And bonded we most certainly have done at this point.
My slit aches. I can’t wait any longer. I need to come. It might be shameful again but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. “Yes, alright. Deal.”
A dark smirk slices his mouth. “Good girl.”
I expect his fangs to dive back into my throat. I anticipate the brief sting of being pricked and the dizzying suck that surely will follow.
But neither of those things comes.
Instead, it’s my robe fluttering away from my skin. It’s his fingers parting my slit, slowly rotating my clit. It’s his mouth warming the skin around my left nipple.
It’s horrifying. It’s wonderful.
It’s exactly what I need.
I fall back, cradled by a massive hand that I trust to catch me. And that’s so unlike me. All of this is unlike me. Yet all of it feels natural despite howunlike meit is.
Light fades into the background. Colors sprout in my vision, luminous reds and blues dancing across my eyes like a dazzling marquee illuminating the dark night in front of a movie theater. Realization strikes me like a snake from the brush, catching my ankle—or wherever it happens to land.
The influence is the same regardless.
I love this.
Darius licks my nipple. He pokes a curious finger between my slit, diving into my entrance as he nuzzles my breast. “I know you do.”
But how?It’s not like this is normal. It’s not like this is anything close to how I’m supposed to be feeling.
Yet it’s happening.
I can’t stop.
I clutch the back of his head, urging him to suck. Fangs or mouth—I don’t care at this point. I’m riding the rhythm of his thrusts, arching my hips toward him to give him a better angle. More than anything, I’m doing it forme. Because the space gives me a modicum of control.
Despite how much I don’t want to have any control.
“That’s it... good….” His voice cracks slightly, lust slipping between the syllables. His breath flutters like butterflies over my breast and the tip of one fang threatens to puncture me.
God, I invite it.
His snarl vibrates the very air I breathe, and I feel it with every fiber of my being, his hardness and yearning. I want him to do exactly as he pleases. I want every reward to feel this freeing, our motions motivated only by the sheer fact that we can’t stop touching.
We can’t stop.
And we don’t want to stop.
There’s no end to the climb. My stomach flips repeatedly as his thrusts grow frantic, smacking between my thighs to create an even bigger mess. The cycle produces more arousal, more movement, more pleasure. It’s a repetitive swirl that forces me higher into the air.
Until I’m dangling.
Until I’m begging to be dropped.
Only then does he bite me.
Sweet release yanks me right out of the cosmos, causing me to plummet to the cool cliffs below. Little flames ignite at once all over my body. I buck against his hand, eager to keep chasing that feeling of falling, humping after it like I’ll never be able to feel it again.
I cry out. I hyperventilate. I convulse.
And then I slump into his arms, weak and useless, utterly wrung from the inside out.