Page 10 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

In my head, I’m chanting,I’m gonna get to cuuuum, I’m gonna get to cuuuum. The sharp crack of his hand against my left cheek snaps me out of it. As if he heard me bratting in my head—or, more likely, just learned to recognize my telltale signs of my mischief.

A wave of heat pools low in my belly, tightening as I teeter on the edge. He moves again, steady and relentless. His fist tangles in my hair—fuck yes, pull my hair—and then my back is flush against his chest. His muscles ripple against me as he tilts my head, his lips brushing my neck… and no, he hasn’t stopped absolutely railing me for even a second.

His voice wraps around me, crushed velvet, pulling me under as he speaks between each kiss.

“I never dreamed of giving myself to someone like this.” His lips skim my skin, leaving heat in their wake. “I didn’t wish for it.” Another kiss, slower, more deliberate. “I couldn’t imagine it, because I couldn’t envision you.”

He pauses, his breath warm and teasing against my neck. “Twenty-four hundred years, and never once…” His fangs graze my shoulder, sharp and thrilling, sending a shiver through me before his mouth moves to that devastating spot just beneath my ear.

“Did I anticipate you: a soulmate, a playmate, a force of nature I can’t resist.” His tongue trails along my collarbone, igniting prickles of warmth that race down my spine. His next words come as a growl, raw and pleading.

“Bite me, Lover. Show me what I’ve been missing.”

That’s a pretty good argument—very persuasive, in fact. My tongue darts across my teeth, feeling the sharp newness of them, a vivid reminder of just how very much I’ve changed. I hated them before, these foreign things dropping down without warning and disappearing just as quickly. But now…

Now, they’re not a curse. In this moment, they’re exactly what I need.

Leaning my head back on his shoulder, I let myself savor how he surges into me, the perfect rhythm, his fingers moving in tandem, lifting me higher and higher until the air gets thin, until I’m gasping for breath in the transcendent altitude he creates.

I know it’s time, though no words are exchanged. Our bond lies wide open, and I feel his monster calling to me, aching for the incomplete tie to be made whole. It’s a silent plea, a desperate request to take from him one last time and make us inviolate, irrevocable.

I answer, finding his throat. The salt of his skin meets my tongue, and my mouth floods with saliva, anticipating a decadent treat. I bite down, his flesh yielding beneath my teeth. The puncture wounds open, and his blood pours into my mouth. He moans—a desperate, keening sound, raw and unguarded, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

He tastes better every time—complex and dark, like aged scotch. Deep layers of cedar and figs mingle with a smoky, woodsy bite that is uniquely him. It’s not just blood; it’s history, time, the weight of everything he’s endured, distilled into this intoxicating essence. My tongue laps at the wounds, greedily gathering every drop before they seal shut again.

The bond explodes, no longer a golden thread but the very air we breathe, the ground beneath us, the pulse in our veins. It’s everywhere, woven into everything, binding us not just to each other but to the universe itself. It’s me and him—infinite and immutable—caught in a moment of timeless connection.

The orgasm that follows becomes almost secondary—an epilogue to an epic saga, a dessert wine after a grand feast. It’s lovely, consuming, but it’s notthe thing.The thingis this new level of intimacy, this connection that eclipses everything else.

My world has expanded, vast and boundless, as if I’ve stepped into something unending. And it feels like it could keep expanding forever—limitless, eternal, stretching into the infinite.

I’m feeling a little high, to be honest. Between the venom, his blood filling me with magic, and the sex on top of it, I think I’m running on about ninety percent endorphins right now—and he’s not done.

I blink, and suddenly I’m on my back again. Grayson pulls my legs up over one shoulder, his gaze dark and intent, his knees planted firmly on the bed. It’s the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

The bond shifts my perspective, and suddenly it’s like I’m feeling for two. I’m not just aware of my ankles wrapped in his hands—I can feel his hands holding them, too. It’s as though I exist in two places at once, every sensation doubled, layered, amplified. His touch isn’t just skin-on-skin; it’s the pulse beneath, the warmth of bone, the tension of muscle. It’s raw, visceral, and so deep it takes my breath away.

When my head clears, I’m still panting, Grayson’s weight pressing me into the mattress, his mouth trailing lazy kisses along my neck. That was amazing. His blood is zipping through me, making my whole body tingle and buzz.

I give it a minute to be polite—I mean, that was a hell of an orgasm, and I can’t blame him for being a little peckish.

“Baby? Can you give me a little room?” I mumble into his shoulder, trying to wiggle free. His face is still pressed into my neck, his hands tangled in my hair. I shift slightly, attempting to turn my head, but he’s as immovable as a damn statue.

“You’re heavy, Gray.Roll over.”

Silence.

A trickle of panic threads through me.

“Grayson Alexander Marchese,” I hiss, my voice rising in pitch, “move your heavy ass off me this minute!”

Nothing.

Oh shit. He’s not just out of it. He’s dead.

My head falls back against the pillow with a frustrated groan—and I cry out in pain.

Fuck. His fangs are still embedded in my neck, anchoring me in place like some kind of supernatural thumbtack.

---