Page 29 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

“You’d kill someone for simply touching me?” I breathe, asking a question I know the answer to but still wanting to hear the reply on his lips.

A whoosh is expelled from my lungs as his fingers curl around my ankle, yanking me towards his body. I moan as my center collides with the leg that is still on the floor, his muscular thigh spreading me open while the other kneels just outside my hip.

The move has made my tank top ride up just beneath my braless chest, exposing everything below it, including the simple pair of black panties I’d picked for bed.

“Darling.” He traces the front of his white teeth with his tongue, a starved animal ready to feast. “I’d rid the world of men who breathe the same air as you.”

I wither beneath him, uncomfortably hot. The slightest breeze makes me arch forward. Unable to help myself, I grind my hips against his thigh, creating the perfect amount of friction and pressure to aid my throbbing center.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pet?”

I nod, unable to speak, incapable of doing much else but chase relief. I’m begging him silently to help the wave inside of me hit its crest.

“What a bloodthirsty little slut,” he says curtly, pushing his cold hand flat against my bare stomach, forcing me to keep still. Torturing me. “What will you do if your friends find you like this? Spread open and wet for me?”

I should be embarrassed by the way I whine, how I nearly shed a tear as he pauses my grinding against the muscle on his leg. But this is too painful—I can feel my pussy clenching around nothing, aching for him to fill it.

I should be afraid of Sage and Briar catching us, but I’m too far gone to care. The world could burn down, but I wouldn’t care as long as he kept touching me.

“Yours,” I whisper, making him furrow his brows in a silent question. “I’m your slut. There is no one else for me.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs darkly, allowing his hand to drift upward. “You are, aren’t you?”

His long fingers span across my torso, tickling my rib cage with gentle strokes that do nothing to ease my desire. Lewdly clamping my thighs around his leg, I can feel myself soaking a spot in his pants.

The derogatory name should sting with the impact of an insult. But it’s true, and I like it. I like that he knows my body is so open for him, that I crave him so deeply I don’t care about looking desperate.

Every inch of movement is agonizingly slow, the way he works up until his hand is resting just beneath my breasts. I squeeze my eyes, sucking in a breath when he flicks my pebbled nipple through my shirt.

Bliss lasts only a second because as quick as it’s there, it’s gone just as fast. I groan in disappointment when he pulls his touch from me.

My eyelids are heavy with lust as I look up at him through my lashes. There’s a smirk on his face because he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Thatcher is purposefully cruel, enjoying every second, knowing no matter how much torment he puts me through, I will only beg for more.

Ignoring my body, he scoops up the pillow I was using earlier, making my stomach clench. His gaze is heated, darkened with lust and unmoving from my own when he raises it to his nose, pressing to the wet spot in the center and inhaling deeply.

“How sweet,” he purrs. “I can smell how desperate your cunt is for me.”

I feel his body sway forward, giving in to the heat between my legs just enough. Placing one of his large hands next to my head, he uses the other to palm my breast above my shirt, no longer teasing as he lifts and squeezes, rolling my delicate nipples between his fingers.

“Touch yourself for me.”

“But—”

“I won’t ask again,” he orders, sliding his hand corded with veins to the base of my throat, giving it a warning squeeze.

We are so close that I can feel the desire rolling from his body. I can smell the woodsy citrus scent wafting from his skin, the forest after it rains—so close that I can see just how pure the blue in his irises is. There is no other color; they are a frosted lake with arctic water running beneath.

His breath fans across my face, fluttering across my eyelashes. I preen beneath his gaze, unashamed as my shaky hand slides down the front of my drenched panties.

I gasp at how slick I feel, and Thatcher is right there to inhale it into his own mouth. That’s how we move, my hand playing with myself while he swallows every breath before breathing it back into my lungs.

A moan rattles my stomach, and feeling light-headed, I brush a finger over the aching bundle of nerves, massaging with frantic need.

“It’s cute how clingy you are.” He drops his mouth to my breast, sucking my nipple between his teeth, biting down before apologizing with his tongue. “You can’t even come without me.”

Fuck.

“Thatcher,” I mumble, rubbing tighter circles around my clit, “I need more. I needyou.”

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