Blood Match (Blood Type 2)

“I have hands?”

He laughed. A light merry thing that made her want to cling to the sound. To find a way to make all of his sounds her everyday reality. That sigh, that grunt, that laugh. Oh, she would die happy for one more laugh.

“You have hands,” he assured her. “And I would like you to get on them.”

“On my hands?” she asked, her brain slow to process.

“Hands and knees.”

He reached forward and flipped her over. She giggled as she adjusted her body to the position he had requested. Her ass was in the air. Her hands on the comforter. Her hair fanning out in front of her face. Beckham nudged her knees farther apart.

“That better?” she teased, swiveling in place.

His eyes were on her exposed lower half. They drifted up to her and he smiled. A heart-wrenching smile that knocked the breath right out of her.

Her Beckham.

Hers.

That smile.

Hers.

She wasn’t just his. Every inch of her heart, body, and soul didn’t just belong to this man—every single part of him belonged to her too.

She watched as he took his cock in his hand and aligned it with her opening. She could feel the head pressing against her. Her body clenched. It didn’t matter that she’d had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of her life. Her body was a greedy bitch. It wanted more, more, more. Never enough of Beckham. Never enough.

“Brace yourself,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back.

Almost before she could even comprehend what he meant, he thrust forward in one rough movement, seating himself inside of her.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned.

So full. So fucking full.

Holy shit.

She’d forgotten. Everything. Just everything. How amazing he felt. How big he was. How completely he filled her.

His hands gripped her hips, slicing past pleasure into pain and then mixing all together. If there weren’t bruise marks in the morning, she would be shocked. And she didn’t care. Couldn’t even find enough mental capacity to care. Because she wanted this—all that he had to give. The pain, the pleasure, the intensity. Nothing would ever feel as good as Beckham with his cock buried in her pussy.

Then he moved and proved her wrong.

He pulled back until the head popped out of her and then he sheathed himself once more. One more slow pull like a drag on a cigarette before the blissful exhale as he crashed back into her body. He rocked not just her entire body forward, but the bed creaked with the force of it.

She’d be lucky if she could walk tomorrow.

Or maybe she’d be lucky if she couldn’t…

He didn’t slow his pace. He drove into her over and over again. Not taking his time just connecting with her until she was face-first into the comforter, her hands gripping it in tight fists, and her body shaking with the need for a second release.

“So…close,” he got out through gritted teeth.

With another thrust, he buried himself in her and then reached to pull her up. He pressed her back against his chest, holding her tight to him. She lay her head on his shoulder as he started up again.

She felt his fangs drag across her exposed neck. She knew that if he bit her now she would completely lose it. Her orgasm would hit her and she’d probably black out. She could sense the tension between wanting to take what was his and how close he already was to release. And she still let him take complete control. Bite or no bite. This was the best fuck of her life. Beckham was the best anything in her life.

He leaned forward and she expected the bite. Anticipated it. And then he kissed her as he reached to strum her clit like a guitar.

She exploded a second time and Beckham followed, releasing her to fall back onto her hands as he emptied himself inside of her. When he was finished, he gently extracted himself. She fell into a heap on the bed and lay there panting. Her eyes drifted to where he was standing, an arm braced against one of the bedposts, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was magnificent. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She could live a thousand lifetimes and never find anyone better than the man before her.

She stood and crossed to the bathroom. After she cleaned up, she crawled back into bed. Beckham joined her a minute later. He pulled her against his chest with one hand draped across her naked torso.

“This is how I always wanted that night to go,” he confided against the shell of her ear. “What I imagined would have happened if I hadn’t lost control.”

“This is perfect.”

He kissed her ear and lapsed into silence. She lay there, her eyes drooping. She didn’t want this night to be over. She didn’t want to wake up and find that it had just been another miraculous dream. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop the exhaustion from hitting her.