Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
He moves his other leg between mine. When his hard cock presses against my clit, I buck at the sudden sensation. I’m on fire, blazing from the touch of his skin against mine.
He pulls back, his feline gaze capturing me in the dark. “I’ve wanted this from the moment I saw you.” His voice is gravel, rough and thick.
I run my hands along his chest. He reaches back and grips his shirt, then yanks it over his head and tosses it away. I feel his heartbeat, strong beneath his smooth skin and hard muscle. He’s warm and alive and so beautiful in the dark. He takes my mouth again, his body pressed to mine as I wrap my legs around his waist. With a rough tug, he pulls my shirt up and leans down, his lips fastening to one of my nipples.
I dig my nails into his shoulders as he sucks and licks, his tongue exploring first one breast, then the other. Every touch sends me higher, my body teetering on the edge. I want him, all of him. I don’t care about anything else. Just the pleasure, the release, the respite from all the pain.
He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls, forcing me to arch for him, his mouth at my breast, his cock so hard against my throbbing clit. I moan as he licks the valley between my breasts then fastens his lips to my throat.
“Valen,” I rock my hips against him, desperate for friction. I could come just from this, from his touch, his mouth.
He jolts, then pulls back. His fangs are long now, sharp and deadly, and there’s a smudge of red on his lips. Fear begins to douse the flames, and the reality of blood on his mouth is a cold slap to the face.
What the hell am I doing?
“Valen?” I swipe my fingers along my throat, and they come away bloody. “Get off me!” I yank my shirt down.
“Georgia, I didn’t—”
“Off!” I scream.
He sighs and gets to his feet. “I didn’t intend to—”
“You didn’t intend to fucking bite me?” I put a hand to my neck and scoot up until my back is against the headboard. “God, what am I doing?” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “This was a mistake. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I had the nightmare, and then …”
“You want me.” He stares down at me, his pale skin like perfectly-carved marble in the low light.
I pull my blanket up to my chin. “Please go.” Shame burns me like a brand. I’m so fucking pathetic, so desperate for some sort of affection that I almost let a monster inside me. This isn’t who I am. “Wait, is this you? Did you do this to me? You can make people do things. That’s what Gage said.”
He pulls his shirt on, then gives me a look so icy that I force myself not to flinch. “You think I’ve done something to make you want me?”
I don’t respond, but I suppose that’s answer enough.
He leans down and puts his hands on either side of the headboard. His mouth is so close that my lips tingle from the memory of his kiss. “You want me, Georgia. Not because of something I’ve done, but because of who you are. Don’t fool yourself into thinking this is anything else.” He pushes off and stalks from the room, then slams the door to the stairs on his way out.
“God.” I press my palms to my face and take deep breaths. My mind is finally in charge, but my body still hums at a low level, simmering when I want it to be stone cold.
Valen is just playing me. That’s what he’s been doing from the very beginning. I have to remember the stakes, remember who, no what, he is. Whatever this was, it can’t happen again.
I slide down under the covers and close my eyes. My bed smells like him now. Or maybe I smell like him. I turn and aggressively fluff my pillow. Sleep comes eventually. This time it’s free of nightmares. Instead, I dream of feline eyes in a shadowy forest and owls hooting a warning from the trees.
21
I’m hunched over my journal when Wyatt walks in, his hair still wet from a shower.
“Did you try it?” Gretchen asks him.
“Yeah. Nothing.”
“Shit!” Gretchen pinches the bridge of her nose. “All that work for nothing.”
We’ve worked with different viruses for the past week, trying each of them on the blood samples. The most recent was smallpox, something we were surprised to even get from Director Hamberg. It was delivered in a case so heavy and thick it would likely survive a nuclear blast, and Wyatt has been working with it in the high containment lab for two days.
“You destroyed the variola sample?” I ask.