Bound by Her Blood

by Mara Leigh

  “Please don’t call me that. You know I’m not a baby.”

  “Okay, princess.” He winks.

  I slap his chest lightly, and he moves his hands over the spot, grimacing as if I actually injured him. Then his face turns serious and he drops his hands down. “Joking aside, as a—as a recently made vampire, one who’d never fed from another vampire, not even her Maker—” He shakes his head. “If that’s true.”

  “It is.”

  “Given that, then you never should have been able to draw from me like that, with so much power, to feast from me as if…” He looks away.

  “As if what?”

  He shakes his head, refusing to look at me.

  I touch his forearm lightly. “Please, Gray. Tell me. How else am I going to learn?”

  “You fed from me like you were my mate. Like you needed my blood to survive.” He turns away from me. “And it made me so sodding hungry.”

  “Hungry?” I ask softly, my blood pumping wildly in my veins.

  His blood is pumping hard, too. I can hear it, I can smell it, almost taste it. I run my tongue over my teeth, my fangs pulsing with need. “Hungry for what?”

  “For you, princess.” The words come out low and hard as he turns toward me. “Ever since that night, I’ve wanted consume you, to take you in every way I can imagine.”

  “Then take me,” I whisper, barely hearing myself over the blood rushing hard in my ears. “Take me however you want, Gray. Because I can’t even describe how much I want you.”

  In a flash, I’m on my back on the mat.

  His long body presses against mine, and his lips devour me in a ferocious kiss that turns my body to liquid fire. I’m molten lava that’s consuming him, too. Gray is now part of me, our bodies melting into each other’s.

  His hand slides between my T-shirt and sports bra and squeezes, then he pushes up the fabric of the latter, forcing the rows of tight elastic over my breast. His fingers graze my nipple, lightly teasing and then tightening over the hardened bud.

  I groan into his mouth as a shot of pleasure transfers directly from my nipple to my sex.

  Holding his head, I change the angle of our kiss, wanting to drag his entire body into mine through my mouth and feeling like I can. Yet still I want more… So much more…

  Breaking the kiss, I press my lips against his neck. His vein throbs under my tongue, and I lick. My fangs graze his skin, my anticipation of the meal almost as good as the real thing.

  I’m beyond tempted to bite, but my instincts say I should ask his permission—and right now I’ve got other priorities.

  Kissing him again, I drape one leg over his butt and stroke the mounds of muscle with my calf. He shifts between my legs, his hardness stroking me through our clothes, through far too many layers of fabric. I tug down on his sweat pants.

  His neck pulls away from my lips, and he supports himself on his arms as he arches to press even harder against me, to stroke against me, thrusting his hips as he looks down into my eyes.

  “Are you sure about this, princess?”

  I nod, even as an image of Rock flashes in my mind, bringing guilt.

  Gray tweaks my nipple. I buck, and my sex presses up against his hard length. I gasp. “Please. Yes. Gray. I’ve never—”

  He stops suddenly, his body freezing above mine. “Never what?”

  I don’t answer.

  “You’re a virgin?”

  “Yes. No.” I shake my head, angry with myself for throwing ice water on the scene. “Okay. Yes. In the way that matters—that matters to me. Yes, I am a virgin.” I close my eyes for a long blink as the concern in his eyes becomes too much to bear.

  I need to explain. “My body…it’s been penetrated more times than I can count, before and after I transitioned. I’ve been violated, abused.”

  He pulls back, remaining above me, hand over my breast, but his erection is no longer digging against my sex.

  I want that delicious pressure back, but I also want him to understand why sharing this act with him, sharing the act with passion or tenderness, instead of hate or malice, is so important to me.

  “Technically, I’m not a virgin, Gray. But I’ve never made love, I’ve never had consensual sex.” Is that true after what happened with Rock? “I’ve never consensually had a man’s penis inside me.”

  The only thing that’s ever entered me with consent was Rock’s tongue, and remembering that feeling sends lust rippling through me.

  “And you want me…” His thumb flicks my hardened nipple.

