Page 106 of The Blood we Crave

My eyes roll back as I nod, ass arching off the bed to chase the friction of his wet mouth. When his tongue swirls around my clit, pulling the sensitive bundle of nerves into my mouth, I jerk into him.

Thatcher’s body is cold, but his mouth is hot. Pouring liquid heat straight into my pussy, filling my insides with a fire unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

He takes his time, savoring every inch, discovering every spot that makes me weak. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as he begins to pay special attention to my clit.

Swirling his warm tongue in tight circles, rapid motions that wind the coil in my gut tighter. Impossibly tight. One of his hands swipe across my belly, my stare flicking down to see him covering two fingers in the blood that drips from my cuts before they disappear between my thighs, beneath his mouth.

“Oh my—” I suck in a shaky breath, his digit pressing against my entrance teasing me for only a second before sinking into my tight walls.

Something inside of me twists, this idea that he’s taking this awful thing that was done to me and using it to make come. Rewriting what this evening means to me. So now, when I think back to what happened tonight or I look at the scar on my stomach, I don’t remember those horrid men.

I remember Thatcher on his knees in front of me, his mouth devouring me and fingers exploring my body.

Blood is our life force. It is this color of passion, of lust, of our heart. It’s what makes us human, what attaches the two of us in every single way you can connect to another person. The most intimate form of connection is sharing this susceptible liquid that determines life and death.

That’s what being with him is like, tittering on the line of life and death continually. I want to do both with him, die and live. Exist and rot. All that falls in between.

I stare down, watching as he slides another finger inside of me, my arousal mixing with the blood on his hand. An erotic, soul shattering sight. My whimpers slip from my lips with no restraint, not caring that I’m pushing my hips into his hand because I’m so needy.

I’ll be needy. I’ll be desperate. I’ll be these things and more to have him. Because he breaks after an ounce of self-restraint and pride in me.

He never removes his eyes from me, not even as my hands slam into the comforter digging into the mattress as that coil inside me threatens to break.

“My poor, little pet.” He purrs. “You want to come, don’t you? You want to pour all those sweet juices on my tongue, huh?”

“Yes, yes,” I cry, his fingers pumping leisurely inside of me at a steady pace, so slowly that it’s just enough to keep me on the threshold of euphoric climax. Too much and not enough. And he knows it.

“Come on, darling phantom, work a little harder for it. Show me how badly you want it, earn it.”

Another flick of his tongue against my clit with the command. I whined in frustration, my hands pressing into the bed, lifting my ass from it in order to gain some leverage so that I could rock myself against his strong fingers. Thrusting forward, watching them disappear inside of me repeatedly.

Thatcher’s pupils dilated, as if he knew the filthy thoughts that were on my mind..

I was so very close, sweat trickling down my back and beading on my chest as I fucked his hand. My work must have earned me a reward because he pressed his tongue against my center, flicking the bud with urgency, giving me just the right amount of pressure to send me soaring.

Liquid ecstasy poured across my body like a waterfall. The band deep in my stomach snapping in half as I crashed through my orgasm. The scream that ripped out of me was a beaten, mangled thing. My back bowed, legs quaking as I came all over his hand.

“That’s it,” he praises, lapping up the sticky liquid between my thighs. “That’s it, my bloody girl.”

Every flick of his tongue sent an electric bolt through me, all my senses heightened as he licked me through my high. A groan rumbles in his chest, continuing even when the waves of pleasure ebbed, coaxes my pussy into a trembling mess.

My chest is heaving, erratic as I try to catch a breath, try to give my body a break, but I’m still shaking when he pulls away. The heat of his mouth leaving the apex of my thighs.

When my eyes open, fluttering in this state of bliss, I find him looking down at his lap. My brows tugging together in concern as I lean forward. My limbs feel impossibly heavy, exhaustion and pain slamming back into me with vengeance.

“Thatch,” I murmur, looking down at his lap finding a dark spot on the center of his jeans, my jaw going slack. “Did I—Did you?”

“It would appear,” he says, clearing his throat, but the haze of lust still heavy on his tongue. “My cock enjoys the way you taste as well, pet.”

blood in the water

TWENTY-ONE

thatcher

“Enjoy.”

The sound of a tray slamming onto the table in front of me gives off the impression the person leaving it would rather us die than enjoy. I flick my gaze to the server, who walks from our table.

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