Page 22 of My Summer Girl

“Took too much blood,” I shamefully admit, the concern filling me with dread. Not once in my many years in existence did I overstep and take too much blood from anyone.

We were born—Saephyns—unlike Senguines, which meant we had complete control. I’m unsure why I couldn’t stop, but I’m appalled with myself.

Her tiny palm reaches for my jaw. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” she repeats once more. “It’s okay that you lost control.”

I rotate, kissing her fingertips and then her palm. The heat of her skin, letting me know there’s no permanent damage, is enough to have me kissing her wrist, down her arm, and up to her throat.

“I’ve never lost control before,” I murmur against her pulse point. It hammers against my lips in a frantic beat. “You wreck me, little dove.”

She whimpers as my tongue traces my favorite artery, a close second to her femoral. “I want to sink inside your throat and taste the way you call my name.”

“Do it,” she begs, wiggling as I lower her onto the bed once more.

“Not tonight. I’m not sure what consequences we’ll have from creating this bond.” Her hand glides up my suit-covered chest before residing over my heart.

“I don’t care if the world ends as a result, Vex. Stop holding back from me.”

I nip her throat, dragging my canines upward until I reach her chin. With a nibble there, I hover over her mouth. Something I’ve wanted to do since the first time we met urges me forward and our lips collide.

It’s not soft or gentle, it’s as if this motion set us off. Like this was the push needed to unravel me fully. She wraps her thighs around me, squeezing, all the while our lips are locked.

Her tongue tentatively presses against my closed mouth, and when I open, she pushes in, just to drag it across my canines. “You taste like peaches,” she whispers thoughtfully, dragging her tongue across the extended fangs once more.

My cock aches in my pants, the mess from earlier nearly forgotten. “You’re the one who tastes like peaches, little dove. The sweetest fucking flavor I’ve ever had.”

She presses her tongue against mine and I nibble as she explores. Her hands move up my chest and to my jaw. They’re purposeful and nervous. Right now, we’re overstepping our normal roles. Usually she’s tied up, strapped down, and at my mercy. My little dove begs for impact, for the sting of it and the kind of release it offers her.

I give her a masochist’s release with pain, and she thanks me before bidding me good night. Every time I let her go my heart broke more and more, thinking of whom she sought to fulfill the ache I gave.

“Vex.” She snakes her hand up my back. “Fuck me.”

“Already?” I tease, nipping her jaw. “I’ve barely tasted you. We have so much more pain to go through.” Her nostrils flare as her eyes dilate. Yeah, she likes the sound of that.

“You’ve been quite the good girl,” I praise, knowing her tastes come from pain and praise, all the while being punished when she’s bad.

I adore the way her eyes light up as I give soft commands and give her all the words she needs to hear. “Remove your dress,” I instruct. Her eyes melt as she wiggles beneath me. Wanting to cut her some slack, I step backward and allow her to remove her clothing. She tries to rush, grabbing one strap and pressing it down.

“Slower.”

Her eyes narrow as she glares at me; there’s unbidden heat, a desperation built on this game we often played.

Her fingers trace the strap before she lowers it, her eyes never leaving mine. Dragging the straps along with the bodice down her body, I’m entranced. The dress she chose tonight is pink and white, little puffy shoulders, and a tight, cinched waist.

It falls to her feet after she presses it past her wide hips. “Better?”

“Perfection,” I correct. Usually, I stay dressed. Never do I need to be naked to dole out her pain. It’s nonsexual after all.

There’s nothing platonic about the way we stare at each other, our eyes telling the forbidden story of lines we promised to never cross.

“Promise me that after this, we’ll still be us,” she urges, interrupting my salacious thoughts. I near her once more, lifting her chin with the pad of my finger.

“After I fuck you, Dulce—and believe me when I say I’ll fuck you—you’ll be mine. We’ll still be us, but somehow, it’ll be better.”

“Okay,” she lets out, her shoulders sagging in relief as she peers up at me. “Fuck me.”

The words are as soft as my fingers caressing her jaw. They’re so gentle it’s almost maddening. How can someone so soft have this much control over me?

It’s not just her body, it’s her mind I want to fuck. I want to be seated so far in there that roots start to take form, planting deep until all she knows is me and her and this passion we share.

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