Page 55 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“We can do this any way you like,” he murmurs, his voice threaded with quiet resolve. “You can take whatever you need from me.”

The weight of his words hits like a rogue wave, unmooring me. I swallow hard, emotion tightening my throat.

His hand stays, steady and sure. “Whatever you need,” he repeats, his voice gentle but firm, an offer, not a demand. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me. And if the bond doesn’t take, we’ll find another way.”

Something unruly inside me settles. I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat, and point to the bed. “Lie down.”

Sunday scoots back, her eyes wide with curiosity. Grayson moves with that same measured grace, muscles sculpted under golden skin. He starts to lie on his stomach, and I blurt, “No.” My voice is stronger than I expect. “On your back.”

He pauses, one brow arching, that infuriating look that makes me want to smack him and kiss him. But he doesn’t argue. He adjusts, turning onto his back with deliberate ease, his face softening into something almost vulnerable.

Abs. Goddess, I’m a slut for his abs. The dips, the grooves, that sharp V-line. I tear my gaze away and focus on my hands, shoving down my jeans and boxers, both ruined after getting way too excited eating out Dominga.

My jaguar purrs, satisfied, even as embarrassment flickers through me. I glance up. Ben’s propped on one elbow, fingers lazily trailing through Sunday’s curls. He catches my eye and winks.

Is it weird to be doing this with an audience? Maybe. But I’m grateful they’re here—Ben’s quiet strength and Sunday’s steady warmth.

And Grayson? He doesn’t care about tops or bottoms. When you’re as powerful as he is, you do what you want.

I push the thoughts away and let myself sink into the moment. My fingers trail down his chest, tracing the smooth planes of skin, warming now from Sunday’s blood and my touch. His eyes are half-lidded, his breath steady but expectant.

I take his cock in hand. His breath hitches—a soft, fleeting sound that I immediately want to hear again. I squeeze, testing, and there it is—the slightest catch, a low, satisfied hum.

My thumb traces the ridge of his beautiful cock, and his jaw tightens, the faintest twitch of his lips betraying his composure. My nerves wind tighter, fraying like I’m balanced on the edge of something vast and unknown.

“Xavier,” he murmurs, my full name a low rumble—half command, half beseeching. His hand brushes against mine, not to stop me, but to guide me, firm yet unassuming. “Come here, Little One. I need you.”

That voice does something to me. It cuts through the nerves, the performance anxiety—the fear—because that’s what it is. But boundaries are set, consent given. This vampire is waiting for me to take what’s mine.

I exhale, breathing out the jittery energy, and take him in—really take him in. I want to lock this image away, something to dust off when I’m old and remembering my misspent youth.

His knees are bent, legs spread just enough for me to crawl between them. The scar on his right leg winds like a pale thread. I brush my lips over it, then the other leg—I do try to be fair. He laces his fingers through mine and tugs gently, pulling me sprawling across him. Mental note:Gray is a bossy bottom—I know, I’m surprised too.

We kiss, his hands stroking my back and sides in long, firm sweeps. It’s not lost on me that he’s likely using a technique to calm jittery shifters. And damn it, it works. I feel my body relax, my mind no longer floating near the ceiling.

His fangs are down again, and he’s so careful with me. My chest aches in that strange, tender way. I don’t want to seem fragile, but I crave the way he pampers me. I leave his mouth, working my way down his jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses, nipping at his neck with blunt teeth. He bares his throat to me, and my jaguar stirs, purring approval.Perfect bite spot.

But it’s not our spot.

I move lower, mapping the ridges of his shoulder muscles, the hollow between his pecs, the bob of his Adam’s apple. He swallows, and it skitters away. I give chase, amused and determined.

My hand drifts, grazing his cock, hard and hot against mine. I pause there, prolonging the delicious ache. The subtle flex of it in reaction to my mouth is too good to give up. I roll my hips, and he curses under his breath.

Sunday’s giggle sparks wicked delight in me. I do it again. I love her eyes on us, the way she watches, the way Ben’s fingers are tangled in her hair, keeping him focused on her while we claim this moment.

Grayson’s hands tighten, pulling me closer. He lifts his hips, a silent invitation.

I drop to my knees. The bed’s height is perfect for what I have in mind.

I’m going to eat Gray’s ass.

Vampires are perfect for this—clean, always. No mortal digestion, no mess. He smells like Sunday’s slick and that unnameable scent that’s just him—something dark, woody, and expensive.

My mouth waters, and my jaguar prowls forward. I retreat a little, letting him take over. I give him leave to groom, while I pay attention to the subtle quivers in Grayson’s legs, the way his muscles tense when our tongue brushes his taint, then circles his hole.

Every twitch, every shudder, sends heat curling through me. I’m so hard, leaking all over myself. Maybe we don’t need lube. Omegas are a juicy bunch, after all.

I glance up and see Grayson’s head turned to the side, his tongue poking out just a little. He looks—well,goofy.And just like that, a wave of love crashes over me for this vampire, because what else could it be?

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