Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 42637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
She moaned, back arching, voice echoing into the night. “Yes,” she hissed. “Oh God, yes…”
I slid two fingers inside her, curling them deep, finding that spot that made her unravel. She cried out, breaking apart already, sobbing my name as her cunt clenched around me. The messy sound of her blood and arousal dripping down my hand only drove me further.
“Don’t stop,” she half cried, half moaned.
And I didn’t. My tongue lashed her clit while my fingers fucked her thoroughly, obscene wet sounds filling the garden. She shook, thighs trembling, her voice rising until it was nearly a scream.
“Give it to me,” I rasped, pulling my fingers free and buried my mouth against her pussy hole and sucked long and deep until she shattered.
Her cry of pleasure echoed off ivy and stone, raw and wild. Her climax tore through her, walls clutching at my tongue, drawing me deeper in. Her orgasm caused a rush of blood to flood my mouth. I drank greedily, swallowing every drop.
Her nails carved deep into my scalp as she kept my face pressed to her wetness, her body twisting, her hips lifting to rub herself harder against my mouth. I continued to drink deep, her flavor unlike anything I’d ever tasted, and I was drunk on it, needing more.
I forced myself to pull away from her and looked at her face, feeling her blood dripping down my lips and chin. I smeared her essence across my lower lip before licking my fingers.
Unable to help myself, I dragged my saliva-slick fingers through her bloody slit again, smearing the sweet crimson across her breasts, circling each nipple until they hardened.
I snarled and bared my fangs. “Do you want me to fuck you or make love to you? There’s a difference.”
“Fuck me,” she begged.
I felt the beast rise in me, that dark and passionate creature, as I notched my cockhead at her entrance and thrust deep in one brutal stroke. She cried out, clinging to me, pussy gripping my cock so hard I groaned against her mouth. Blood and arousal slicked my cock as I pounded in and out of her, wet slaps echoing off the stone walls.
“You’re mine,” I snarled, one hand wrapping around her throat loosely, forcing her to meet my gaze, and my other hand curling around her hip, nails elongating to claws.
Her climax ripped through her again, walls contracting and relaxing around my length. She milked me until I lost it. I growled against her mouth, driving deep, spilling inside of her, cum and blood mixing, dripping from where we were connected.
When our pleasure receded and she relaxed against the blanket, I stayed buried, grinding myself against her lazily, refusing to let her go. Her nails dug into my biceps, holding me close.
I pressed my forehead to hers, panting with her, our bodies still trembling in the aftermath. “You’re everything to me,” I rasped.
Her lips curved faintly, her voice soft but unwavering. “And you are the same to me.”
I kissed her with all the passion and heart I had, copper still sharp on our tongues, before gathering her close against me. When the night air grew too cold, I carried her inside, ran her a hot bath, and slid in behind her. Cradling her to my chest, I washed her clean and held her as if the world beyond us didn’t exist.
I couldn’t see the future. But this I knew with absolute certainty: Our lives were bound, irrevocably, until the very end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CLARA
Amonth had passed since my family’s visit, and the castle had grown quiet again, though not in a lonely way. Ivan and I had found a rhythm, one that surprised me with how domestic it sometimes felt.
It was comfortable in a way that felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around me.
The nights burned like fire with Ivan insatiable for me and me for him. And then I felt eternity press down on us until I couldn’t breathe because I didn’t want to think about what life looked like when age and time pulled us apart.
The gallery welcomed me back without hesitation. They’d been gracious about my short hiatus, and I’d explained it away as a brief medical leave. It was the kind of excuse people instinctively respected without prying, and they’d accepted it without question. I almost felt guilty for how easily the lie slipped past them, but relief outweighed the guilt. It gave me space to settle into this new life with Ivan with no one suspecting the truth.
Now, stepping into the gallery each morning, I felt more alive than I had in years.
My days filled quickly. Adjusting spotlights until the paintings glowed just right. Answering calls from artists hoping to be featured. Cataloguing boxes of sculptures and prints that arrived from across the globe.
Sometimes, I’d lose myself in the hush of the back rooms, dusting off frames or noting inventory. And other times, I was in the front, helping visitors with unique pieces of art they could carry home with them.