Blood Match (Blood Type 2)

Beckham nudged her foot, urging her into a wider stance. She moved to kick her heels off and Beckham gripped her hip.

“Leave the shoes.”

She raised an eyebrow as she turned to look at him.

“I like them.”

He leisurely trailed his hand back down to her ass. Around her cheeks and down the backs of her thighs. A map of all the things he liked that the heels accentuated.

“Bend over.”

“What?” she whispered.

“Bend. Over.”

She swallowed. Her core pulsed at the thought of what she was about to do. She was wet. His commands making her so hot and bothered.

With exaggerated slowness, she leaned forward until she had enough balance to bend over and grasp the footboard of the bed. Her ass was in the air and completely on display for him.

His hand slipped back up her thighs and then he was opening her wide for him, pressing two fingers in her already soaked pussy. She groaned at the movement. He slicked another finger through her lips and then circled the wet digit around her clit. She bucked against his hand, but he held her steady. He slowly finger-fucked her, drawing out her pleasure until her legs trembled and she thought her legs might buckle and she might come.

“Becks,” she pleaded. “Please.”

“What would you like, Little One?”

“Fuck me. Get inside me.”

“Don’t move,” he said.

He withdrew and she nearly fell over at the absence. But she somehow managed to stay upright. She heard his jacket fall to the floor along with the rest of his tux. Then he had his cock in his hand and it replaced his fingers. She moaned his name, seeing stars as he thrust deep inside of her.

They moved in tandem, taking and giving. This was primal. A claiming. She was Beckham’s. And Beckham was hers. They belonged together.

Her body exploded on the last thrust. She cried out, tightening around his cock still buried deep inside of her. She could be claimed by Beckham Anderson any day of the week. All days that end in y—and all days that don’t, for that matter.

He pulled out and she would have hit the floor if he hadn’t been there. He picked her up into his arms, lying her across the bed. She reached for him again.

“More,” she breathed.

He grinned that insufferably attractive smirk that had her hot all over again. Then he pushed into her. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer until their lips almost touched.

Their breath mingled.

Their eyes met.

The world stopped.

“Bite me,” she whispered.

“Reyna,” he groaned.

“I’m not like all the other girls. You’re different. I’m different.”

He slowed his movements. “I don’t want to get carried away like last time.”

“Then don’t.”

“I can’t promise…”

“I want all of you, Beckham,” she said sincerely, wrapping her legs around his powerful body. “And I want you to have all of me too.”

He started to push into her again. She knew the minute he decided to give it a try. His breathing slowed. His pupils dilated. His fangs flashed.

She felt the prick on her neck and sighed with sweet relief. Endorphins flooded her system. And she felt incredible. Beyond incredible.

This was nothing, nothing at all, like what it was like getting venom through an IV. She’d gotten too much in her system every time. She floated away and couldn’t have cared about anything.

But this was pure bliss. It was heaven. It was Beckham.

Nothing else could ever compare.

Her body ignited and she came apart a second time. She felt him release his hold on her as he too climaxed. She saw blood glisten on his fangs. His eyes were closed and his face was contorted into ecstasy. Blood dripped down his chin and landed on her chest. It should have terrified her, but all it did was heighten her orgasm. She could have gone a third time with the rush pushing through her system and him bellowing his triumph over her.

He slowly returned to himself. His eyes sweeping her naked chest dotted with her own blood. He eased out of her tenderly.

“Are you all right?”

“I have never been better.”

He tilted her head to assess her neck. “Those should heal quickly.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled.

“I stopped.” He seemed shocked that he’d done it.

“I knew you would.”

“We should get you cleaned up.”

“Wait,” she muttered, “I have something for you.”

“I think you gave me everything.”

“Stay here.” She wandered in her closet quickly, wiping the blood off of her with a towel. Then she extracted a carefully wrapped present. “Here.”

He’d found a tissue to clean up his face and slung his boxer briefs back on. She passed him the gift.

“What’s this?”

“A Christmas present.”

He frowned and then opened it. Inside was a stretched canvas print of the city skyline that she had taken when she was with him on that rooftop all those months ago. It was the night they had first really known they’d had feelings for each other. It was also the first night that Beckham had told her about the rebellion, about looking from a different perspective, about seeing Visage as it was and not just how it appeared.