Page 88 of A Game Cursed and Deadly

“There’s no point hiding it,” I say, leaning over her again to press my lips to her neck once more. “I’ll taste it in your essence, anyway.”

I scan the room quickly, finding her breakfast plate discarded on the nightstand. Reaching for it, I grab the knife and place it in her hand.

“Hold it against me,” I say, moving her hand so the blade presses against my neck. It’s not that sharp, and even if she sliced with all her force, it would hardly do any more damage than breaking skin. But it should be enough to take me out of any feeding-induced frenzy. “If I don’t stop, use it. Don’t hold back.”

Esme looks from me, to the knife, back to me, her pulse thrumming wildly, but nods. I fist one of my hands in her hair, holding her steady, and lower the other one down her body until I find the waistband of her pants and snake inside. She’s already wet, and warm, and when the pads of my fingers brush against her clit, she jolts and moans.

“Lust and arousal are the tastiest emotions,” I murmur against her neck, letting the glamour drop from my mouth so I can use my real tongue to lick a long line from the shell of her ear to the curve of her shoulder. That olive oil kick in her scent intensifies, and any threads of patience or control I had left snap.

I sink my fangs into her neck, breaking skin, and drink her in. In my arms, Esme moans at the intrusion, rocking her hips against my hand.

“More.”

The essence of her arousal is thick and juicy like syrup and it tastes like candied apricots bathed in olive oil and herb-infused honey. It’s the most delicious dessert, a delicacy I’ve never tasted before. Usually, I prefer to eat emotions one at a time, and there are some I’d always rather leave behind, but Esme’s blend so beautifully, I don’t mind taking a sip of her underlying fear — a tinge of sea salt that heightens the fruity notes of her joy. Even the bitter almond taste left behind by her jealousy complements the flavors of her other emotions too well to set it aside.

I’m too deliriously taken by her essence to do a good job getting her off, but that doesn’t stop her from chasing her own pleasure, grinding her hips against my hand so the pads of my fingers rub over her clit. She’s moaning and groaning and begging me for more, and I’m far too eager to oblige, to take everything she’s offering.

A fresh wave of arousal coats my tongue as her orgasm explodes, and I drink it all down. Esme’s hand leaves my hair to guide my own fingers inside her, riding me until her first orgasm rolls into a second one. I’m too far gone to help her with any of it.

It’s more than just her taste that’s gotten me in such a frenzy, though. This entire time, the little witch’s mind has been nothing but a fortresses, an impenetrable wall of smoke, but now, I’m inside it; I’d like to think I’ve come to learn her pretty well, but to be able to taste her like this, is a whole different ballpark.

Esme’s always been right, feeding can be a very intimate experience, if one allows it. With her, I don’t stop at the taste, I let all of the emotions flood in, fill every free nook and cranny of my soul. My chest swells whenever I see my own face reflected in one of her memories.

There’s some sort of pressure against my neck, like a too-tight shirt collar. When I go to swat away at it, I’m met with metal against my fingers.

The knife. I gave Esme a knife. To hurt me if I got out of control.

I’m instantly jolted out of the frenzy. My fangs retract, leaving two small puncture holes in their wake on the soft golden skin of her neck, which I follow with gentle licks of my tongue. Esme’s head rolls back and she whimpers softly.

“Little gem,” I say, trying — but failing — to keep the worry from seeping into my voice. “Are you doing ok?”

She mumbles, but doesn’t string together a coherent sentence. Gently, I move her from my lap to the bed, settling her on the pillows. Then, I lay beside her, stroking her hair back, as her breathing begins to even out and her eyes flutter open again.

I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but I’ve been holding my own breath until now. “There you are,” I coo at her.

“That was something.”

“I went a little too far.”

She shakes her head. “I’m still all here, aren’t I?”

“It would seem so, but you don’t have much left, obviously. Now I’ve put you out of commission for the night.”

“It would seem so?” she asks, imitating my tone. “How can we be sure?”

“Well, you obviously are still you, so I didn’t take everything. As far as me taking all of one specific emotion, you’d have to experience it again for us to be sure. For the most part, I know I didn’t take a lot. It’s just your lust and desire and…” how to explain the honey-like flavor I couldn’t get enough of? Esmeralda might call it love. I’ve sworn off that word. “Affection that I fed off the most.”

“Ok, so we need to figure out if I can still get turned on?” She pauses. “You know, a check up?”

I’m starting to get a feeling she’s stringing me along here, but I nod anyway. “When your reserves are low, it might feel like it comes less naturally, but as long as it’s not gone… you’ll be ok. Just need to rest and recuperate.”

Her eyebrows pinch in, as if she’s thinking very hard about something. “So if it’s going to come a bit harder, maybe we should try something that turns me on a lot?”

I can’t help the way my cock twitches at the thought; after all, I’m well fed and my fingers still smell like her pussy. “What do you have in mind?”

She eyes me up and down for a long moment. “Drop your glamour.”

chapter 42

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