Page 21 of The Salvation

She doesn’t care how I’m covered in blood and flesh. She doesn’t care about anything when I crawl up her little body with all her blood-traced tattoos veiling the scars, and crush my mouth to hers, opening her lips, demanding entry while I knead one breast hard and plunge two fingers into her drenched pussy.

She comes, moaning her delirium into my mouth, the sound reverberating beyond my rib cage and triggering my chest to shudder.

Tonight, she will come until she passes out.

9

“Are you ready, my little dove?”

QUINTESSA

My orgasmic screamsfill the Court.

Again and again, Merikh commands my pleasure without so much as touching me, but the intensity of his stare from where he hovers over me might as well be his claws digging into my chest, gripping my still-beating heart, and sending my pulse into a tailspin.

If I didn’t know better, I’d believe he’s staring at me as if he’s drowning, and I’m his breath. But he can’t possibly understand how he’s the poison in my veins, swirling inside with a slow inoculation until I become one with his darkness. I won’t stop until I’ve held every last shard of darkness in my palm and clenched them so hard that they cut me, spill my blood, and leave everlasting scars.

Whatever sickness is inside of him, I feel it everywhere. I feel him everywhere.

And still, my body rises when he touches me. One touch, one palm fondling my breast is all it takes for me to convulse again—a heated storm ripping through my veins. Anytime I believeI’m going to pass out, Merikh somehow strengthens my blood, igniting more adrenaline or intensifying another orgasm to tear through me.

My eyes are beyond blurry, but I can make out the familiar sound of deep guttural groans and feminine moans from vampires pleasuring one another or drinking from their familiars. It’s darker, more carnal than Mayce’s Court, but it still reminds me of the Fae in some small ways.

Merikh curls his thumb over my nipple, tormenting the bud with more blood to redden it. My pussy clenches, inner muscles squeezing around too much air when there should be a raging hard length of ridges and piercings full of their delicious friction.

With my wrists and ankles still cuffed and spread, I’m entirely at his mercy. I sense how this buildup is preparation. He’s softening me like an offering before the main event.

The next thing I know, he’s gripping my throat and kissing me. Harder, fiercer, more aggressive, more hunger, more need. A deep ache gnaws on me as he forges his tongue past my lips to taste me, feeding on me, kissing me to mindlessness until I forget who I am. I

shudder beneath him as he unleashes his hell upon me, biting my lower lip before dragging his fangs along my throat, arched for him. His tongue strokes my collarbone, licking in thin, swirling motions. That’s when recognition strikes me.

He’s not just licking. He’s tasting. Following the pathway of the blood he painted to mirror my tattoos, Merikh tastes me like I’m his wine with dessert. Each caress of his tongue from the teasing tip to the flattened surface has me moaning, hips writhing for him to settle between my legs. At this point, I’ll take anything—his fingers, his tongue, his cock most of all.

By the time he arrives at my breasts, my limbs have nearly liquefied. I gasp from his tongue drawing slow circles around my areola until he flicks the taut rosy tip. For the next few minutes,he pleasures my breasts, suckling and kissing the sensitive nipples before nipping and biting. His eyes center on mine the whole time. I’m lost in his watery abyss—those eyes have become my coffin.

I’m not prepared when he sinks his fangs into the swell of my breast...the points on each side of his mark. With his fingers tweaking my other nipple and his mouth drinking my blood, I fall over the edge, plunging into his roaring surf that levels my insides.

I keen high. My wrists strain with the cuffs, and sweat coats every inch of my skin. The heat of Merikh’s venom transforms into a lit fuse to blur my vision more, soften my limbs, and breed goosebumps all over my skin. But the God of Blood is hardly finished.

After he licks the fang mark on my breast to close the wound, he kisses me again, forcing my mouth open so I have no choice but to taste my blood on his tongue. I groan into his mouth because it’s a bitter taste. Merikh grabs at my breasts, kneading them in a punishing grip and pinching and twisting the nipples so hard, his lungs must memorize the sound of my screams. I have no more strength.

My whole body sinks.

And Merikh descends. For these few minutes of him lapping the blood below my breasts, I’m able to regain some semblance of breath. It’s a small reprieve, the calm before the storm as he navigates his way down, licking the tattoos and scars along my pelvis.

“Mmm...” I whimper from him tugging my nether curls, dying for his hand to move lower. It does. Too low. “No,” I sob and gasp as his tongue cleans my skin—all the way down to my toes.

Taking his place between my legs again, Merikh pushes my thighs, somehow spreading them more until my muscles howlin pain. And with my body, licked clean and on full display for the Court of Hollows, the God of Blood lowers his mouth to my pussy and brushes his nose along the drenched labia.

Heat flushes all of me as he slips one finger through my slit, spearing me with the single digit. “Merikh,” I gasp, not daring to tear my eyes from his, but my muscles suck that finger as hard and deep as it can go.

“Are you ready, my little dove?” he asks in a velvety, deep voice.

My throat constricts from the question, and I know he doesn’t mean a simple fucking.

I feel the burn of thousands of eyes upon my skin. Nothing like Mayce’s Court, where they fed upon my energy and celebrated our lovemaking with nothing but respect for their God of Earth. Tonight is for testing, for breaking me like he did in his crypt, pressing me down, shaking and measuring me, and discovering whether I am worthy of this throne—the Queen of the Court of Hollows, the bride of the God of Blood.

Merikh growls low, summoning me. At the same time, he removes his belt from his breeches and snaps it against the side of the altar, but I don’t flinch.

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