carpet.

Deplete.

Replete.

I rose with her wetness running down my chin and placed a sloppy kiss on her lips, tasting her smile, the little huff of laughter.

“What about now?” I asked as she attempted to wipe herself off my chin.

“Maybe fifty-fifty, vamp.”

Some might call her cruel, but I adored her.

“I would do it again if it means bringing you closure,” she whispered, her curls dipped in the silver glow.

Closure.

The word crept over me like falling dusk.

I stilled, searching her eyes for the truth.

Closure , I thought. Is that what I needed? More than Belle, more than the feel of my daughter in my arms again, did I need closure?