Page 39 of My Bloody Valentine

His tongue traces patterns on my inner thighs, teasing me and making me squirm. Every muscle tenses as he finally reaches my center, his breath ghosting over me. I try to grind against him, seeking relief, but he holds me firmly in place, his hands unyielding.

“So eager,” he says, his voice laced with satisfaction. “But I want you desperately begging before I give you release.”

“Please, Adrian,” I whisper, my face flushing beneath the blindfold. “Please.”

His tongue teases me, lapping lightly at my folds, tasting my essence. I moan, my body arching, but he pulls away, tormenting me with soft kisses and gentle sucking along my inner thighs.

“Not yet, little critic.” His voice is husky. “I want you to lose control. To beg me for it.”

I’m dizzy with need, my body throbbing with pent-up tension. “Adrian, please. I need you. Now.”

He laughs gently, the sound making my skin tingle. “Impatient, aren’t we? But I can’t blame you. The anticipation is delicious, isn’t it?”

He nuzzles against me, his breath hot. I feel his tongue flicker lightly, teasing my clit but never quite touching it. A whimper escapes my lips, and I shift restlessly against the restraints.

“Confess your deepest desires to me.”

“I want you,” I gasp. “Please, just touch me.”

With a low groan, he finally gives me what I’ve been begging for. His tongue delves into my pussy, tasting, exploring, and driving me wild. His mouth works magic, sending shocks of pleasure through me.

But just as I’m teetering on the edge, he pulls away, replacing his tongue with his fingers. They slide deep inside me, stretching and filling me as his thumb finds my swollen clit. He circles it with maddening slowness, building the pressure back up.

“Adrian,” I moan, bucking my hips. “I’m—I’m close. Please, don’t stop.”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through me. “I’m just getting started because tonight, I plan to feast.”

His mouth returns to my clit, sucking firmly. Electricity shoots through me, and I cry out, my body arching off the bed. My restraints dig into my wrists as I pull helplessly against them.

“Crumble for me, little critic,” he growls, his teeth grazing my clit. “Let me taste your surrender.”

I shatter into a million pieces, my body convulsing with the force of my release. My blindfolded eyes squeeze shut as I cry out his name, waves of pleasure washing over me.

He keeps his mouth on me, drawing out my orgasm until I’m gasping and sobbing, overwhelmed by the intensity. Only when I’m reduced to a trembling mess does he finally pull away, kissing his way up my body to capture my lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

His mouth tastes of my essence, and I’m shocked to find that I like it, that it only adds fuel to the fire between us. I kiss him back fiercely, my body still thrumming with aftershocks.

“We’ve only scratched the surface,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over mine. “The night has just begun.”

The silk blindfold slides away, and I blink against the dim light. Adrian’s face comes into focus—those stunning blue eyes burning with possession, his lips curved in a satisfied smile. My blood stains his mouth, stark crimson against his pale skin.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m tied up in a murderer’s lair, bleeding from where he cut me, and instead of screaming for help, I just begged him to make me come. My body still pulses with aftershocks of pleasure even as my mind recoils at what just happened.

He killed people. He uses their blood in his chocolates and sells them to unsuspecting customers. These same lips that justbrought me to ecstasy have tasted death. The thought should disgust me, should make me sick to my stomach. Instead, heat pools low in my belly as I remember how his tongue felt against my skin, how he savored the taste of my blood like it was the finest chocolate.

I’m losing my mind. That has to be it. The drugs he gave me earlier must still be affecting me, warping my thoughts, making me crave things I shouldn’t want. But even as I try to blame the chemicals, I know the truth—I wanted this before he ever drugged me. From that first taste of his chocolate, I sensed the darkness within him and yearned to explore it.

His fingers trace the cut on my thigh, making me shiver. “Having regrets?”

Yes. No. God, I don’t even know anymore. Everything I thought I knew about myself, about right and wrong, is crumbling in the face of this fucked-up desire. I should be fighting against these restraints, should be screaming for help. Instead, I arch into his touch, silently begging for more.

What kind of person does that make me? That I know what he is, what he’s done, and still want him? That the taste of blood on his lips only makes me burn hotter?

18

ADRIAN

Iwatch her, eyes sparkling with anticipation, her body open and vulnerable. She wants this—wants me. As I admire her, my eager little critic, the mask hides my smile. I take the rope and wrap it around her body, securing her arms to her sides and her thighs to her calves so she’s held wide open.

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