Page 30 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

“You’re so weak for me, aren’t you? So desperate and fucking needy.” He lowers his lips to my ear, a breathy growl. “I could slice you open right here and give you a pretty ruby necklace. Would you like that, darling?”

He thrusts his knee against me hard. Demanding my fingers to move quicker, he pulls back briefly only to return with a bite of icy metal.

It runs along my throat, and I don’t need to look to see it’s a knife in his hands. Warm juices drip through my panties, leaking down my thighs.

I want it. Almost as badly as I need to come.

I need to feel the sting that comes from his cutting. The delicious burn soars across my skin just before a fountain of red nectar pours from the wound. There is immense pleasure that comes from trusting someone like this.

He could kill me if he wanted, and the adrenaline from that possibility makes butterflies flutter in my pussy.

I don’t answer him with words. Instead, I grab the neckline of my top with my free hand, jerking the material down to expose myself, giving him ample access to cut me where he pleases.

I’m an open canvas for him to divulge in.

“How very sweet of you, pet.” He grins, the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip. “You’re so very good, baby. So sweet to me, aren’t you?”

He toys with me, rocking his muscular thigh into my cunt while he drags the knife from my throat, dancing around my skin until he stops on my supple breast.

Applying just the right amount of pressure is all it takes. I cry out, bucking my hips wildly against my hand, listening to the sloppy, wet noises my hand is creating in order to distract from the inevitable pain.

The sting rushes through my veins like a drug, and the tickle of blood dripping down and coating my nipple is the high. It’s an addictive cycle, and I never want it to stop.

Thatcher drops his head to the crook of my neck with a guttural groan. So raw and animalistic I feel it vibrate my bones.

“Let me see how soaked your cunt is. How badly she craves me,” he orders, leaving a trail of searing kisses along the column of my neck, swirling his tongue along the sensitive skin.

I’m so close to the edge that I can’t imagine pulling my fingers away.

“Baby.” He flicks his tongue just behind my ear, nipping gently. “Show me how wet bleeding for me made you, Lyra.”

The edge in his voice disappears. That softness inside of him appears, just enough of it to sound like he’s begging. As if the sight of me leaking crimson is enough to bring him to his knees.

I have no choice but to pull my hand from between my legs, squeezing my eyes tightly at the pain of losing my orgasm. The moonlight catches the liquid coating my fingers and palm as I place it between us.

He wraps a hand around my wrist, leading my fingers to my breasts, forcing me to swipe at the liquid trickling down my chest.

Only when I’m coated in both my arousal and blood does he bring my fingers to his mouth, wrapping me in his warmth. Our eyes connect as he swirls his wet tongue around me, sucking at them. I rotate my hips against his leg as his lustful gaze burns me, and this action alone is enough to make me come.

He hums before removing his mouth, licking his lips as if he can’t get enough.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, pet,” he praises. “You taste like my favorite nightmare.”

“Thatch—”

I’m rewarded with a punishing kiss that tastes of all things wicked. I mewl into him, and he eats it up with flicks of his tongue. It feels like we merge into one person, my toes curling when he licks the roof of my mouth. I curl my arms around his neck, pulling him into me, tugging until I feel the weight of his hips spreading me open.

His groin meets my ruined panties, causing us both to gasp in joint pleasure. I never feel more complete than when I’m with him like this. When our skin is connected and our bodies crave nothing but what the other gives.

Thatcher grinds into me, rubbing his pant-clad cock against my cunt. We grab and grope at each other’s bodies, pulling and tugging, running towards our own releases that are only found within each other.

All I can hear is his name on my lips, pleas for more, and his erratic breath in my ear while the bed creaks under the weight of his thrusting.

Blood continues to pour from my wound, and his tongue is there to catch it, sucking it into his mouth and devouring it. Licking it between my breasts, savoring every drip. Swallowing me so that I’m inside of him in a way no one will ever be.

“Thatch,” I beg. “More, please. I need more. You have to give me more.”

Teeth sink into the junction of my shoulder and neck, and one of his hands hooks on my waist, helping move me against his throbbing dick. Even with the clothes, I can feel how hard he is, how hot. Every pulse.

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