The past year notwithstanding, he was always comfortable with sex and everything that came with it. He knew what he liked, and he knew how to get it. He was content.
Now he canāt remember what satisfaction felt like.
I
TāS SURPRISING HOW SMOOTHLY IT ALL GOES,Ā ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING
how new we both are at this.
Thereās Lowe, who cannot possibly have a clue of what to expect. Thereās me, a notoriously bad Vampyre. And then there are some very shitty circumstances. Like how mauled weāre about to get.
And yet, even without knowing what to do, I knowĀ exactlyĀ what to do. I know to draw the tip of my nose across the base of his throat to find the perfect spot. I know to stop where his blood smells the sweetest and his skin forms the thinnest veil. I know to press my lips to his flesh in a brief, indulgent moment of silent gratitude. Above all, I know without any trace of doubt, or hesitation, or fear, to bite. My canines might be unused, but they are plenty sharp, guided by instinct if not experience. And after a brief, suspended moment of screaming disorientation, Loweās blood fills my mouth.
Itās unlike anything Iāve ever tasted. And not because Iāve only ever fed from chilly, refrigerated bags, and in comparison, this feels scorching as fire. I think it has to do with the fact that . . .
The fact that this is Lowe. And his blood tastes like blood, yes, but itās also spicy, coppery, a thrill on the back of my tongue. His blood tastes like
his scent, and his smiles, and his hands lingering on my skin. Like the serious way he stares into the distance and rubs his jaw when heās worrying about Ana. His blood is everything that he is, and Iām drinking of it. Itās the most delicious, the most earth-shattering, the most inside-out moment of my entire life.
And then the first few drops hit my stomach, and everything changes.
Mere feet from us, things are happening. I hear them distantly, dreamily: gasps; a frantic, hushed conversation that includes words likeĀ Lowe, andĀ wife, andĀ feeding; a rushed, panicked apology; a door slamming closed. But all I can think of is . . .
āMisery,ā Lowe grunts.
Warmth. Iām feverishly, beautifully warm. And empty. And bursting.
And dizzy. Liquefying. And I feel like I need, need,Ā need.
I need more. I need Lowe to be closer. āMisery,ā he breathes.
I donāt know when, but my hands have hiked up to his shoulders. I moan into his neck, unable to stop myself. I want to climb under his skin. I want him to slide under mine. I want to give him every last thing he asks for.
āFuck.ā His breath is shallow against my temple. I think he gets it, though, because he does exactly what Iām unable to beg for: his hand travels down my spine to cup my ass, and he holds me to himself while my legs wrap around him. My breasts are achy and tender, my core throbs, and thereās an alarm in my head telling me that I should stop, that Iām drinking too much. Itās killed into silence the moment Lowe winds his fingers into the thick hair at my nape and orders: āTake more.ā
I moan a blissful hum into his skin. Something wet and eager bursts inside me, spills into my stomach.
āMisery.Ā Misery.ā He scoops my head deeper into his neck. Bucks against me in a way that feels not wholly voluntary. āTake all you need.ā
I cling to him like Iād die if he let go, desperate for friction. My hips grind against his abs, seeking relief, and when the contact feels good, I needĀ more. More blood, more Lowe, more of the stretching, rocking, taut feeling coasting inside me.
āIām going toāfuck.ā His voice is a thick, urgent rumble against my ear. āMisery, let meāā A stifled, filthy sound comes out of his throat. Heās rock-hard, and when he lifts me higher, fingertips pressed into my ass, trying to thrust against the perfect spot in me, I almost lose contact with his vein.Ā Almost. I let out a plaintive, needy whimper, even as I writhe against his cock.
āI know,ā he murmurs, soothing, commanding. āI know. Be good, Iām going toāā
The first twitches of pleasure hit me so hard, so sudden, I cannot process them. My back arches, my shoulders shake, my core spasms, and for a long second Iām just thereāstretched, untetheredāuntil something clicks and my orgasm explodes inside me, leaving me without breath. The pleasure is sharp, loud, all-consumingly bright. It bursts toĀ everything, and then it doubles, and then it swells again until everything else is gone, and I come, and come, and come, sinking into its tide for seconds, minutes, centuries. Then, slowly, it shrinks to aftershocks pulsing through my body and licking down my spine.
Iām glad Lowe is pinning me to the fireplace, because Iāve lost control of my limbs. My breath is stymied, and I pant into his still-open vein. Iāmā
His vein. His precious, beautiful vein.
Iām not capable of rational thought at the moment, but I lean forward and suck at the wounds I opened, then lick at them like a kitten, rescuing every last green drop. Itās an automatism, something written in my genes, and Lowe seems to enjoy it, too. Intense satisfaction radiates from him. His big hands clutch at my hips. Soft, pleased praises are muttered against my cheekbones.
The blood stops seeping through, his skin sealing shut. I pull back feeling supremely smug, brimming with pride for a job well done. Iām full. Satiated. Happy. Iām strong and warm all over, comfortable in a way I havenāt really experienced before, and itās all thanks to Lowe, and his powerful blood, the way his heavy breath rolls against my skinā
Oh, God. Lowe.
āIāā I push against his shoulders, and he doesnāt immediately react. āLet go of me.ā
Itās all it takes. He gently lowers me until my feet are on the ground, then tries to take a step back, but I donātācanātālet him. I cling to his shirt, following his retreat.
āMisery.ā
Iām physically unable to give him up.
