Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“And then what?”
“Then…” She smiles at me. And in this smile I see something new in her. Something evil. Something devious. Something sinister. “Then,” she says again, “we’ll plot our revenge.”
“Why would you assume I want revenge? You don’t even know what happened to me.”
“Oh, I can take a good guess, Little Baby. I am no ordinary witch, you see. I am one of them too. I drink the blood. Not anymore, of course. I’m dead. But I was you once. I was… Little Baby, though Josep never called me that.”
“You know him.”
“Of course I know him. Before he made you, he made me.”
2 - Syrsee
Drunk on blood and sex
My life: In bed with the man I love. Who is a monster. Who drinks blood to live.
My blood.
I am food.
And I love it.
It’s all very dreamy (in a gore kind of way.) Living back at the Guild has been a nice reprieve, but more on that later. Right now, I’ve captured my man’s attention and I’m intrigued to see where it leads.
Ryet turns over in bed, his hand slipping across my stomach. Then he’s pulling me close, pushing his face into my neck. For a moment I think he’s gonna drink, so I back out of the scene I’m reading—i.e. immersed in, since this is how one reads the books when you’re magical—and pay closer attention to him. But he just kisses me instead, tempting me away from the book and trying his best to turn me on. “Where are you now?” He whispers this right into my ear.
I let out a little huff of air. “A harem.”
“A harem?” He chuckles, then licks my earlobe. Which he knows drives me nuts. He’s such a tease in the morning.
“It’s a smutty romance about a sheikh.”
“Syrsee.”
“What? It’s… pleasure reading.”
Ryet grabs the tattered paperback from my hands, chucks it across the room, then laughs into my neck and starts biting me. I forget all about the harem scene and how what’s-her-name was refusing to sleep in Sheikh Whoever’s bed and redirect all my thoughts to the man I very willingly share a bed with.
The pull. God, how I love the feeling of the blood being pulled out of me. It gets me so worked up, I nearly come undone. But Ryet knows this and uses it as part of his tease. He likes to make me want him. He likes to leave me wanting on occasion as well.
If any other man did this to me, I would call it insecurity. But Ryet is not insecure. Not about sex or blood. He knows how much I like the feeling of being fed on, not to mention the act of feeding on him. He’s been there, of course. With Paul, not so much me. But it’s the same thing. It’s all so addictive. So Ryet knows he’s got nothing to worry about. There isn’t a man alive on this Earth who can satisfy me the way he can.
It’s just him. Forever. That’s my plan, anyway. Him forever.
My eyes close and my breathing picks up as Ryet’s lips dance across my neck. He nips at the skin, pricking it with his sharp teeth. Then his tongue flicks out to lick up the tiny drops of blood. He’s teasing himself as well as me and when I slip my hand under the covers and grip his hard shaft, he sucks in a breath, hissing at me. “You’re always in such a rush.”
“And you always want to take your time.”
Now it’s my turn to hiss because his response to my reproach is a bite, quick and stinging. Then his lips are there, pressing against my skin, and my hand automatically begins to jerk him off. The moment I begin doing this, his hand is on my knee, opening my leg and pressing it against the bed. Then his fingers are rubbing me, stroking back and forth across my pussy before entering me, pushing in and out in the same rhythm as his bloodsucking.
I’m done. Lost. Living inside bliss itself. But I make myself wait. I control my reaction for as long as possible because I like to come just as he’s finishing. It’s a little game we play because that final drink is better than sex itself, but in combination with an orgasm—my God, there’s no other pleasure in the entire universe that can compete.
But I can only hold on so long, so it’s usually me who ends his drink. I come and he pulls hard on my neck, drawing out as much blood as he can while my back arches and I bite my lip to keep from squealing.
A few moments later and I relax into his waiting arms. He holds me tight, whispering things in my ear. Very sweet things. How he will love me ’til the end of time. How I am his soulmate. How we will spend our cursed eternity together.