Bloodborn Prince - Laura Lascarso Page 0,96

Henri.” Your thumb massaged the cork that stoppered the bottle, so much like you massaged the ridge of your erection when you were pleasuring yourself, smoothing the slick over the crown until it glistened.

The stopper fell off, and you lifted the bottle to your lips, revealing your strident arousal. Blood dribbled out the corners of your mouth messily, the crimson fluid skirting down your chin and dripping onto your chest. Were you trying to evoke my bloodlust?

“Thirsty?” You held it out to me, eyes burning brightly from the feed, sharp teeth stained red. I nodded dumbly, rendered speechless by your provocation. I reached for it, and you drew it back to your chest as if to deny me. “First, get naked.”

In a way it was easier, made me less culpable in my mind. I stripped my shirt from my back and unbuckled my belt, removing it entirely from around my waist. I tossed the leather strap on the bed beside you. Your nostrils flared, and I made note of it.

“You removed Seneser’s gag when I told you not to,” I said, and you nodded slowly, a deviant look lighting up your eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to ask him some questions. Without you snarling and snapping.”

You’d proven yourself a far better interrogator than me, and yet, I didn’t like that you’d disobeyed me. This was new territory for me, figuring out when to lead and when to follow.

“Did you learn anything interesting?” I asked.

“The tribes don’t work together very well.”

“Divide and conquer is an effective strategy. When only scraps are distributed, you must fight tooth and nail for everything you can get.”

“Do you think they could be united. Under Mater or… someone else?”

That someone else could only be you. I drew my finger under the elastic waistband of your underwear, noticing the dampness where your erection had rubbed against the fabric. You shivered from the light touch.

“It’s possible,” I said. “Lena isn’t very trustworthy, even among our own. It might take someone else leading the charge for the others to follow.”

My eyes drifted from your nipples, flush with color, to your fluted abdominals and the drops of blood mottling your skin. You noticed my attention and tipped the bottle so that more of it splashed over your abdomen.

I drew one fingertip along your stomach, relishing the light ripple of flesh, then put my finger to your mouth. You licked it slowly, eyes on me, seeking my approval.

“The seasoning is unnecessary,” I said and tasted the finger you’d just sucked.

“Thought this might be what it takes for you to touch me.” You rubbed one hand sensually along your torso, groin and inner thigh, smearing blood like oil. I stilled your hand with my own.

“I want to taste you.” I grabbed the bottle from your hands and set it on the night table. I didn’t need any more than this—your body, your scent, your sweet yearning flesh under my hands. “What’s your aim in seducing me, Vincent?”

“I think you know.”

“No need to rush.” I drew one of your nipples into my mouth and flicked it with my rough tongue.

“I leave tomorrow morning. You haven’t said yet if you’re coming with me.”

Of course, I was coming with you. It was never even a question.

“Reunions can be just as sweet as goodbyes,” I said.

“Don’t make me beg, Henri,” you said as if I’d hurt your feelings. You reached down to adjust yourself inside the soft white cotton, leaving bloody fingerprints on the material. “You either want me or you don’t.”

Could it be that simple? Take what you were offering without considering its implications?

“Do you want me?” you asked, your eyes heavy-lidded with lust but vulnerable still.

I dropped my head to your chest and breathed in your scent—comforting and arousing at the same time.

“Yes, I want you.”

Your thighs squeezed my broad torso, urging me on like a rider to his mount. “Then prove it.”

I lifted my gaze to meet yours, so earnest in your desire. Needful. Perhaps it was my duty to give you this. That rested a little easier on my conscience. You were asking to be ruined, and I trusted myself to do it thoroughly and well.

“Touch me,” you moaned, drawing my fingertips over the burnished bronze of your skin, along your exquisitely carved ribs, over the grooved muscles of your abdomen, and lower. My nose dipped down to graze the light dusting of dark hair along your meridian. You pressed my open palm against your erection and raised your hips,

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