Page 68 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

“Every single time I saw you, I’d stare at this pretty little throat and think about the bruises I’d wanted to leave just so everyone would know who owned you. I wanted to hold you so tightly your ribs cracked. When you spoke to anyone else, I was half tempted to rip them apart. I wanted to ruin you, end you, just because I knew I could never fucking have you.”

She lifts her face, pushing towards my touch instead of pulling away from it, craving more. Her hardened nipples brush across my chest through the tight material of her dress, and I’m very close to checking if she’s naked beneath it.

“You had me then; you just never realized it. You can have me now.” Lyra’s sneaky fingers pull at the buttons of my shirt, undoing it casually. “Forever, if you want.”

I squeeze her neck, making her gasp.

I smirk. “Do you know what I want, darling phantom?”

“What?”

I lean my head down so that my lips are a breath away from hers. I can savor being this close. Her heartbeat flutters against my fingertips, matching my own, and I’m not so sure we don’t share a heart.

“I don’t want to be perfect if it means I have to live without you.”

Our mouths clash, a mixture of tongue and teeth as we chase the taste of one another, intent on filling our bodies up with each other. Slipping my tongue between her lips, I feel her fight against me until she eventually loses and I’m free to explore the inside of her mouth.

I’d lost my jacket earlier, but now her hands make quick work of my shirt, stripping it off my shoulders with rash movements. She glances down at her fingers as they tug it open and reveal my lean torso.

I let her stare,watch as her eyes trace the hard lines of my body.

My shirt falls to the floor, and I’m quick to even the score. My fingers weave through the folds and ripples in her dress, searching for any ounce of bare skin I can press my palms to.I grab at her hips, hiking the material up to her waist.

“Hold this up,” I command. “Show me how obsessed your pussy is for me.”

She takes her dress from me, keeping it just above her hips and showing me the thin scrap of material she calls underwear. I groan in the back of my throat at the dark spot at the center of the cotton.

Unable to help myself, I press two fingers against her cloth-covered slit, feeling her wetness seep through onto my skin. It’s warm, sticky, and all Lyra. She whimpers when I graze her clit, jerking her hips towards me.

“Whiny, greedy thing,” I pant through wet, swollen lips. “Your cunt is selfish. All it craves is me, isn’t it? My fingers, my tongue, my cock?”

“I need you so badly.” She pivots against my hand, following the slow circles I’m spinning against her core. “I ache for you everywhere.”

My cock twitches behind my slacks, pressing painfully into my zipper, begging to sink inside of her to aid the ache she feels. I bite down on her bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth, rubbing it with my tongue before releasing her.

“You want me to fuck you, Lyra?” I slip my hand beneath her panties, greeted by her liquid center. The evidence of her arousal coats my palm as I cup her greedily.

“Please.” She wraps an arm around my neck, her wet lips finding my neck. “I want you inside me.”

I groan, tilting my head back to give her ample access to my skin. Lyra bites, nibbles, and sucks at my throat, moving towards my collarbone, no doubt leaving red welts as she goes.

Marking me. Claiming me.

“Earn it.” I tangle my spare hand in the roots of her curls, jerking her suction-cup lips away from my neck so that she can look at me. “Grab the knife in my pocket. Make yourself bleed for me while I make you come.”

Her eyes are bleary, glazed with desire, as if she’d injected some kind of lewd drug into her system and she’s all blitzed out now. I drag a finger down her slit, teasing her entrance with my middle finger.

Lyra’s hand moves until she’s dipping into my pocket, her small fingers wrapping around the switchblade. When she pulls it out, holding it between us, I slide inside of her.

She cries out in pleasure, arching into me, her teeth holding her bottom lip captive as her warm inner walls clamp around my finger. God, she’s beyond tight. It should be illegal for one human to feel this good.

Tapping into what control I have left when it comes to Little Miss Death, I remain still as I wait for her next move. I want her to show me how badly she craves me, what she’s willing to do in order to have me.

“Go on, pet,” I purr, swiping my thumb across the sensitive nub between her thighs. “Bleed for me.”

Unafraid, fueled by lust, she flicks the blade open. Holding it in her right hand, making direct eye contact with me, she slides it across her left palm, refusing to break my gaze as she splits her skin.

A pool of crimson gathers in her hand, and my finger pushes deeper into her. I leisurely finger her tight hole, pushing in and out of her with torturously slow strokes.

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