Page 42 of Bite
I scoop him up, cradling him against my chest with my good arm while slipping my finger back into my mouth to staunch the bleed. “I just cut my finger a little,” I mumble around the digit.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmurs, eyes zeroing in on my mouth. His nostrils flare, nothing disguising the hunger underneath.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying for nonchalance even though my heart is hammering like a war drum.
His eyes flick to the bread, the cheese, the knife. “What were you doing? We have staff for this.”
I slip my finger from my mouth again, curling it against my palm. “I can make my own lunch,” I mutter, setting Ozzy back down on the counter. “What else am I supposed to do all day?”
“Whatever you’d like.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if freedom is a luxury someone like me can afford. “What do you enjoy doing– besides carving yourself up?”
The question hollows me out. My mouth opens, but no words come. What do I enjoy?
My life has been nothing but bills, rent, and scraping by. I don’t have hobbies, or passions, or anything that fits into polite conversation. Just survival.
A flush crawls up my neck, embarrassment burning hotter than the sting in my finger. I drop my gaze, hating the way the silence stretches.
James notices, but his expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it sharpens, as though he’s cataloguing my every weakness.
Then his hand closes around mine– cool fingers, steady grip. Before I can pull back, he lifts it to his mouth, tongue grazing the cut.
I gasp.
Then he sucks my finger inside his mouth, lips closing around it in a way that feels filthy and far too intimate.
“Oh…”
The sound escapes before I can stop it. My world shrinks to sight of him– lashes lowered, tongue dragging slowly over my skin as if he’s savoring. It’s obscene. I should pull away, but I’m frozen, trembling, staring as heat curls low in my belly.
“James…” My voice cracks on his name.
He pulls back just long enough to sweep the knife and food aside, then scoops me up like I weigh nothing, setting me on the edge of the counter. My thighs part without conscious thought and he presses in close, hips tight against mine as he lifts my hand between us to examine the cut, no longer bleeding thanks to the enzymes in his saliva.
The cold marble bites against the backs of my thighs through the thin material of my leggings, but the press of his body against mine is hot, heavy, impossible to ignore.
His eyes lift to my face, locking on my lips. I can still taste iron, and slowly, he leans in. His lips brush mine teasingly before his tongue sweeps over them, hand cupping my cheek, then sliding to my nape. His fingers tangle in my damp hair, holding me in place, and when I feel his tongue against the seam of my lips, they part instinctively to let him in.
It’s a kiss, but it’s not. And still, I kiss him back. My eyes fall closed as our tongues glide together, his fingers tightening in my hair. My blood turns molten in my veins as he claims my mouth, his hips grinding subtly against mine, his hardness pressing between my legs. His tongue explores every corner, and when he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, dizzy, aching for more.
“You’re not ready,” he growls, voice rasping low and dangerous.
“For what?” I pant.
“To be fucked by a vampire.”
The statement should humiliate me, but he isn’t wrong. I’mnotready– not for this, not for the way I surrender to him at the slightest touch. And yet… it’s also a challenge, a dare that ignites something fierce and electric within me, pulsing through my veins faster than blood poured from my cut.
Desire.
Iwanthim.
Jesus, have I lost the plot?
His mouth drops to my throat, lips dragging, teeth grazing. A soft pop, then a bite– sharp enough to steal every thought from my head.
One hand clamps firmly on my hip, the other still on my nape as he drinks in slow, indulgent pulls. I whimper, squirming, grinding my center against the hard ridge of him pressed to my core.
“Hold still,mea dulcis,” he murmurs against my skin between greedy sips, fingers tightening on my hip.