āMisery.ā
His hoarse voice jerks me out of my trancelike state. I put some air between us, which feels like a supremely bad idea, cold and invasive and all wrong. My hair is wild and the fabric of my dress caught at my waist, but Iām too busy staring at Lowe to do anything about it. His pupils have swallowed the irises. They travel down my legs, mesmerized.
With the distance, the awareness of what just happened slowly trickles into meāthenĀ drownsĀ me like a water flood.
Shit. Itās not that I fed from him, even though I did, but also . . . I had no clue that . . . āI amĀ soĀ sorry,ā I gasp out, straightening my clothes.
He shakes his head, chest heaving rhythmically up and down. His eyes are different. NotĀ hisĀ anymore.
āIād never . . . from someone. I had no idea it would be . . . Did I hurt you?ā
Thereās something raptorial about the way he shakes his head. Slow, careful. I take a step back, feeling like Iām being tracked by a much stronger, faster predator.
āOkay.ā I lick the corner of my lip. This aftertaste in my mouth is hisĀ blood, and there is something deliciously erotic about itāhe is alive, breathing in front of me, warm and strong. This living being, this man, this Were, produced plasma and green blood cells and chose to provide me with them.
Life and sustenance.
Itās soĀ intimate. Sexual, but more than that. Not something I could imagine sharing with just anyone, except for . . .
Lowe. Of course.
I look down at my crumpled dress, feeling like a child who just found out that she didnāt really come from the cabbage patch.
āMisery.ā I peel my eyes from my feet. Lowe looks disheveled. A little shell-shocked. Confused. Obviously horny. He strokes his erection once over the tented fabric of his pants, staring at my face in that spellbound way. āAre you okay?ā
āI donāt know.ā I lick my lips, finding more traces of him. āI donāt think so.ā
Thatās when I hear the steps and rememberĀ whyĀ I was sucking on his blood a second ago. āTheyāre coming,ā I hiss, hurrying to the computer to disconnect the hardware. In the first lucky break of the evening, the code is done. I unplug everything, making sure to leave nothing behind. Lowe is still standing still, following my every gesture like a wolf about to pounce on a rabbit. When my fingers disappear into my cleavage to hide the USB, his breath hitches.
āLowe? You know someoneās coming, right?ā
āYeah,ā he says simply, and for a moment I think he might be broken. Then I realizeāwhat should we even do? Run? Weāve already been caught. Now itās all about committing to the show.
āAreĀ youĀ okay?ā I ask. Because I didnāt think to, before.
He murmurs, āCome back,ā a hand outstretched in my direction. I donāt think heās okay, but neither am I, so I cross the room.
He hugs me, both arms enveloping my shoulders, my head nestled under his chin. Itās not like beforeānot in that sexual, feverish way thatās all about heat and shared skin and contact. This hug is all about closeness, and Lowe burying his nose in my hair, and my heartbeat seeking his. We should probably discuss what to do when the next person barges in, come up with an action plan, but all I want is to be here. Cling to him.
āI could fuck you very nicely right now,ā he says into my ear. He sounds honest, and a bit resigned. āI almost did.ā
āIām sorry. I never imagined it would lead to . . .ā
āI know. Iām just really . . .ā His lips move against my forehead, soft and warm. āIāve never felt like this.ā
āLike what?ā
āTurned on. Smitten. And . . . and other things.ā
I feel the exact same. āIām sorry,ā I repeat. āIt must beāIām going to talk to my brother. It might be something Iāve done.āĀ Itās not. Itās just right.
Loweās stubble drags against my temple. āHave you had enough?ā āEnough?ā
āBlood.ā
āOh. Yes.ā
But,Ā Iād like more.
But,Ā May I have more?
I want it. So bad. Iām about to say fuck it and ask for it assertively, like a big girl, when the door opens again. This time, Lowe and I manage to break apart. He steps protectively in front of me, the tenderness between us dissolving.
āI thought my guards were having hallucinations,ā Emery says, eyeing us suspiciously. āI must have forgotten to lock this room.ā Her gaze lingers on Loweās neckāwoundless, but faintly bluish-green. As if someone latched on to it and didnāt let go for a long while. āWhen you mentioned feeding, Lowe, I assumed . . .ā Her lips twist into something that resembles disgust.
āYou should never. Assume, that is.ā Loweās voice is cutting.
And then Koen appears behind Emery, leaning against the doorjamb with a shit-eating grin. āI, for one, am glad the kids are having fun.ā
āYeah,Ā well. When youāre done, please come back to the table. Weāre waiting for you for dessert.ā
āAunt Emery, they already had dessert.ā
Emery makes a revulsed face and brushes past Koen. Lowe doesnāt relax even when sheās gone: his broad shoulders remain tense, gaze fixed on Koen as if he were a threat, someone I should be shielded from, instead of Loweās most trusted and valuable ally.
Which, going by his amused smile, Koen knows. āAnd to think that youāre the most sensible Were Iāve ever met. Look how finding her made you,ā he says cryptically. He gives Lowe a fond glance, and then his
expression shifts. āI got a phone call. Cal tried to reach you with something important but wasnāt able to. Itās urgent.ā
āI left my phone back in my room.ā
Koenās eyebrow lifts. āYeah. Not sure it would have made a difference if it had been in your pocket.ā
Lowe rolls his eyes but eases up a fraction. āWhatās going on?ā
āHe mentioned the possibility of you heading home tonight instead of tomorrow morning. Something about Ana, I think.ā