Page 37 of Zomromcom

Eventually, Edie wiggled free of Max’s embrace long enough to reclaim her dinner, while he took the world’s briefest shower and donned some silky-looking lounge pants.

As soon as he returned, she crawled back into his lap, forked up another bite, and tried not to think about how close the zombies might be to the final containment wall or whether they might breach that wall too before morning.

Traveling at night with a pack on the loose and strays roving nearby was a death sentence.

Her untimely demise would help no one. Not Max.

Not her Zone neighbors. Not all the hapless humans and Supernaturals unaware of the threat gathering only one stone wall away.

All of which she kept telling herself, again and again, in hopes of relieving some of the crushing guilt currently roiling her stomach.

Max watched her chew with horrified fascination. “I’m going to regret this, but I have to know. Does I Can’t Believe It’s Not Falafel taste like falafel?”

“Nope.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Not at all.”

“Chickpeas?”

“Not even a little.”

His brow creased further. “Fava beans?”

“I don’t think so?” After a swig of pomegranate-lime juice and another bite, she was able to confirm, “No. No hint of fava beans.”

“Herbs? Spices?”

She shook her head, chewing industriously.

His lips formed a disapproving line. “Preservatives and fillers moistened sufficiently to form glutinous brown clumps?”

“Huh.” Her brows rose as she considered the description. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

“ Edie .”

She raised a shoulder. “Still not seeing the gourmet feast your cook prepared for us, dude. A woman has needs.”

“As do we all, human.” His mouth softened, and his gaze drifted over her tank top and panties before lingering at the crook of her neck. “As do we all.”

That look had become familiar to her over the last two days. Familiar and welcome.

Swallowing the last bite of not-falafel required sucking back her final sip of juice. Before she could even ask where to put the empty containers and her fork, Max gathered them and set them aside.

He resettled her atop his lap, astride his hips, his broad hands gently but firmly positioning her exactly as he intended. Her own hands gripped his satiny shoulders for balance, and she arched back. Offered herself to him.

She’d sat exactly like this once before. Felt the give of couch cushions beneath her knees, the rise of his cock between her legs, the delicious pressure against her cotton-covered clit, the taut tension in his muscled thighs as he flexed and lifted his body for their mutual pleasure.

A repeat of that experience would be more than welcome right now.

With a light sweep of his thumb, he stroked the line of her collarbone, then slowly traced the deep scoop of her neckline, his eyes pinned to his task.

The texture of her skin seemed to absorb his full attention.

The way it slid smoothly under the pad of his finger, then prickled into gooseflesh as soon as her nerves registered the contact, rising in bumps to greet him.

His lips curved faintly. “Do you want me, ma puce?”

That light, taunting thumb trailed over the ribbed cotton of her tank and rode the curve of her breast downward. When he reached her hardening nipple, he rubbed it softly. Sweetly. It shouldn’t have been enough to make her gasp and clench deep inside, but it was. It did.

“No,” she said.

His hand immediately stilled, then lifted entirely away from her.

“No?” To his credit, he didn’t sound angry. Simply curious.

“This isn’t simple want anymore. I’m well past that point.” Reaching for the tucked-in edge of his makeshift bandage, she unwound it carefully from around his neck. “I need you.”

Her need wasn’t just physical, and it wasn’t just about distraction. But he didn’t need to know that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

As he’d slept, she’d periodically checked his various wounds and removed the bloodstained strips of shirt covering them as soon as he’d healed.

The gash in his neck—the most serious of his injuries by far—wasn’t quite gone yet.

It remained red and painful-looking. But it was now entirely closed and in no danger of reopening.

He was done bleeding for the night, assuming her ragged nails didn’t bite too deeply into his skin when she came.

Ducking her head, she brushed a kiss over that angry red line.

“Sweet Edie.” He sighed and moved his hands to her hips. Massaged there lightly. Pressed down until her clit rubbed against his dick. “Let me give you what you need. What we both need. Let me fuck you, love.”

“Mmmm.” Lazily, she ground down against him and gloried in his hitched breath. “You made me a promise, Max. About what would happen when we had enough time.”

“I did. I said I’ll—” When she rolled her hips again, his head tipped back, digging into the sofa’s cushioned edge, and he inhaled sharply through his nose.

“I’ll fuck you so long, you’ll feel empty without my dick stretching your hot little chatte.

