Page 74 of Immortal Bastard

How could the target of her anger dissolve her fury so easily, especially when there had been so much? Tears welled in her eyes. There was something greater than her pride at play. “I’ll never stop hating you.” She trembled with emotion. Certain that, in the end, she’d only hate herself more for giving in to him.

“Delilah, your hate I can handle. It’s your indifference that guts me.” His hold gentled and he caressed her cheek.

She shut her eyes, self-loathing making her own traitorous presence unbearable.

“Don’t cry, pintura. There’s no need for this pain and animosity between us. What’s done is done. I only want to take care of you now.” His face nuzzled into the delicate skin of her throat just below her ear. “Unburden yourself. Let go. Let me take away what grief I can.”

Warm lips glided to her pulse, soft and hypnotic. Her body recognized his touch in ways that made no sense, and she relaxed into the comfort of his hold.

“Christian,” his name crossed her lips like a solemn vow, an exhalation of a dying breath. “Please.”

Kissing her throat, he transferred her wrists into the grasp of one hand. With the other, he delicately raised her chemise and teased her legs apart. “Whatever you need, pintura. I am yours.”

Tipping her head back, she tried not to hate herself for being so weak. Or perhaps it wasn’t her weakness that bothered her at all. Perhaps it was the part of her that couldn’t accept she wanted him. That perfidious desire for his touch consumed her, building and expanding inside of her until she could hardly contain it.

“Hold onto me, pintura.” Releasing her arms, he guided her hold around his neck and lifted her legs, wrapping them around his hips, and she gasped when he pushed into her with complete entitlement as if he owned her. Perhaps he did. She no longer felt like she fully belonged to herself.

His intrusive entrance into her life split her in two. Within such duality, she found value and tranquility in his possessive hold as much as she found discomfort and fear.

His lips found hers. “Feel that?” Slow drugging kisses coaxed her mouth open. “Perfection.” He thrust slowly and a sense of completeness washed over her. The sweet surrender washed away her pain so that she could feel free of guilt once more.

Her head fell back on a low moan and his mouth found her ear as he whispered softly to her. “That’s it, Delilah. I have you. Trust that I’ll always have you.”

Lazy, deep strokes filled her as he pressed into her body. Her arms wreathed around his broad shoulders, pulling his face closer. Warm breath washed over her neck. Pressure built and she raked her fingers up the back of his head, her fist knotting in his hair.

Her mouth ached for a split second, and then her lips parted. The sharp tip of her fangs grazed her tongue and she didn’t want to think what the change implied. She only wanted to feel.

“More,” she breathed, nuzzling her nose along the steady throb of his pulse. “Keep going.”

Gentle nips pulled at her delicate flesh and her pulse went wild. “Let me taste you, pintura.”

The thought of his face buried between her thighs drove her mad with lust. She wanted that sweet release more than anything. “Yes—”

He struck with startling speed, sinking his teeth into her throat and puncturing an artery. Not at all the tasting she’d envisioned.

With a whimper, she tensed. Her entire nervous system fired off as he pulled greedily from her. Her words locked in her throat, paralyzed by fear.

His bite was strong and unbreakable, the suction of his mouth stretching her insides into something malleable as her heart sped up and her mind panicked. She struggled but he was still inside of her and the combination of his mouth on her vein and his stroking cock drove her to the edge of pleasure where her body could only fall into an all-consuming climax.

It wasn’t natural for women to reach such pleasure so quickly. Mentally, she panicked but physically she was in heaven. He suckled as intently as a baby nurses, consumed by the act. If anyone stumbled upon them in such a vulnerable moment, he would be completely helpless to protect himself.

Short of breath, she cried out in pleasure, waves of ecstasy beating over her like the ocean reshapes the shore. As her strength waned, she didn’t think about blood or all the things she learned in school about disease. Her mind couldn’t go there. She only felt the pleasure of the act. It was unlike anything she’d experienced before. Sinful and dirty yet poetic and right. There was a ritual here, something unwritten that carried through time by tradition alone. She was a part of that bigger picture. A part of him.

They dropped to the bed, their bodies never parting. Possessive and primal. He grunted and shoved deeper, thrusting his hips hard and holding her beneath him. Impaled. Claimed. Owned.

Then he growled, “Mine,” deep in her mind, she heard his claim as clearly as if he whispered it into her ear, but she was certain he hadn’t. He was inside of her in every possible and impossible way.

That irrefutable claim unlocked something inside of her and a gentle ease took over. Her desire to escape had fled, and she was content to simply let him use her.

He drank deeply, moaning and rocking his hips as something else marked her. She sensed him covering her even where their bodies didn’t touch. He was everywhere. On her. In her. Running through her veins.

Finally, he licked the bite and the conclusion of the act left her instantly craving more. “My beautiful pintura.” He rolled to his back, taking her with him. Her hair formed a curtain around them. It was perfect until the fading light glinted against the smeared blood on his teeth and she stiffened.

Blood. That was her blood on his fangs. What the hell had they just done? Why would she allow him to do such a thing to her?

Because we are one and the same. She shoved the thought away, immediately rejecting the idea that she, too, was such an abomination.

“Let go of me.”

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