Nectar (Nectar 1)

“We’ve got all day,” he whispered this huskily and then moaned. He sounded so sexy, so domineering.

She tried to go somewhere else in her mind. She envisioned him in his vampire form, hoping she’d push away the orgasm. But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t turning her off. She could feel her body responding to his thumb probing her at that knot of nerves while he slowly slid in and out of her and gently nipped at her shoulders, her earlobes. She caught sight of his shoulders, part of his back, muscles rippling. He really was quite the specimen of a man.

A man? No. Not a man. A vampire. A monster.

A dangerous deadly monster with fangs who had forced her, who had held her captive, who had flawless smooth skin, gorgeous eyes, soft lips, warm hands, and so many muscles. No! A monster. She had to keep a clear head. But she couldn’t. Something was wrong in her head, it was like something changed.

Not lovemaking…fucking…fucking dangerous fucking! Rape. Kidnapper. Fuck, argh!

She couldn’t hold it off any longer. She needed a release, needed this torture over with. Her clit was on fire, begging her to

Just.

Let.

Go!

Ah, fuck it.

She began to rock against his thumb, then he let go of her arms so she grabbed his biceps and squeezed, her mouth open but no sound coming out as her body was wracked with spasms. It felt like there wasn’t any air in her lungs. Her legs began trembling, then her whole body joined in and was trembling, hard.

“That’s it, give in. Say it, baby; say my name. Say it now,” he urged her, pumping away and twirling his thumb around and around and around.

No. No way.

She swallowed hard and shuddered, hitting that peak but doing it soundlessly and then finding a way to halt it before falling totally over the edge. She shook her head, no, defiant, she wouldn’t say it. Her orgasm was cut short and she desperately wanted him to let go so she could close her legs. She was limp but it was like her crotch was still on fire, reaching for it, sensations rolling, almost vibrating. Her body wanted the rest of that finale but she’d cut it short and now she chewed her lip and whimpered, pushing the sensations back with all her might, determined to win.

He glowered at her, “Really?” Fury radiated from him. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head again and started pounding harder into her, giving her what could only be classified as a punishment fuck. It started to hurt, really hurt, as he slammed against her pelvic bone. He bared his fangs and glared with rage in his eyes. Fear spiked hard in her, sending the sensation of a thousand pine needles through her heart. He lowered his head and sank his fangs into her throat.

She squealed in pain, “Ow. Stop. No.”

She could feel his anger, like it was rushing into her, entering her own veins, replacing the blood that left her. Rage pulsed through her with the tempo of a heartbeat; it felt like hot air bubbles pushed through the veins in her throat and then radiated through her body.

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump --- so..much..rage.

The rage felt like it was pushing, bubbles popping, and then something sour was snaking through her torso, her limbs, her digits. She wanted to vomit but the bile stayed in the middle of her throat. She was limp like a dead fish and her veins got heavy and cold, felt full, full of something thick and nasty. Sludge.

He lifted her and suddenly he was on his knees with her straddled on his lap. He had her bottom in his grasp and was grinding her into his hardness. Her hips and pelvic bone felt badly bruised; he was being relentless. She was raw, sore, like a ragdoll,

“Stop. Please stop.”

She found the strength to pound once on his chest before her arm fell to her side. He didn’t stop. He pulled her wrists behind her back and held them with one hand. He kept drinking and his free hand went around her throat. She was lightheaded and going limp. He let her wrists go and then that hand dug into her butt cheek. He pushed a finger inside her ass as he pulled her up higher on his lap. She let out a blood-curdling scream and tried to struggle. But it couldn’t have curdled her blood as he just kept right on drinking it.

Pounding and drinking and then making a snarling sound, like a wild animal. Kyla was having trouble breathing as his fingers tightened around her throat and her vision started to blur. She could hear him gulping, swallowing fast, like when someone tips a pop bottle all the way back and just glugs it down.

“Tristan,” she pleaded feebly.