Page 71 of The Blood we Crave

“Oh? Tell me, what does he know that I don’t?”

One of her hands falls to my lower stomach, pressing into the hard muscle beneath my shirt. The feeling of her nails trying to dig into my skin sends a hard shiver down my spine.

“What if he can teach me what a man’s touch feels like,” she mutters. “How to make myself feel good at night when I’m all alone in bed and my hand slips between my thighs.”

A heavy breath rattles through my nose, and my jaw tightens to steel. I lift my head towards the ceiling, my neck muscles straining. I need to gather control, just an ounce to keep me from snapping.

But all I see behind my eyelids is Lyra splayed out across Godfrey’s desk while he devours her in the way only I can, his mouth marking her up, hands groping at whatever they can find.

I saw the way he was looking at her.

A man lost in the desert, and she was a rushing river, just waiting for him to dive in. She may not believe it, but he wants her.

I’m hanging on a fine thread, one that is about to split and send me tearing through campus until I have my hands inside Conner Godfrey’s chest cavity, ripping out his ribs one by one.

“You can’t teach me that,” she tells me, a hint of mock innocence in her tone.

When I let her words soak into my mind, really seep inside, something clicks into place for me.

What if he can teach me what a man’s touch feels like.

An ominous chuckle rumbles in my chest, vibrating her tiny hands still pressed into my stomach. I click my tongue as a wicked smile pulls on my lips.

“My, my, Lyra,” I chide. “I always assumed, but now I know for certain. What a delightful discovery.”

I angle my head back down so that I’m staring into her confused eyes.

“My darling phantom is a virgin.” With ease, I flip the knife in my hand so the blade is resting in my palm. “Futile attempts at making me jealous wasn’t necessary. You could’ve just begged.”

“What—”

“You could have got down on your knees and asked nicely to bleed on my cock. Stuck that bottom lip out and pouted until I broke through those tight walls. But you didn’t.”

I shove the black handle into her mouth, forcing it down her throat. My hold constricts on the knife, feeling the edge slice into my palm much deeper than the knick on her throat.

Her eyes widen, and a guttural moan vibrates her throat as my blood gushes from the wound. It pours across her mouth, a warm stream cascading down her throat. I grunt as it drips between her supple breasts, and just like I thought, it’s a damning sight.

All this bright red liquid marking up her milky skin. My blood crawls across her body until it coats every square inch of her body. I want her to drown in it, suffocate on me.

“You’re mine,” I growl against her ear, letting her hot mouth choke around my blade. “My student. Myfuckingpet. I will bend, break, and play with you as I see fit. Until you’re nothing if I want. You wanted this, begged me for it, so you will abide by my rules. Do you understand?”

I feel her nod aggressively, barely letting me finish speaking before she is agreeing.

“Say it.”

I remove the knife from her throat in order for her to speak and drag it to another hole entirely. A metallic scent rings between us, overtaking my senses as my blood drenches my hand.

The pain is secondary. I’d learned a long time ago how to shut things like this out, to kill it before it even has a chance to hurt.

“I’m yours,” she mumbles, leaning her back against the glass for support while her hips arch towards me. “Only yours. Always yours, Thatcher.”

Erotic isn’t a word that covers what she looks like right now.

Legs spread wide, exposing her white underwear that has a dark spot in the front from how soaked she is. Sweater ripped open, and my blood painted across her body.

Death’s wet dream.A sickening desire I’d refused to notice. My bloody, cherry-flavored little killer. She would bring the reaper of souls himself to his knees. Angels would raise hell and condemn heaven for a peek.

Men would slaughter themselves for her if they got a chance to see her this way.

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