Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
My heart stutters against my ribs.
“You… you want to put your mouth on me?” I blurt, the words clumsy and too loud in the quiet room. “Right now? When I’m—when I’m bleeding?”
I can’t believe I’m even saying this out loud. Years of conditioning rise up all at once—embarrassment, shame, that old, ugly whisper that this part of me is something to hide, something unclean, especially now. I feel exposed—vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with nudity.
Lucian looks at me patiently, almost sadly, as if he can hear every one of those poisonous thoughts.
“My darling,” he says softly, the endearment a balm, “I am a vampire. Blood is the essence of my being. The source of my power, my pleasure, my very existence. The idea that any part of you could be anything less than sacred to me is an insult to us both.”
“But I thought you wanted to drink from my wrist,” I say weakly, grasping for familiar ground. “Or my neck. Not… not there.” I swallow, the confession burning my throat. “Isn’t that blood… dirty? Different?”
His eyes flash, fierce and unmistakably offended, a storm crossing his features.
“No part of you is dirty,” he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “You are beautiful. Exquisite. Every soft curve, every secret place. This,” he says, his hand sliding higher up my thigh, a hair’s breadth from where I ache, “is a part of you. Therefore, it is perfect. It is life. It is power. And right now, it is calling to me.”
I hesitate, still uncertain, swimming in a sea of old shame and new, terrifying possibility.
“So you really don’t mind… tasting me right now? You want to?”
A low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. “Little one,” he says, his voice dropping to that velvet-dark register that makes my stomach flutter, “I have been longing to taste you since the moment I first saw you in the Crimson Eye. I have dreamed of parting your lovely thighs and burying my face in your sweet pussy, of learning every flavor of your arousal, your pleasure. To taste you is a privilege, a gift. It is a depth of intimacy I have craved with no other.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my inner thigh, and I gasp at the contact. “Now—will you let me ease your pain? Will you let me worship you as you deserve?”
Another strong cramp hits me then, sharp and twisting enough that I gasp and curl inward despite myself, a small sound of distress escaping me.
That does it. The pain shreds the last of my hesitation.
“All right,” I pant, the words tumbling out in a rush of desperation and trust. “If you can make the pain stop… do it. Do whatever you want. Please.”
His expression softens instantly, the fierce intensity melting into something tender and patient.
“Just relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hands soothing on my trembling thighs. “Let go. Let me take care of you. All you have to do is feel.”
He eases my thighs apart, his touch reverent, and lowers himself between them. The world narrows to the sight of his dark head bowed, to the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over my pussy through the damp silk. He lifts the silk ivory nightgown, his eyes never leaving mine, watching for any sign of refusal but I don’t protest. At this point, I’m in so much pain I’m willing to let him do anything to stop it.
The first sensation I feel is warmth—the heat of his mouth pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over my mound, through my neatly trimmed curls. Then pressure—gentle and knowing—as he dips lower and his tongue finds me.
He begins to lick…and suddenly, the pain begins to ebb.
It’s not instant, but it’s undeniable. I feel a strange, pulling sensation, deep inside, like a skilled hand reaching into the heart of the cramp and unraveling it thread by thread. It’s like a tight fist inside me is slowly unclenching, soothed by the slow, languid strokes of his tongue.
He doesn’t focus on my clit—not yet. He licks gently but firmly and I feel the tension leaking out of my body to be replaced with a spreading, liquid warmth.
He’s not just kissing me there…he’s worshiping. I can feel the subtle pull of his blood magic, a gentle suction that eases the painful pressure…that seems to draw the ache itself away from my womb. The feeling of him between my thighs is somehow primal and deeply intimate.
I still feel a little strange at first—a bit self-conscious. I’ve never been with a man who wanted to be here—who seemed not just willing, but eager to go down on me. In the past, this kind of attention was always a means to an end—a perfunctory warm-up. Something to endure or politely fake enjoyment through until the “real” sex began.