  My back arches, and his erection grazes my body. His muscles tighten, his shoulders and biceps visibly change above me, growing, hardening.

  It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Yes, I want you,” I cry out. “I want you very much.” I want to do this with Rock, too, but he won’t. And even if Rock wanted to have sex with me, given his size, perhaps it’s best if he’s not my first.

  Gray stares into my eyes as if making a decision, then he bends down to kiss me, more tenderly this time.

  Slowly, he nibbles my mouth, tugging at my lower lip, then pulling my tongue between his lips, between his teeth. The kissing is delicious and erotic and tender, and new fires light inside me. I’ve never wanted anything this badly, and yet nerves stir inside me.

  Breaking our kiss, he rises to his knees and straddles one of my thighs. Slowly he removes his shirt.

  Once it’s revealed, I gasp at the beauty of Gray’s chest—smooth except for some dark hair in the center, and tanned. He isn’t nearly as big as Rock, but he’s all male. Gray’s chest is strong, and his abs are like ridges sculpted into the beach by strong waves.

  I reach up to touch him, to trace my fingers down the middle of his chest and over the wave-like shape of his abs, and as my fingers explore, his breaths become ragged and audible. His erection strains against his sweat pants.

  Standing quickly, he drags off his pants to reveal red underwear that leaves nothing to my imagination. His erection’s thicker than I expected, and much longer, and it bounces straight up against his belly when he draws down the briefs and tosses them to the side.

  Even Gray’s cock is elegant.

  I pull off my shirt, wanting to feel his skin against mine while we do this, then I struggle with the sports bra.

  While the stretchy fabric is caught over my face, Gray drags down my sweat pants, removing them in one fluid motion, and I finally free my body from the bra’s entrapment.

  Kneeling, he slides his hands up my legs, and his gaze rises to meet mine. The combination of utter lust and admiration I see in his eyes nearly slays me. Men have always found me attractive—it’s not hard to tell—but I’ve never had a man look at me like this. Like I’m a work of art and a meal all at once.

  I lift my hips, and he drags down my panties, sliding them over my ankles and toes. When they’re off he leans forward, slowly at first, then he nearly dives onto me. As we kiss, our hands explore each other’s bodies, and his hard rod throbs against my belly. Every skin cell it touches welcomes the pressure with delight.

  He breaks the kiss. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

  I nod.

  “I need to hear it, princess.”

  “Yes. Please. Now.” I spread my legs on the mat, looking up into his eyes. Will this hurt? Or will sex feel different when the penetration’s invited?

  I brace for the intrusion, but instead of plunging, he bends to kiss me again as he slides his fingers through my folds. The feeling’s delicious, but it’s not what I crave and I squirm with impatience.

  But I soon forget my urgency, absorbed instead by his long lean fingers that are tracing my folds and circling my opening as his tongue strokes against mine, mimicking what I want him to do between my legs.

  His finger presses inside me, and I gasp against his mouth.

  “You okay?”

  I kiss him in response, pulling his tongue hard into my mouth and sucking.

  He growls deep
in his throat and starts to move his finger inside me. His digit isn’t as thick as Rock’s tongue, but it’s longer and hits places Rock didn’t. It makes me want more. Need more.

  He breaks our kiss and I go for his neck.

  He pulls away, shaking his head. “Not a good idea, princess.”

  “Why not?”

  He brushes back my hair, then cradles my head with his forearm. “This will be too much if we feed. Trust me. Better if we wait. Okay?”

  I nod. Warmth rises inside me as his words confirm that a next time is on the table, when we haven’t even completed the act a first time.

  His finger withdraws, and I soon feel the press of something else, something hard and soft at the same time. Something much thicker than his finger.

  “Ready?”

  “Very.” My answer is certain, yet nerves invade. I don’t want to associate this act, or this man, with the abuse that I’ve suffered. I want this to be something new, something wonderful. Have I set my hopes too high?

  Guiding his erection with one hand, he pushes his hips forward, and with a sudden sharp thrust he’s inside me.

