Page 303 of Rage

“Hard to sleep knowing you’re in that cage.” He rolls his hips, and the swell of his erection butts against my temple. His fingers knot in my hair, and he tugs as if he could guide my mouth to his groin.

“I doubt that stopped you throughout the week.” I scrape my fangs across his lower abdomen, relishing each goosebumps and the thickening scent of his arousal. At the second roll of his hips, I know what game he wants to play. “Did you forget, pet, that I own you?”

I score his skin with a fang, banding an arm across his abdomen to keep Declan where he lies. I need to feed, but I am not the weak vampire I was in that cage. Declan hisses, muscles dancing at the pain I have dealt him. His fingers twitch, but his hold remains, so I do it again and again. Cutting and puncturing his skin until the dusting of hair between his navel and groin is dotted and streaked with fat, wine-red pearls of blood.

His scent overwhelms me, driving into my mind and muddling my thoughts. The heat in my belly simmers, hunger clawing at my stomach. More venom drips from my fangs, pooling sickly sweet on my tongue.

“Never,” Declan pants. A sheen of sweat makes his skin glow in the candlelight. Each dip, swell, and jut of his body, from the taut muscles in his stomach to the roll of his pectorals, begs for my teeth and tongue. “I’m yours, Rhona. Use me.”

I glance up at him, drinking in the strain on his face. His eyes are shut tight, his jaw clenched. Though his fingers pinch my scalp, he lies ready for me, cock jutting like a mast beneath the sheets, his body my willing plaything.

“Tell me what you want, Declan.” I lower my voice, speaking with an authority that makes his cock bob. A flick of my tongue catches three ruby beads, and his rich taste floods my senses. I snarl, biting my tongue to keep from sinking my fangs into his copper-rich skin.

“Whatever you’ll give me.” Damp spreads along the tight stretch of linen over his head, and Declan shivers. “Whatever you ask.”

“Good,” I purr and give in, lathing his abdomen with the flat of my tongue. He sighs, cock straining against the street. I draw closer and closer, only to skirt away, relishing his frustrated whimper. I know what he wants, but to bite him and draw from his cock would pleasure Declan too greatly. He must suffer first for how he treated me in that cage. He must be reminded that I am the master, despite how he lays stretched across the bed and weak beneath me.

“On your stomach,” I rasp as I pull away, sliding my hand over the wounds I have gifted him. The hunger in my belly rails against me, my need to be filled and to feast, fighting against my inborn desire to hear him cry for mercy. Blood smears across his belly, and I pop a finger into my mouth, resting on my knees as I lick and suck. Declan’s eyes fly open, dark with desire and trained on the sweep of my tongue and hollowing of my cheeks. His chest rises and falls, and he hesitates long enough that I raise an eyebrow.

It is the only threat he needs. A subtle reminder of who his master is.

Grabbing a pillow, he rolls onto his front and stuffs it under his lower abdomen to give his aching cock room. Not that it will do him any good. I have plans for that cock. It is not the sad, soft nub Lord Stilton threatened me with. No, like the rest of Declan, his cock is a thing of beauty. Thick and red with gathered blood. The vein throbbing along its length is juicy as a worm in spring, and my fangs itch with desire at the thought of hot, rich blood pumping from his cock as Declan pumps into my mouth.

Later.

When he has earned it.

For now, I stretch over his body, reaching for the stake. The warmth of his back radiates against my breasts and belly. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply before pressing my fangs to the artery. His pulse pounds against my teeth, ramped all the higher by terror and desire. Of me, for me, as it should be.

He does not glance back as I take hold of the stake, instead reaching up to grasp the rails in the headboard.

“Good boy,” I murmur into his throat. Declan thrusts his hips back, pressing his rear into my belly. “But you’ll not escape your punishment that easily.”

“No, Rhona.”

I trail the silver tip of the stake down the length of his arm, circling the crook of his elbow. Muscles in Declan’s arms strain as he fights against the tickling sensation. He buries his face in the mattress, taking long breaths as I draw light circles along his biceps, armpit, and down the long stretch of his side.

“You stabbed me,” I whisper in his ear and jab the tip into his side. Declan grunts, knuckles blanching as his grip tightens. When I remove the stake, red blemishes his tanned skin, the beginnings of a bruise. The blood rushing to the surface of hisskin makes my nose itch, like a sneeze I cannot release. “You made me look weak in front of Lord Stilton and his hall.”

I jab him again, harder this time. His body seizes beneath me, and the pained whimpers that push from his throat are music to my ears. The tip of the stake is crimson when I pull it away. Blood rushes from the wound, pulsing with every one of Declan’s sweet pants, and I can no longer deny myself.

I latch onto his side, digging my nails into the curve of his rear as I suck and tongue the wound. My head spins, my pulse pounding as his blood fills me and strengthens me. The heat of it stokes the fire in my belly, setting off a low, delicious throb in my core. Need overwhelms me, and that is all the warning I need. I snag my lip with my fangs, letting my blood mingle with his. Trace amounts of venom enter his bloodstream, and Declan’s body eases, his pained pants softening to light wheezes as pleasure rises.

It is not enough to bring him to ecstasy. Only enough to ease the pain and slow the bleeding so that I may keep working.

“I am not weak, Declan.” My voice is raw and guttural, the monster in me closer to the surface than before. I rest on my thighs and take in the meal stretched before me. Blood stains the linens at Declan’s side, his sweatslick skin glistening in the candlelight. Muscles twitch and flex as he breathes through pain edged in pleasure, his mind already dropping into the space where I know he is mine and mine alone. “You are weak. A toy. A pet.”

I trace my nails over his rear and hip, curving around to his front to hitch him onto his knees, just enough for me to lightly grasp his cock. He jerks against me as I do, a strangled sound bit off by a clenching of his teeth.

“My pet.” I stroke to the tip, licking my lips as precum dampens my fingers. “Good, needy pet.”

I twist my wrist, and he groans. “Rhona.”

“Did I say speak?”

His hands adjust against the bedframe, and Declan rubs his face into the mattress, shaking his head. I am about to lean forward and give him the pleasure of my bite when he thrusts into my hand, seeking the pressure and friction I have denied him.

Anger sparks. I tear my hand away, using all of my vampiric strength to crash it against his backside. Declan growls, more in shock than pain, and glares over his shoulder at me.

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