25

Ophelia

I'm not sure why exactly I follow Cas inside the house.

I probably shouldn't, all things considered.

His brooding silence and the memory of that look on his face when he came barging into Philippe's office—murderous, like he could have ended the other vampire right then and there without a second thought—should be more than enough to warn me away.

Instead, I climb out of the car and follow him across the driveway and up the front steps, through the door he leaves thrown open behind him.

I close it, and silence descends on the foyer.

"Cas," I try, and get no response.

He stands rigid, shoulders rising and falling with tightly controlled breath. After a few long moments, he shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it carelessly on the sideboard table near the door.

"Can we talk about what happened back there?"

He still doesn't answer. He doesn't even look at me as he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his shirtsleeves up to the middle of his forearms. Slowly, methodically, the corded muscle there shifting with every movement.

I'm still humming with nerves over what happened in Philippe's office and on the drive back. I'm still riding an edge of sharp, shaky fear waiting for Cas to say something, anything , but I'm not immune to what the sight of that simple action does to me.

A pulse of hot, insistent desire settles between my thighs, mingling with my fear and my nerves until I'm nearly ready to jump out of my skin.

"So what, Cas? You're just going to ice me out without even letting me—"

He does turn, then, meeting my eye, and my words die in my throat.

Otherworldly, the burning crimson of his gaze. I'm caught in a storm of anger and hunger and something that almost looks like… hurt.

"Did you want Philippe's bite, or were you only offering your blood to him as some kind of payment for information?" He loosens his tie as he speaks, his tone low and soft, with just an edge of acerbic bite that has my throat aching.

"Like I tried to explain, I wasn't going to let him do it. And he had already changed his mind when you—"

"That isn't what I asked." Cas unbuttons the top button of his shirt, then the one below it. He runs a hand roughly through his hair, mussing it in a way that makes my fingertips itch to mirror the movement.

"And what if I was offering it as payment? What's the problem with that?"

Cas scowls. "Your blood is a gift, Ophelia, and those who receive it should know how precious it is."

Something about the idea of that makes me bristle. It makes me want to pull back and lash out and contradict him.

"It's my body. My blood. It should be up to me who gets a taste of it."

Cas's frown deepens, even as he nods his agreement. He steps closer and I step back. The deep, dark energy pulsing off him in waves triggers some hind-brain instinct. Something that makes me feel chased, pursued. Like prey.

But unlike with Philippe, the instinct to run doesn't accompany that feeling.

Instead, the urge to fight harder, to see how far I can push him before we both break, sizzles through me in a low, slow burn.

"That is true," Cas allows, matching me step for step across the foyer. "But you also deserve to be cherished. Any who receive the gift of you should fall to their knees in gratitude for the honor."

Another step, and the backs of my legs hit one of the stiff velvet chairs at the side of the room.

"And you?" I can't help but ask. "Are you going to fall to your knees?"

The crimson in Cas's eyes darkens to garnet, a deep blood-red that sends a shiver down my spine and makes my core go molten. He rests a hand on my shoulder, pressing down with an unerring intent that has me sinking into the chair behind me.

And then he kneels.

Cas grips my knees, spreading them wide and making room for himself between them. It shifts my skirt higher, rucks it up to the crease where my hips meet my thighs, and he ghosts his fingers over my bare skin before he meets my gaze.

"Yes, Ophelia. It's my pleasure to kneel before you. My honor to taste you."

He skims his lips over my knee, my thigh, higher, head bowed over me as he worships his way toward my hot, aching—

"Tell me to stop. Tell me if this isn't something you want."

He cups a hand over my pussy, fingers pressing into the damp lace there.

"I… I want…"

He tightens his grip on me, presses the lace of my panties into my clit, fingers shifting on me, teasing, driving me out of my—

"Ophelia."

Cas's touch ebbs. He hesitates, pulling back when I don't give him my permission.

"No." I reach down, curling my fingers over his and drawing his touch back between my thighs. "Don't stop. I want this. I want you to—"

He doesn't make me say it, doesn't make me beg any further as he surges up and captures my mouth with his.

A rasp of fangs over my bottom lip makes me gasp. The sweet surrender of his mouth on mine is a cool balm for my frayed nerves, though I'm well aware he won't be staying that temperature for long.

I devour him. Finally, finally getting my fingers into his hair, I tug hard, pulling him closer and angling him just how I want so I can stroke my tongue into his mouth, drag my teeth over his lip and bite, drawing a low, ragged moan from the back of his throat.

He pulls away, breathing hard. "Philippe is a bastard, Ophelia, and a cruel one. He isn't fit to look at you, or touch you, much less taste you."

The sharp sting of unexpected tears burns at the back of my eyes.

"I know. I know . And I wasn't going to let him Cas, I really wasn't. I—"

He crushes his mouth to mine, cutting off the rest of my garbled promises in a kiss I feel all the way down to my aching pussy.

If the last kiss was me taking what I wanted, this one is all Cas.

Slow, languid strokes of his tongue against mine, a hint of fangs against my lips. He cradles a hand around the back of my head and holds me like I'm something precious to him.

And when he pulls back, all that hurt and anger are gone from his expression. In their place, more bone-deep hunger, a thread of pleasure and possession.

With a fang-sharp smirk, he lowers himself back between my legs, slips my panties off, and hooks both my thighs over his shoulders. It changes the angle, makes me even more exposed, and he takes his sweet time looking his fill before meeting my eye with wicked intent written all over his face.

"Do you remember what I told you about all the secret places I could mark you?"