  I sense he isn’t deep, but the burst of pain, more like discomfort, radiates from the point of impact and then morphs into pleasure. My sex floods with desire.

  Looking into my eyes, he remains still, and I like the feeling of his body inside mine, the fullness and the ultimate intimacy of even his shallow intrusion. And I love the concern in his expression, mixed with obvious restraint as veins rise on his temples and his breathing rate increases.

  His hand slides from his penis onto my belly and then he slowly presses his hips forward, pushing into me farther.

  I gasp, my mouth dropping open.

  “You okay?”

  I nod. “I’ll tell you if it’s not. I promise.”

  He strokes my belly, then up between my breasts as he pushes farther in, slowly, moving millimeter by millimeter, until I can’t imagine him reaching any deeper. He stays still for a moment.

  My insides tighten around him, then he pulls back just as slowly as he went in, until he’s nearly out, and it feels better than I ever could have imagined.

  He repeats this motion again, and then again and again, slowly pushing in and out of me as he continues to stroke my belly and chest with his hand, and it’s good. So good. Finally I’ve had sex that feels good.

  He looks down into my eyes with so much tenderness and concern, and it’s amazing. It makes my heart fill, but while this is pleasurable—so pleasurable—I start to long for the lust, the hunger, the need, the kind of sex I saw at the club.

  I lift my hips to meet his next stroke.

  Sinking deeper, he gasps, his eyelids closing slightly, and my body adjusts to the deeper penetration, yielding to him, even more pleasure points waking. Sliding his hand under one of my thighs, he lifts it to bend my knee, and my foot slides onto his back.

  Repositioned, he rocks into me, slowly at first but building a rhythm, going deeper and faster as he continues. And I love it, I love each heightening moment of it, but still I want more.

  His hand slides down over my belly, and his thumb quickly finds my clit. He circles there matching the speed of his accelerating thrusts.

  My insides catch fire.

  “Gray,” I moan his name.

  “Princess,” he growls.

  I don’t mind the nickname in that tone of voice, and I feel an orgasm building inside me. As if he senses it, too, he increases his speed along with the pressure on my clit.

  I arch against him as my climax takes hold and my insides squeeze around his hardness, pulsing while the rest of me shakes with rippling pleasure.

  When it subsides, he strokes the side of my face. “And how was that?”

  “Fantastic.”

  “I’m glad.” He kisses my nose softly, and then slides out of my body, hissing slightly as his erection strikes my thigh.

  “You’re still hard,” I say with surprise.

  “That, princess, was not for me.” He kisses me, and the kiss is so delicious I almost get distracted, but my lust isn’t sated and clearly neither is his.

  “Take me again, Gray.”

  He rises up to look hungrily into my eyes.

  “Take me harder, take me however you need for your pleasure this time.”

  “That was plenty of pleasure, princess.” He kneels between my legs, bending over me and stroking my face.

  “You sure about that?” I take hold of his damp hardness.

  He groans and his hips thrust forward sharply, sliding against my palm.

  “You’re not too sore?” he asks.

  “Not a bit.” It’s not true, but I love the ache that I feel, an ache that makes me crave more.

  “Because sex between vampires…” He whistles between closed lips. “It can get pretty intense, some say violent.”

  “That’s what I want.” I witnessed passionate, hard sex in the club the other night, not to mention at Xavier’s court. And I want that. But consensually. I want to participate in the sex act, not have things done to me.

  I want sex that’s not about torture or control. What Gray and I just did gave me pleasure, but I sense that there’s more, that the experience will be even more powerful if Gray seeks his own pleasure too, and the idea of sharing pleasure with Gray, doing for him what he did for me…

  “I want you to fuck me,” I plead. “Really fuck me. Fuck me hard. I want it more than anything. Please.”

  Spreading my thighs with his legs, he tugs me down on the mat and then presses my knees toward my chest, opening my sex wide to him. With my legs trapped at my sides, he enters me, landing inside deep and hard.

