Page 68 of My Bloody Valentine

“I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life,” I confess. “Every taste, every review—it was all leading me here. To you.”

Adrian pulls back from our kiss, his eyes intense and searching. “I love you, Maya. More than I ever thought possible.”

My heart stutters. The words hang between us, heavy with meaning in this room. His gloved hand still cups my face, and I soften beneath his touch, closing my eyes.

The words are there, lodged in my throat. I feel them—God, do I feel them—but they refuse to come out. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe I need time to process what we just did together. Or maybe I’m afraid that saying it will make this all too real.

Instead, I pull him back to me, letting my kiss say what I can’t voice yet. His mouth is demanding, claiming me as thoroughly as his hands did moments ago. I sense his devotion and complete acceptance of who I am—even the blackest parts I never knew existed until he awakened them.

“You don’t have to say it,” he murmurs against my lips. “I see it in your eyes. I sense it in your response to me.”

Relief floods through me. Of course he understands. Adrian always understands the things I can’t express. Just like I understand the emotions he infuses into his creations.

I press closer, my fingers tangling in his hair. Our bodies fit together perfectly, like we were crafted for each other. His hands slide down my back, holding me steady as my knees weaken.

The love I feel for him terrifies me with its intensity. It’s too vast, too consuming. But I’m not ready to name it yet. Not here, not now, with Reynolds’ blood still cooling in its collection vessels.

Adrian breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck. “Take your time, baby,” he whispers. “We have forever.”

Adrian leads me to the preparation room, my heart pounding in anticipation. The air is chilled and scented with chocolate and blood. Knives lay on the stainless steel counter, their edges glinting in the stark overhead lighting.

“You know what I need,” I say, my voice breathless, eager.

Understanding passes between us—a language only we speak.

His eyes burn with greed. “I want to see your blood. I want to taste you.”

The admission sends heat pooling to my core.

He pushes me gently against the counter, sending knives clattering. I know the blade he selects without looking—the perfect weight and sharpness.

“Please,” I breathe, closing my eyes as the cold steel presses against my skin. I’m trembling, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

The first cut is always the deepest. An offering.

The metallic bite of the knife is followed by a rush of sensation—sharp and immediate. My eyes fly open, the room spinning slightly as I take in the sight of my blood, vibrant and glistening, against Adrian’s pale skin.

He brings his wrist to his lips, tasting me. “More,” he demands, his eyes darkening.

I tilt my head back, exposing my neck. The blade glides again, deftly slicing through my skin to reveal the ruby liquid beneath. Adrian laps at the wound, his tongue greedy.

His touch, his mouth—every sensation is magnified. My senses are overwhelmed, and my breath comes in short gasps, my body arching toward him. His teeth scrape gently against my skin, sending shards of pleasure and pain through me.

We are both on the edge, needing to tear into each other with our hands and mouths. I yank at his shirt, feeling the taut muscles of his chest, and he growls, pulling me closer. His mouth is savage and hungry as it claims mine, fueling the desperate need churning inside me.

Adrian’s hands are everywhere, feverishly tearing at the barriers between us. I feel his fingers tangling in my hair, tugging slightly, adding to the sharpness of our kisses. Teeth scrape, tongues intertwine, and I want to consume him.

He lifts me onto the counter, our lips never parting, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His hands slide under my thighs, giving him better access, and I can feel his arousal pressing against me. It’s a delicious torture, knowing what’s to come.

With one swift motion, he rips open my blouse, buttons popping and scattering across the floor. His eyes flash at the reveal of my lace bra, and he leans in, mouth descending to tease my breasts while his hands slide down to the hem of my skirt. With a flick of his wrist, my blouse joins the skirt on the ground.

I want to feel his skin, so I reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. His chest rises and falls rapidly beneath my fingertips, and I savor the feel of his smooth, hard muscles.

But it’s not enough.

I need more.

Tugging at his belt, I try to free him from the last constraints. He helps me now, both of us frantic, desperate to be as close as two people can be.

---