Dredging up the memory is an effort, but I nod.

"Here's one," he murmurs, resting his palm over the mound of my pussy. His touch is cool, firm against my shaved skin. "Should I see if I was right about how wild it might make you?"

"Yes." The word comes out half-sob, half-moan as I grab for his hair again, desperate to drag him closer.

Cas shakes his head. "Let me, Ophelia."

Gently, he takes my wrists in both his hands and sets them on the chair's arms. He curls his fingers over mine to make them grip the smooth wood in a silent command to keep them right where they are.

Obeying takes every last scrap of my sanity, especially when he dips his head back down and brushes his lips against me, presses his fangs down hard, just this side of breaking my skin.

He runs a finger up the length of my pussy, spreading the pooled wetness he finds there and groaning deep in his chest before slipping that finger into his mouth to suck it clean.

A few more minutes of that teasing—hands and lips and fangs touching me, but not where I want, not how I want—and I'm bucking my hips off the chair, trying to press closer, silently demanding more .

Cas restrains me with a firm hand on my lower belly. "Be still."

"Can't," I groan. "Cas, please. I can't. I need… I need…"

"Who am I to resist when you beg so prettily?"

With no more warning than that, he sinks his fangs and fingers into me at the same time.

I'm full, so impossibly full. With his fingers, with the sharp invasion of his bite. With the waves of pain and pleasure that mingle and spread, fanning out from where he draws long, hot swallows from between my legs, into my belly, my chest, tightening my nipples and twisting in my core.

Only a few short seconds later, a fast, brutal climax rips from me. Instant, devastating, breaking from me with a rasped sob and my back bowed so far off the chair I'm surprised I don't go tumbling onto the floor.

Cas stays with me the whole time. Fangs still sunk deep, he keeps one hand knuckles-deep in my pussy, crooking his fingers forward and drawing wave after wave of pleasure from me, the other soothing over my hip, my stomach, the leg I have draped over his shoulder. He draws from me in steady, even pulses that radiate from the fading sting of his fangs into my muscle, my sinew, my bones. My soul.

When the aftershocks slow, he pulls back an inch, swipes his tongue out to heal the marks, and smirks up at me.

"That's one."

Before I can ask what he means, his mouth is on me again. Not a bite this time, but with lips wrapped around my clit, sucking hard. His fingers work mercilessly over that sensitive spot inside me, keeping me full and writhing on him, chasing the pleasure that's already starting to build again.

As good as his bite feels, this might be even better.

All his single-minded focus, the rapt attention he fixes on me as he learns my curves and contours, discovers the places that make me moan and the ones that make me scream. The wet, obscene workings of his mouth, his tongue, slipping into the damp heat of my pussy and stroking deep.

I grind shamelessly against him, and when I grab for his hair, he doesn't correct me this time. He growls his approval into my skin and works me even harder, determined to throw me over that edge again.

One more crook of those fingers, a particularly skillful twist of his lips around my clit, and I shatter. It lasts even longer this time, wrings me through and leaves me panting and boneless, slumped helplessly against the chair.

Cas presses wet, messy kisses against my pussy, my thighs. He teases me with his fangs, laps at me with enthusiastic abandon, drawing out each little wave of pleasure.

I'm still shaking from the last tremors of my orgasm when Cas rises from his knees and scoops me up in one smooth movement. I tuck my head into his chest and feel the tender press of his lips on the top of my head as he carries me up the stairs and to the same bedroom he brought me to last time.

He sets me gently on the bed, and I can't help my groan as I stretch out on the plush duvet. I'm nearly lost to that bliss and my post-orgasm haze when I notice him lingering beside the bed instead of joining me, hesitating like he's not sure if he's allowed.

I'm not exactly sure how I get my muscles to cooperate, but somehow I manage to drag myself up and kneel at the edge of the bed. Cas stays right where he is, though his eyes darken and his mouth falls open on a tight, breathless inhale as I turn around and give him my back.

"Help me with the zipper?"

I feel the warmth of him behind me just before he touches me— my warmth, the warmth I gave him with my blood. He runs his hands over my hips, my waist, fingertips trailing up to the nape of my neck.

I shiver as he slowly works the zipper down, then grin at his low, rumbling growl when he doesn't find anything underneath. The dress is tight and structured enough that I don't really need a bra, and since he already tossed my panties aside somewhere downstairs…

"Ophelia," he breathes, and I can almost feel the last threads of his restraint getting ready to snap as I slide the sleeves down my arms and shimmy a little to get it the rest of the way off me.

I toss the dress aside and turn to face him, kneeling in front of him in all my naked glory.

"Cas," I murmur, and the pulse of hunger in his eyes sends a shock of arousal all the way through me.

His hands are on my hips a moment later, though instead of crushing me to him like I might have expected, he pauses. He takes a long, slow look at me, and when he meets my gaze again, there's something almost like awe in his expression.

"You're exquisite," he says, and the words sound like worship.

I reach for the row of buttons running down the front of his shirt, and he drops his hands to tug at the bottom of it where it's tucked into his tailored black pants.

But it's my turn.

I grasp his wrists and smirk up at him.

"Let me," I tease, echoing his words from downstairs.

For a moment, I think he won't comply. Those crimson fires in his eyes burn brighter, and he goes utterly still—a predator trying to decide if he's going to let his prey have a little fun.

But, with a smirk of his own and a firm grip on my waist—lower this time, fingers wrapping around to knead into the curve of my ass—he relents.

"Do your worst, Ophelia."