  Already partially recovered from the first time, I gasp at the sharp pain of the initial penetration, then his hips begin to thrust.

  I moan, loving how he fills me, how he moves above me, his muscles flexing, his expression growing darker with lust. This—this deep, hard penetration is what I was craving, what my body knew it wanted even if it had never felt it with pleasure.

  My breaths synchronize with his thrusts, my pelvis rising to draw him in more deeply. Each hard stroke brings with it slight pain, but it’s hard to differentiate that from all the pleasure. Even the pain soothes a deeper ache.

  Our eyes make contact and my breath catches in my chest. There’s nothing else in the room anymore, nothing in the world, nothing exists but the universe I see in Gray’s eyes. His eyes swallow me whole, draw me down into a deep cave where it’s dark and light at the same time, where I’m safe and no one can ever find or hurt me.

  I’d be happy if this went on forever, if we spent the rest of our lives joined this way, moving together with power and passion. Just like this.

  But he shifts, tucks my legs over his shoulders and moves his hands to the mat.

  I can no longer see his face as I’m sandwiched now, folded under him and unable to move at all as his pumping accelerates. Each thrust goes even deeper and strikes places he didn’t reach earlier. Friction from his speed heats my insides and he’s so deep his balls slap against me, the wet sounds of our act heightening my desire, exciting me as his cock pounds inside me.

  I love this, too. I love it. I love every part of it. But still, I want more. I want to move. I want to be a more active participant.

  As if reading my mind, he pulls out, then guides me onto my hands and knees, pulling my hips back and running his fingers through my burning, wet folds.

  “From behind, it will feel even deeper, princess. Stop me if it hurts.”

  Looking back over my shoulder I assure him with my eyes and watch his expression change as he pushes into me, and I love the strain and intense pleasure so obvious on his face as I squeeze around him.

  One hand on my shoulder, one on my hip, he drives again, pulling me back against him, and I rock, shifting back and forth on my knees, using my newfound power as we find our rhythm together, my body increasing the force of each of his thrusts, so powerful and deep.

>   Each time he lands I cry out, and each strike brings more pleasure than the last until I feel sure I’ll explode from the ecstasy.

  “Ready?” he asks, and I wonder what could possibly be next. I’ve finally reached a point where I’m not craving more.

  But after his question, his speed really takes off. He moves, we both move, at the pace of a thoroughbred racehorse—no, a cheetah, faster than a cheetah. He drives so quickly I know the human eye would barely be able to detect what’s happening between us; it’s so fast the friction between us ignites. I feel sure we’re on fire.

  I cry out, my back undulating as I meet each thrust, my body moving in ways I had no idea it could. In ways it knows only by instinct.

  He pulls out and I gasp. Then, in one fluid motion, he lifts me up off the mat as he stands. He turns me to face him and pins me against the wall with his body as he impales me again on his cock. I wrap my legs around him as he slams into me so hard and so fast I worry we’re shaking the building’s foundations, that an earthquake will register.

  I hold onto his shoulders as he pounds. My fangs are so close to his neck. His vein is so tempting. I lick his throat.

  With a shouting exhale, he pulls out, sets me down and turns me to face away from him. Then he drives into me again without warning, pressing my body into the wall as he pounds, the skin on my lower belly rubs until I wonder if he can feel the stones through my flesh.

  He tugs my hips from the wall and I arch my back, and this changes the angle and increases the depth. His finger lands on my clit.

  With each hard pulsing stroke, his finger rubs the overly sensitive bud, and I put my hand under my face to shield it from the stone and to stifle my screams of pleasure as my body convulses in an orgasm so intense—so different from the ones before it—I can’t even compare. My entire body takes part in this climax, every muscle and nerve joining together in spasms of pleasure.

  “I’m going to come,” he shouts. “Fuck, princess, the things you do to me.”

  It doesn’t seem like I’m doing much of anything, but his speed increases again, his hands tightening on my hips, and his thrusts grow more erratic, more forceful, more deep.

  He groans and I’m still having aftershocks from my orgasm as his seed explodes inside me.