‘That was fiction.’ I snake my hand around the back of his neck, my fingertips burrowing into his hair. ‘I promise you, my ovaries are as dead as the rest of me.’
‘Ok,’ he says a little unsteadily, and then he eases into me and almost immediately freezes. ‘God,’ he says, a ripple of tension travelling through his body. ‘You feel…fuck.’
I don’t have the words for it either. It’s everything, all at once. His body in my arms, more alive than he’s ever felt. Every heartbeat, every tremor in his limbs, every low groan vibrating through his chest. The smell of him, surrounding me– spearmint and spices and salt– that same scent of desire, and then something completely new beneath it all. It’s evocative, addictive– the kind of fragrance that feels like it reaches a whole hand into your chest and grabs your heart hard enough to leave a scar.
When Quinn tightens his grip on me and begins to move, the fist around my heart squeezes. Immortal or not, there’s no way I’m getting out of this unscathed.
But right at this moment, with his fingers dimpling my thighs and his mouth nipping at my throat, I just can’t find it in me to care.
ChapterTwenty-One
QUINN
Ialmost lost it back there for a moment, but I’m back in the game now.
But could you blame me, really? I’m buried to the hilt in possibly the most perfect woman ever to walk the earth while she looks at me with those whisky-coloured eyes and murmurs unspeakable things under her breath.
I mean,fuck, I’m only human.
She’s grabbing at me with greedy fingers, her hips rolling to meet mine at every stroke. Her teeth are pressing into her lower lip, light glinting off her fangs.
Fangs, I know.
I was a bit worried when I first saw them, like maybe this was a trap that I’d willingly skipped into, but Florence swore once that she meant me no harm and she’s never given me a reason to doubt her. And I can’t lie: now the initial shock has worn off, they’re kind of doing it for me.
Who knew I have a vampire kink?
With that, the vampire I’m currently inside arches her back a little and the change in angle sends me reeling. My hips take on their own rhythm, a punishing pace that has her crying out and me clinging to my control by the very barest of threads.
I’d say that this is the best sex of my entire life, but I feel like even that would be selling it short. There aren’t enough superlatives in existence to do this justice. It feels like Florence is stripping me down to my bare bones. As if she’s going to rebuild me afterwards in a better way– the way I always should have been.
Every part of my body is alive with feeling, pleasure zapping along my nerves like lightning. A wave of pure ecstasy begins to build at the base of my spine, and I roll us so that I’m on my back, with Florence straddling me. I was hoping the change of position might stave off the inevitable for just a little while longer, but as soon as I look up, I realise my mistake.
The image of Florence with her eyes closed, head flung back and hands braced on my chest, is an image I’ll hold in my head until the day I die. The last thing I should do is watch her, not if I want to make this last, but I can’t look away.
She’s spellbinding.
Ethereal.
Beautiful.
And, for this moment at least, entirely lost in me.
And when she cries out with her release and pulls me over the edge with her, there’s only one word on my lips, two syllables growled out into the darkness.
Her name.
She collapses on top on me with a dramatic little sigh and it’s all I can do to wrap my arms around her and pull her in close. My vision greys around the edges a little, the same way it does when I stand up too quickly. It’s the exertion, I suppose, or something to do with the way my heart is beating a mile a minute. I try to breathe as steadily as I can, and I hold on to Florence for dear life.
I don’t tell her when I get these symptoms. I probably should, given her wealth of experience in the medical field, but something stops me every time. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to worry her, but if I’m being really honest with myself, it’s also because I don’t want to scare her off. I know she’s worried about my mortality, about getting too attached to me if I’m going to kick the bucket too, and these episodes are definitely not going to help that.
So for now I ignore it, breathe as steadily as I can until my vision returns to normal, and then pull Florence further up my chest so I can kiss her. She hums happily, eyes still closed, cool hands weaving into my hair as she settles against me.
And maybe it’s the way she moulds herself around me, or the tiny circles her fingertips trace around my scalp, or the ridiculously good sex we just had, but somewhere deep down, some tiny part of my brain dares to think that this, us, well…
It’s pretty perfect.
* * *