Page 93 of Hot Blooded
I fit myself between her legs and her breathy sounds urge me closer. I begin to move and with each thrust, I press into her just a little deeper.
She groans and grips my thighs, her fingers fighting for something to hold on to.
I can’t imagine how this feels for her, but for me, it’s incredible. She fits around me as tight as a glove. “Breathe,” I say. “Just a little bit more.”
Putting my hands under her ass, I spread her. She’s stretched to her limit, but it fits. I grind against her, burying myself deep, and she whimpers.
“Too much?” I know I need to reign in my control, but control has never been my strong suit when it comes to Tressa.
She nods, but her eyes squeezed closed. That won’t do.
“Look at me.” My voice is commanding.
When she opens them, two endless pools of blue latch onto mine.
“Just stay with me, okay?”
She nods again, this time watching my movements as I push my cock in and out of her. Now she’s soaking wet, and I slide in and out with ease.
Fuck. I love it way too much.
Done being gentle, I pound into her again and again, knowing if I’m not careful, I’ll fuck her raw. I need to show some restraint, but all my perfect control is gone. Tressa writhes beneath me, matching my thrusts with her pelvis angled toward mine to take as much of me as she can.
Her core grips me, sucking at me, and I couldn’t pull away right now if my life depended on it.
She comes apart, moaning loudly and her release triggers my own. She milks me, my come coming in long spurts inside her.
Leaning down, I kiss her temple and hug her body close to mine. “I love you,” I whisper.
Her breathing stops for a moment, as though she’s surprised, and then she takes in a breath and whispers, “I love you too.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” I check again.
“Don’t ask me again, Reign,” she warns me.
This is it. No time to back out. Our two-year-old daughter, Charlotte Mae, is safely on holiday with Alastair and Libby, who managed to tear themselves away from newlywed sex longenough to babysit my precious angel, who looks remarkably like her mother.
“Don’t forget me,” I beg and kiss her cheeks.
“You’re unforgettable,” she gives me a deep kiss in reply.
After a long time, she pulls away from me, and silently gives me her neck.
I sink my teeth into my wife with new purpose. Not to drink, but to change her. To make her like me. Forever. I suck and suck and suck until there is almost nothing left to suck. Until her pulse fades away completely, and I have effectively killed my wife.
Regret swirls in me as I break free of the delicious treat, drunk on her blood. Her unnaturally pale face rouses me though. I bite into my wrist and hold it to her lips, forcing the ruby droplets inside. I’m losing a lot of my own blood in the process. But she needs it. Alastair did an inordinate amount of research on transitions, which is hard to get hold of. In any case, they say as much vampire blood as they can get, the better they will be when they wake. When I reach the point of feeling woozy, I move to the fridge and get the bags of blood out. Alastair and I have been draining ourselves for weeks trying to get enough. The fresh stuff is better, but this will have to do.
I cut open the first bag and continue to feed it to her, while fear swirls in my mind.What if she doesn’t wake up? What if you have to walk the earth without her for all eternity?
Dread circles inside me. Pushing the thoughts away, I grab the second bag and feed her. After three bags, she should be awake by now. Shouldn’t she? That was the plan. I’m in agony waiting.
The plan was three, then I’d wait for an hour, then continue. The hour passes more slowly than any hour of my unnaturally long life as I stare at my bride, wishing I could talk to her. I cover her with the sheets and smooth her hair away from her face, admiring her pale skin.
Finally, I see something. At least, I think I see something. The flutter of an eyelid. Or at least, her eye moving behind the lid. I jump from my seat and drip feed her another bag. The cool blood flows right down her throat. She doesn’t even need to swallow.
After a fifth and sixth bag, I must stop. That’s what the research says. Replace what you took, no more no less.
I slump down in a chair and wait again. Time stands still, even though the light outside the window seems to rise and fall several times, I barely move from the spot. I spend nights holding her cold body, days watching, waiting, calling with Alastair to exchange non-existent updates. He tells me to hang in there, as if that helps.