So hard, you’ll feel me in your throat. And you’ll come for me until you cry. ”

She had to close her eyes at that, if only for a moment. “You took some paraphrasing liberties there, but I’m prepared to accept your amendments to our agreement.”

“Generous of you.” Deliberately, he took her hand, squeezed it between their bodies, and curved her palm around his thick cock. “Ma bite is going to be your new best friend, sweet Edie. Use it for your pleasure.”

She smiled, her stare holding his as she scooted backward on his lap. Far enough that she could drag his lounge pants lower in front and ease his erection free from the fabric.

Gripping him firmly, she rubbed the head of his cock over her clit. Shit, it felt amazing, even through her panties. So amazing she couldn’t help squirming in his lap and moaning.

“Just like that,” he whispered hoarsely. “Just like that.”

“So good.” Unable to hold back, she sped up her movements. Rubbed harder. Faster. Her lids slipped shut, and stars began to burst behind her lids, white-hot and blinding-bright. “You make me feel so fucking good , Max.”

“Edie.” He gripped her shoulders. “Edie. Stop.”

She released his dick with a plaintive sound, dazed and so damn close to an orgasm she wanted to weep. When she tried to slide off his lap, though, he held her in place.

“When you come, I want you naked and spread out on my bed, not half-clothed on a couch,” he told her. “And before we go any further, you need to tell me whether you want my bite.”

She’d thought the answer to that question was obvious. “Max, we’re about to fuck. Of course you’ll drink from me.”

“One source of pleasure doesn’t necessitate another, ma puce.” He kissed her nose. “You can tell me no. You can always tell me no.”

Her delayed-orgasm crankiness receded at that kiss, at that declaration, and she offered him a small, genuine smile.

“If you don’t want my bite, I should open a blood bag and feed now, before getting my mouth on your skin.

The way you taste, the way you feel…” He shook his head, his thumb teasing the base of her neck.

“It’s too good. Too much. It’ll muddle my thoughts and intentions, and I might instinctively bite you. Even if we’ve decided I shouldn’t.”

Her head tipped, and she studied him curiously. “I imagine fresh blood tastes better.”

“Usually. Not always. Yours, sweet Edie, is…” His gaze clouding over, he ran his tongue over his incisor. “Spectacular.”

Pleased by that, she wiggled a bit. “Does blood straight from the tap help with healing or strength, over and above what the packaged stuff can do?”

“Marginally.” His hand flicked in a dismissive gesture. “But I’m mostly healed already, so a bag or two will give me sufficient strength for whatever needs doing.”

“Or whoever,” she pointed out, unable to resist.

A corner of his mouth tipped upward in a tiny, sexy smirk. “Correct.”

“That would be me.”

“That would be you.” Shaking his head at her, he nuzzled a kiss into the corner of her wide grin.

“This is no longer an emergency situation, Edie. I don’t want you to agree to feed me out of obligation, or to be nice, or because you want me to heal faster, or for any reason other than the right one. The only right one.”

“Which is?”

His grip on her shoulders tightened, and the warmth in his gaze turned molten, his irises darkening to obsidian. “Because you want it too. Because you need me inside you in every way possible, and my bite makes you come so hard you think you’re dying.”

The zombies might have been a million miles away. They might never have existed at all. There was only Max, only pleasure and lust, only the long night they’d burn through together.

“So many promises, vampire boy.” Slowly, she rose up in his lap, leaned forward, and sank her teeth into his lower lip. When she spoke, every word brushed her mouth against his. “Bite me. Fuck me. Start keeping them.”

He didn’t respond in words. Instead, with a smile as sharp and hot as a newly forged blade, he took her hand and led her to his bedroom.

***

In the golden glow of a corner lamp, Edie spread her legs for him.

The silky sheets rustled beneath her, a pillow raised her ass high, and Max’s hands urged her even wider, until another scant inch would strain her muscles. He knelt between her thighs, naked, cupping the backs of her knees. Lifting and bending them. Exposing her to his heavy, dark stare.

She was naked too. Entirely bare to him, all fading bruises and eager lust.

His forefinger slid down through her curls, then traced the seam of her body, parting her vulva. Opening her further to him. Cool air swept over damp, private flesh, and she shivered.

“Next time,” he murmured. “Next time, my Edie, you’ll sit on my face and fuck it. I don’t require much oxygen. You can force-feed me this delicious chatte until you’re all I can see or taste or breathe. Put my mouth and nose exactly where you want them, grind down, and take everything you need.”