Page 91 of Bite
He bites down, and the world shatters. Pain, pleasure, terror, relief… it’s all one sensation, overwhelming and absolute. I come harder than I ever have in my life, clenching around him, eyes rolling back.
He drinks deep, then licks the wound closed, the taste of my own fear on his lips when he kisses me. His tongue sweeps against mine, soft and startlingly gentle. Then he pulls back, gazing into my eyes with so much reverence it aches.
When he speaks, his voice is so low and gravelly that it rattles all the way down to my bones.
“Vinculum Sanguinis.”
Chapter
Twenty-Six
My body is still humming with the aftermath of terror, adrenaline, and release when James scoops me off the frozen ground and carries me inside. My teeth chatter, lips gone numb, and I can’t tell whether it’s the cold or shock to blame.
James doesn’t speak as he climbs the stairs– just holds me tight, cradling me against his chest with one arm firm around the backs of my thighs and the other steadying my shoulders. The house is dark, but he moves through it with the ease of someone who can see perfectly in pitch black.Maybe he can.I’m too tired to ask; too spent to even wonder whether he’s about to deliver me to safety or an early grave.
He carries me through my bedroom and straight into the bathroom. The en-suite is all cold marble and shadow, and I’m still shivering when he sets me down on the wide ledge at the end of the bathtub. Without a word, he turns to the taps and twists them open. Water rushes from the spout with a thunderous splash as he reaches for bottles of bath oils and bubbles, pouring generous amounts of each until the air fills with a soft, sweet scent.
I sit perfectly still, hands pressed to the cold edge of the porcelain. My hair’s a tangled rat’s nest, my skin splotched withblood and dirt. The dress that felt so perfect hours ago is now half-shredded, sticky with mud and bodily fluids. I glance down at myself and almost laugh– I look like the survivor of a natural disaster.
Hurricane James.
He turns back to me, looking just as wrecked. His white is shirt torn and splattered, his skin streaked with blood and scratch marks from the way I clawed at him in our struggle. His jaw is set, lips pressed thin, and for a second, I think he’s going to yell at me or drag me off to some hidden dungeon for punishment.
Instead, he kneels.
Right there on the marble, he lowers himself in front of me. His hands wrap gently around my back, easing the zipper of my tattered dress down, sliding the straps off my shoulders with a tenderness that makes my heart tighten. I don’t resist. There’s nothing left in me that wants to resist him. I’m wrung out and hollowed, every wall I’ve built cracked and crumbling.
I lift my hips, letting him peel the dress off the rest of the way, leaving me in nothing but a thin pair of panties that are still askew and the bite mark he left on my throat.
He rises to his feet and takes a long look at me. Not predatory, just…assessing. Clinical, almost. Like he’s cataloguing every scrape, every bruise, every shiver beneath my skin. Then he reaches for my waist, easing me to stand and steadying me when I wobble. His thumbs hook into the waistband of my panties, tugging them down slowly so I can step out, grounding me even as he strips away the last layer of my defenses.
His hands are cool and steady, his touch startlingly gentle. It’s the first time he’s ever undressed me without the intention of fucking me, but somehow this feels far more intimate. Vulnerability threads through my skin like fire, and I realize itisn’t just my body he’s seeing– it’sme, all of me, stripped bare in more ways than one.
After directing me to sit on the edge of the tub again, he steps back and begins to undress. I watch as he strips off his own shirt, then the blood-soaked pants, and finally his black boxer briefs. I should be embarrassed by how shamelessly I stare at him– at the expanse of lean muscle, the way sinew and bone shift beneath flawless skin– but I can’t look away. He’s inhumanly beautiful, yes, but he’s also frighteninglyreal; close enough to touch.
James turns off the taps, then scoops me up like I weigh nothing and lowers me into the center of the full tub. The water’s so hot it shocks my system– I gasp as I sink into it, letting the heat wash over me. He immediately follows, climbing in behind me and settling me between his spread legs, my back resting against his chest.
The world shrinks to the size of the tub. I’m adrift on a sea of bubbles and heat, the thrum of my pulse and the press of his body the only thing anchoring me to reality.
He gathers my hair, drapes it over one shoulder, and starts to wash me– slowly and methodically, like I’m some delicate thing that’ll shatter if handled too roughly. His hands trace my arms, brush over my collarbone, and glide down the soft slope of my stomach, erasing the blood and grime.
He doesn’t say a word, but the silence isn’t oppressive. It’s oddly comforting; a quiet intimacy that feels heavier than words. My body relaxes into his, safe and warm and content.
He dips a washcloth in the water, wrings it out, and starts on my legs– one, then the other, careful around the bruises already blossoming. By the time he’s finished, I’m putty in his hands. My skin prickles where the air meets water, goosebumps rising despite the steam.
James releases a long exhale, then reaches for my shampoo. “Lean back,” he directs, voice a low hum.
I do. He cradles my skull, fingers threading through my hair as he massages the vanilla-scented shampoo into my scalp. The touch feels almost devotional, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden urge to cry. Nobody has ever handled me with this much care. I don’t even know how to process it.
He rinses the suds from my hair, then repeats the process with conditioner, his thumbs tracing slow circles at my temples. I’m one ragdoll sigh away from dissolving into the warmth that’s holding me like a cocoon.
The only sounds are the soft slosh of water and the steady beat of my own heart. We could be the only two people left alive in the world right now, and I’m not sure I would mind.
When he’s satisfied that I’m thoroughly clean, he releases me and begins scrubbing the grime from his own skin. I stay where I am, head tipped back and eyes closed, letting the warm water soothe my aching muscles.
“You should know something, Taylor,” James rasps, his chest vibrating against my back.
I blink my eyes open and turn just enough to see his face over my shoulder. “What?”
