Book 17: Do You Want This?

Posey

Aris pants against my neck. Pleasure like I’ve never known washes through me. Toe-curling, mind-numbing bliss that I drown in for several seconds until the room comes back into focus, and I remember myself.

His eyes are dark and hooded in the firelight. The curtains are drawn to the storm beyond, and it’s still nighttime, I think. Aris is leaning over me, one hand resting between my thighs, and his other hand is still splayed against my back to keep me upright. His gaze holds mine in disbelief before he dips his head to lick the wound he just left clean, the puncture marks fading into scars under his tongue. His mark on my skin feels like I’ve been branded by liquid silver. It feels heavy and amazing.

“You should hate me,” I whisper, closing my eyes and leaning my cheek against his. I’m so tired. I’ve never felt exhaustion like this before.