Hot for Slayer (Scared Sexy Collection) - 14

W e bump into several sharp corners before finally finding a flat surface—which happens to be the tiled floor of his kitchen. I hold Lazlo’s palm against my mouth, latch tightly on to the wound he created for me, just for me , and take deep, thick gulps as I climb on top of him to straddle his lap.

It’s like he’s my own prey—one I’ve hunted down and subdued and captured. One I’ve decided to keep for myself.

From the way the amber of his irises disappears into dark pupils, he seems to have no objections to that, but to be certain that we’re on the same page, I roll my hips against him and watch him arch and groan like he’s in pain.

Yup. The very same.

Sex and blood have always lived in two separate buckets for me. Pleasure and nutrients. Luxury and necessity. Different, isolated, never to meet. But this . . . It’s good. The taste of Lazlo’s blood filling my mouth is delicious, vital sustenance, an addling drug that I’m already addicted to. It’s never been this way for me, and the reason hits me as I take another shameless deep pull: This is the first time I’ve drank blood that was freely given to me.

It’s such a turn-on, I moan into Lazlo’s hand and listen to him do the same. My whole body vibrates with pleasure at the simple thought of it—that this man wants me to be alive, to be healthy, wants to offer me something for the simple reason that he cares about my well-being.

He doesn’t mind that I’m taking . In fact, he’s saying things in Hungarian that mostly boil down to fuck and yes and please. More.

But he was injured, too, and I’m drinking a lot. I force myself to stop, pull back from his flesh, and say, “I don’t want to take too much—”

With a flex of his abs, he sits up from underneath me and presses his palm back to my mouth, a silent shut up with this nonsense and take all you want . So I do. Until my blood-drunk, glazed eyes fall on his lips, and I realize that there’s something I crave even more than his blood.

I pull back. He watches me lick what’s left of him off my lips, and his moan is pure agony. “Fuck,” he mutters, raspy, enraptured.

“Am I— Do you— Can I kiss you? I might taste like blood, so if you don’t want to—”

He closes the space between us, and his mouth strokes mine, slow, sensual, deep. I feel his groan of pleasure exhaled against my tongue. The cut on his palm has already repaired itself, and one hand travels to my ass, my breasts, my hips, while the other tightens at the back of my neck. We both gasp, bodies melded together as close as they’ll go.

This is messy and uncoordinated and unlike anything else. The feeling of touching and being touched by someone who knows me and whom I know. Someone who likes me and whom I like. Someone I could fall in love with and who would love me back.

The sweetness of it roars through me, and I savor it.

“You are so beautiful right now,” he says, his large body dragging against mine, and I feel a tingle in my spine, the desire to reach for more, to have his skin rub against mine.

That’s when it occurs to me that we didn’t discuss any of this. I just . . . I jumped him. I literally tackled him to the ground, and . . .

Crap.

“We don’t . . .” I start. And then: “I’m sorry. You just offered me blood, and I may have taken advantage, and we don’t have to do anything. I can stop if you—”

He turns us around until I’m underneath him, and it’s the loudest, most silent fuck no I’ve ever heard. The floor should be painfully hard, but I’m liquid underneath Lazlo, pliant and malleable, and if the feel of having me pinned makes him lose his mind a little, it has the same effect on me. A knot of heat and friction grows inside me, drags past rational thoughts, and then we’re pulling clothes off each other and he’s touching me everywhere, at once violent and reverent, frenzied and worshipful.

“Please,” I beg. “Please, please —”

He brushes against me. The head of his cock is beaded, leaking. It hits my clit, parting me where I’m already wet. “Okay?” he asks.

I nod, and then he’s inside me, big, a little too fast, incomprehensible. At once, everything recedes. The world slows down. All I can feel is the beat of his heart against mine. His fingers tremble in my hair, and my thighs shake around his hips.

At this age, I thought my body would hold no more surprises for me. No new feelings.

I was wrong.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, mostly to himself. Then he begins to move, the thrusts burning and buzzing inside me, my belly still full of the best blood I’ve ever had, his mouth against mine as he tells me how perfect I am, how long he’s wanted this, that he already knows he’ll need this forever. The thick length of him fills me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge until I whimper and clamp around him in long, pulling contractions.

He comes right after, with a deep grunt muffled into my throat.

And then I tighten my arms around him as he regains his breath, feeling the kisses he presses against my collarbone, my breasts, the soft flesh under my chin, and . . .

I start laughing. And laughing.

And laughing.

Lazlo lifts his head to glare at me. “Glad to see that you find the most meaningful moment of my life hilarious.”

“No, no, I . . . It’s not—” I try to stop chuckling, in vain. “I was just thinking, we need to commission a commemorative plaque. Put it up right there, on that wall.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . A slayer and a vampire. Doing it. It has to be a first in all of history, right?”

He bends down to kiss me, but not before I see the grin on his face.