Page 68 of The Secrets of Roan Island

I groan, pressing into her further, torturing myself as a means of punishment and also needing this to last because soon she’ll leave me. I’ll see to it. Her greedy cunt takes me in, tightening as if she wants to keep me there, as if I was made for her.

“Ruin me for anyone else,” she whispers.

The monster inside me snaps awake, and I slam all the way into her, pelvis to pelvis. I bite down on that space between her neck and shoulder, marking her as mine, ruining me just as I ruin her.

A pained gasp leaves her, but it’s followed by a rock of her hips and a quick, “Don’t stop.”

Her blood wells in my mouth. The taste is a sweet companion to the way she smells, slightly different than before. More, somehow. The fullness of the flavor is even more addicting. I thirst like I’ve never thirsted before. As I move inside her—a man deranged and feral with need—I swallow, suck, groan and grunt as I fuck her, needing her, needing more. I take and take, sipping the wine she’s giving me. I’m drunk on it, addicted to the sound of her bliss.

My hand snakes between our bodies, thumbing her clit, wanting her to feel as much pleasure as I do right now.

She cries out. “Yes! More!”

Her nails dig into my back. It's a distant pain that brings me absolute pleasure. I bite harder, fuck rougher. And she meets me thrust for thrust, her legs interlocked with my thighs giving her leverage, like she can’t get me close enough, like she wants to lock us together forever.

I lose myself in her. In her sounds, in her touch, in the grip of her pussy around my cock, in the taste of her blood on my tongue. My need for her is insatiable. It builds and builds.

“Oh!” A feral sound rips from her throat and her back arches as her sex tightens with her orgasm, pulsing, squeezing the life out of me.

“Fuck,” I shout, slamming home, losing any sense of rhythm, the sound of our skin smacking together the only testament to a sense of order as my own orgasm hits me with a force unlike any I’ve experienced before.

Spent, I collapse, rolling us to our sides so I don’t crush her, holding her close as the pound of my hearts slow.

Her body relaxes, her bones pliable as she gives me a dreamy, half-glazed look of contentment.

I lurch up. “Oh. Oh.” I grab her face between my palms, my elbows planted on either side of her head. “Ta’ari! Talk to me! Are you okay? Did I take too much? Please.” I kiss her cheek. “Please be okay.”

She grins. “I’m more than okay.” Her palm cups my cheek and soft lips brush against mine. “Thank you, Noah. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for holding back.” Her smile turns a little devious. “At least, with your venom.”

With a sigh of relief as my hearts find a more solid rhythm, I lean down and kiss her, grateful she’s not hurt because I fed. I feel… perfect. Emotion I don’t recognize rushes through me, and I shiver.

“Are you cold?” She cuddles closer.

I shake my head and say, “Let me take care of you.” After I get a damp rag and clean her, she gets out of bed and gathers her dress from the floor, still wearing a giddy grin.

As she slides her arms into her dress, I come up behind her and take her hands in mine, stopping her before she can do up the buttons. “What are you doing?”

She leans against me. “We need to get back to work.”

I want to pull her back into bed so she can sleep in my arms, but I know she won’t rest until she finds something. She’s already wiggling away from me, buttoning her dress as she disappears through the doorway into the hall heading back to the library.

I can feel her pulling away, and I’m suddenly afraid she’s putting up a wall, even though I know that’s probably best. She has to leave me.

I tug on my pants, buttoning them as I follow her. When I round the corner into the library, I stop short, watching her bend over the table looking for the book my father moved with his tantrum. She hasn’t buttoned her dress all the way, allowing me to see the swell of her breast and her bare leg, the skirt of the dress caught in her limbs. Her dark hair is a beautiful mess, and I imagine bending her over the table, and plunging into her again. But I don’t. Wary. Afraid she might reject me now that the moment has past and knowing I would deserve it.

Instead, when I notice she’s pulled the translation glasses from the pile, I say, “Let me.”

She looks up, eyes as big as moons behind the frames. “What?”

I notice my bite on her neck, the marks of my fangs and the small red stain around it. I should feel bad, but what I feel is an overwhelming sense of pride. And a desire to mark her again.

I close the distance between us and tentatively lean in. “Let me read it to you.” I take the journal from her as I kiss my mark on her neck.

She watches me, then glances at the lab. “What about your samples?”

I look over my shoulder. “I’ve been searching for years and haven’t found anything. I don’t think the answer is there.” Truthfully, I can’t bring myself to be away from her. Not tonight.

I offer her my hand, and she lets me guide her to the couch and pull her down next to me. She curls her legs underneath her, leaning into my side with her head on my shoulder so she can see the book, even though we both know she can’t read it without the glasses.

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