“More,” I moan.
He gives a hard pull to my neck and I slide my hands down his back to his ass, holding him close as I roll my hips, grinding myself on his hard cock like a wanton thing. It doesn’t matter I’ll regret this later, I’ll hate both him and me for this loss of control. I need to come more than I need my pride. It will still be there on the other side of this.
I work myself against him, and I have half a thought to reach for the front of his pants, but it would mean stopping this delicious friction, and I’m not willing to do that. Another time.
It’s what I’m here for, whether I chose this role or not.
I realize he’s stopped sucking my blood, but the endorphins have nowhere near worn off. I should stop. I know I should stop, but the subtle pressure of his fingertips against the small of my back urge me on. Pleasure winds through me, tighter and tighter, and for one breathless moment, I think I won’t get there, that I’ll be poised on the brink for an eternity.
My orgasm hits me even harder than the vampire did earlier and I come more intensely than I ever have before, crying and panting as I hump him like I really do want this. The last wave crests and I slump back to the cold marble floor, my head feeling fuzzy and too light. “You took too much,” I murmur, my words coming as slowly as taffy.
His tongue strokes my neck and he gives another of those growls I don’t want to enjoy. “You don’t taste like a human.”
It’s strange to be having this conversation on the floor while he’s pressing between my thighs, but I can’t seem to find the energy to shove him off. “I’m not.” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “I’m half bloodsucker.”
“Ah.” He inhales and slowly, oh so slowly, he releases me and sits up. There’s a new flush in his pale cheeks and his eyes are blazing with power. He kneels between my legs and his gaze strokes over me in a way I can almost feel, lingering on my lips, on my bloody neck, where my breasts are nearly escaping this ridiculous dress, where said ridiculous dress isn’t covering my panties any longer. My panties that are soaked.
I start to cover myself, but he catches my wrists, easily overpowering me. He does another of those long inhales and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt he’s scenting my arousal. He shifts my wrists to one hand and reaches for my panties with the other.
“Wait!”
The vampire’s eyes are pure black and his fangs are on full display. The little glimpse of control from earlier, of regret, are nowhere in evidence. Gods, I’m in trouble. His gaze drops to my panties again. “You know why you’re here.” His knuckles brush the wet fabric, lightly stroking against my pussy. Despite just coming, I have to fight the desire to lift my hips in invitation. I know it’s the aftermath of the bite, but I hate myself a little for it.
He pauses, his hands shaking as if he’s fighting himself. He could have broken my wrists, could do so much more damage and there’s nothing I could do to stop him. “Say it.”
I don’t want to. I very much don’t want to. But the words spill from my lips, almost as if he compelled them with his low voice. “I’m here to satisfy your hunger.”
“Hungers, little dhampir. All of them.” He strokes me again. “Lift your hips.”
I obey even as I argue. “You said we’d talk.”
“Yes, after.” Still, he hesitates. A drop of blood drips down his chin and I dazedly realize he’s bitten himself. “Say yes.”
The fact he isn’t simply taking what he obviously wants confuses me even as I hate him for making me say it. Would he really stop if I tell him to? I’ll never know. “Yes.”
His eyes flash to my face as he grips the crotch of my panties and tugs them down my legs. He could have just ripped them off—it probably would have taken less effort—and that little show of restraint almost makes this worse. Or better. I’m honestly not sure.
I didn’t choose to be in this house, to be a sacrificial lamb, but that doesn’t stop my body from shaking with need. I bite my bottom lip as he moves down my body and I know I should argue more, should never have let the word yes leave my lips, but he gives my pussy another of those light strokes and the touch short circuits my brain.
“Please,” I whisper. I don’t know what I’m begging for, for him to stop or not stop. It doesn’t matter. He shifts slight to the side and strikes, quick as a snake, sinking his fangs into the sensitive skin of my upper thigh.