Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
She grins when her knees hit the cushion and then she’s falling back against the pillows. Her tits are fucking glorious, practically spilling out of her light-blue bra. I kneel, pull the bra down, releasing her breasts, and then put my mouth right on her nipple and take it between my teeth.
I can feel her suck in a breath and hold it, probably wondering how hard I will bite. But if I were going to bite her, this wouldn’t be the location of choice. So I just suck on it as my other hand pulls her zipper down and forces its way inside her pants. She arches her back, hissing when my fingertips find her sweet spot, and then she’s sliding her hands under my shirt and a moment later I have to stop everything I’m doing so she can pull it over my head.
She tosses it across the room, smirking at me. Then her eyes drop down to my chest and they linger there for a good long moment. I was twenty-eight when Paul turned me into his scion. A working man, I think, since I have never been anything but lean, and cut, and strong. So my body is exactly the same today as it was back then.
Since she’s interrupted my intentions, I figure we should just get rid of the pants to avoid any more ill-timed delays.
I lean back, swipe her boots off her feet, toss them over my shoulder, and then, in one quick motion, I grab the hem of her tactical pants and pull them down her legs.
She squeals in surprise, those green eyes of her dancing again, her legs opening up and sliding in next to my hips. This releases the sweetest, most intoxicating scent and I am instantly out of control.
I push her legs open wide with both hands on her knees, then I place my mouth over her already wet panties and suck on her. She grabs fistfuls of my hair, pushing me down and encouraging me. So I slip her panties aside and flick my tongue against her sweetness.
Then I have a finger inside her. And she’s writhing, and moaning, and begging. Reaching for my pants, taking my cock out and handling it roughly as she massages her palm up and down my shaft.
My whole world turns purple in this moment. I want to object. But if I do, I’ll have to pull out of my reality and concentrate on the dream.
And I don’t have the will. I just don’t. I want to fuck this woman. Hard. All night. I want to eat her out, and put my fingers in her mouth, and make her suck me. I want to kiss her whole body. I want to flip her over and pull her hair as I take her from behind.
So that’s what I do.
But I do it all in the purple. The haze flowing around me like an angry mist. A fog that only partially conceals how fucked up I am.
But the purple turns to lavender and that’s when I know he’s here, watching us.
But I don’t care.
The dream is me and him.
They almost always are. I hate him. I hate Paul with a passion. I wish I had never seen him. I wish I had never said yes. I wish I was dead already.
But then, when I look at him, he becomes my whole world and all I can think about is how he will bite his lip and I’ll suck on it while he smiles at me like I’m some plaything that gives him joy.
We are in bed. We almost always are. And we’re naked. Also something we’ve done on occasion. Who am I kidding? Sixty-five times—probably more, since sometimes I feed on him more than annually—is not a small number.
His blood consumes me the same way I consume it.
I don’t even care. I stopped caring a long time ago. This is just my life and even if I could stop drinking him, I don’t think I would.
He feels way too good.
I’m sucking on his wrist and he’s looking down at me like we’re soulmates or something. But then there’s a crack in the dream. Because when he opens his mouth, the words don’t spill out in his voice.
“Take more. Take all you need.”
It’s Syrsee’s.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - PAUL
She can take us both
“What is it, Lucia?” She has knocked on my office door and this alone is enough to annoy me. So I only half-look up from my papers when she props herself seductively against the frame.
“I just got a very interesting call from the North Star.”
I reluctantly meet her gaze. “Well, are you going to spit out what you have to say, or should we play guessing games?”
“Ryet’s there.”
“He is?” My tone immediately switches to something altogether lighter. Lucia does not miss this and she frowns. She has been jealous of Ryet since he was made. Why, I have no idea. It’s not like she and I ever had a thing. She’s a witch. Not even a Black witch at that. She wouldn’t be here if she was. I would’ve bled her dry centuries back.