Page 84 of Thirsty
“I haven’t done it at all since,” Lorenzo added, as if this had just occurred to him. “Your dream just now, that was all you.”
Heat stole over Charlie’s skin at the memory; Lorenzosurrounding him, his hands on his waist, on his shoulders; his lips at his neck, fangs breaking the fragile skin of his throat.
Lorenzo saw him blush, his eyes tracking his face closely. “What were you dreaming about?”
Tell me to stop.Charlie’s heart hammered wildly. He couldn’t tell Lorenzo. Sweet, trusting Lorenzo, who’d made it clear that a bite was meaningful for him, not something he’d do with a casual partner.
And definitely not one who was lying to him.
He glanced at Lorenzo’s lips, his hands, the curve of his neck and shoulder. What had he said? When a vampire drank from a human, that human stayed with them forever. His neck throbbed at the thought.
It was an act of intimacy and vulnerability. He couldn’t let Lorenzo do that, not with him.
No matter how much he wanted it.
“Charlie?” Lorenzo asked, his big brown eyes sharp and concerned.
Tell me to stop.
“I dr—I dreamed about you biting me,” Charlie breathed.
Lorenzo’s eyes darkened. He shuffled slightly in the blankets to face him. “Do you want me to?”
Charlie felt like he was falling, drawn toward Lorenzo as inexorably as if by gravity. “I—I would,” he managed.
Lorenzo kissed him as he added, “I mean, you don’t—you don’t have to.” They fell backward onto the bed together, Charlie’s fingers tangled in Lorenzo’s hair, as Lorenzo pressed lush kisses to his chin, his collarbone, his temple, his neck. Charlie gasped out, drowning in sensation, and said again, “O-only if you want to.”
“I want you,” Lorenzo said, panting against his skin. “I always want you.”
He pulled at Charlie’s clothes eagerly, kissing Charlie all up his arms and along his collarbone and chest but coming back often to kiss him properly, like he craved the taste of Charlie’s lips and the symmetry of their bodies like this. Charlie felt like he was bubbling over, like with every item of clothing Lorenzo peeled away he was unraveling just a bit more, heat-flushed and reckless. “Please,” he whispered against Lorenzo’s skin, burning up.
When Charlie was naked, Lorenzo pulled back and gave him a long, considering, hungry look. Charlie shivered. Whatever Lorenzo read in his face, he seemed to come to some kind of decision, and Charlie caught his breath at the dark confidence in his gaze. But when he bent down, it wasn’t toward Charlie’s neck, but to his chest, where he kissed him again, hot and slow. Charlie squirmed, grinding his hips up against Lorenzo’s.
Lorenzo trailed his mouth down Charlie’s stomach, then pushed his left thigh up and out with one big hand. Charlie jerked his head up from the pillow. “Are you going to bite me there?”
Lorenzo just flicked a dark look up at him, ducking his head down to kiss Charlie gently right on his glans. Charlie gasped, and Lorenzo swirled his tongue and lowered down, at just the right angle for Charlie to catch the flash of his fangs as they scraped his cock wetly. He whimpered as his neck snapped, his head hitting the pillow.
But despite the excellence of Lorenzo’s mouth on him, it continued to be just that—Lorenzo’s lips and cheeks and tongue, with only the occasional, dull scrape of teeth—not at all the bite (or location of the bite) Charlie had wanted. He realized quicklythat Lorenzo was doing it on purpose—he could feel him smiling, feel the way Lorenzo was toying with him. He knew this wasn’t where Charlie wanted his mouth, but Charlie couldn’t muster the strength to ask him to stop, not when Lorenzofelt like that—wet and deep and perfect, as he hummed contentedly to himself.
So Charlie panted and squirmed, making a fool of himself but too far gone to care. He was so dazed that he missed it when Lorenzo grabbed the lube, but his thumb was slick and cool when it slid inside. Charlie moaned and ground back against Lorenzo, his shoulders slick under Charlie’s grasping hands. He was on fire, frantic; already so close just from the wild heat between them, the knowledge that Lorenzo wanted him, wanted this, and the fact that he’d finally stopped resisting.
He protested when Lorenzo pulled away—too lost for words, so it was more like a grumpy moan—but he was only grabbing the lube again, and this time he got it everywhere, all over their stomachs and dicks and thighs, and then he was laying down on top of him, grinding down against Charlie, gloriously heavy and slick. Charlie gasped, raking his nails down Lorenzo’s back.Thiswas perfect—finding their pleasure like this, messily, greedily. The sight of it was nearly enough to drive him over the edge. Lorenzo’s other hand was still on Charlie’s ass, his thumb grinding into him, their bodies working together, and Lorenzo’s mouth was now finally—finally—lined up with Charlie’s neck.
But he still didn’t bite. Maddeningly, even as they ground together, getting rough with each other, Lorenzo’s lips were gentle, kissing him tenderly, seeming to differentiate each inch of his neck and throat as worthy of attention. “Come on,” Charlie begged, scoring Lorenzo’s ass with his nails.
Lorenzo just licked his neck, then sucked a bit of it into his mouth. Charlie moaned, lost for him, lost in the dream of it, the pure pleasure.
It was torture—Lorenzo all over him, around him, the intense but imprecise pressure on his dick, the thumb behind, and Lorenzo’s mouth slowly tenderizing his neck. The skin there was growing hot and sensitive, tingling now under gentle rolls of Lorenzo’s jaw, as if he were testing the give of Charlie’s skin between his teeth. Charlie moaned something hoarse and protesting. Finally, Lorenzo began to bite him—but slowly, carefully, not hard enough to break the skin. Not hard enough for Charlie.
It hurt; it all hurt, in the urgent pulse of his body, and the stinging ache of his abused skin, and the place deep inside where he still feared that Lorenzo would leave him without this bite that he now needed—that he was aching for—that he craved. Charlie shuddered, digging his nails into Lorenzo’s back, and tried not to listen to the things he was saying—broken begging and drunken, reckless praise falling from his lips to Lorenzo’s skin unthought and too honest.
And finally, when Charlie’s skin was damp and tender and abused, his body sore, and his throat nearly hoarse from crying out for it, Lorenzo snarled, his fangs snapped into place, and he bit.
It was indescribable.
The pain was like a metal spike through his orgasm, bliss wrapped in electric wire; it made everything harder, brighter, wetter, more dizzying. He felt anchored; he felt unleashed.
Lorenzo was touching him everywhere; his mouth was locked into Charlie’s neck, their bodies pressed together, Lorenzo’s arms around him, fingers carded through his hair, andhe was making little happy wet noises as he drank. Charlie shuddered, riding it out, and then sank pleasantly into the afterglow, feeling drowsier than usual after sex in the best possible way. He loved the smell of Lorenzo’s skin. He was warm.
