And more.
Smashing his hips into my thighs, he sucks on my neck like he’s trying to drag my very spirit out of my veins.
There’s a moment of resistance, as if my body doesn’t want to give up my essence.
Then a gush.
As my blood floods his mouth, my body explodes, my pussy flooding my release all over his pulsing cock.
His grip on me loosening, we jerk together, muscles spasming.
Mine with release. His with surprise.
I hear him cursing inside my head, but I’m so far gone the words mean nothing to me.
La petite mort. The little death. I know that’s what having an orgasm has been artistically referred to. The chance to die a little and be reborn.
But there’s nothing little about this death.
I’m actually dying.
My life being consumed by the vampire with his cock stuffed inside me.
And it feels amazing.
It feels exactly what I always imagined Heaven would be like. The euphoria has me flying so high, I’m on an entirely different plane of existence. Mindless in my bliss.
Until I’m not.
Suddenly the clouds are yanked away from me and my wings start to give out. Clipped and failing me.
Falling back down, I become aware of things one by one.
The walls of my sex fluttering, my muscles weakening.
My limbs growing heavier.
My pulse slowing.
Asher still on top of me, smothering me with his weight as he continues to feed on me with no sign of stopping.
I want to tell him to stop. That he’s had enough.
That I don’t truly want to die.
I’m scared.
But I don’t have the energy for it. I can’t even think it.
Holding my eyes open becomes so difficult, my lashes drop and blackness closes in.
Air becomes elusive. Even breathing takes too much focus to complete.
My heart beats slower and slower, becoming a soft tick in my ears. The tick of a clock marking the last seconds of my life.
Drink, Asher urges after twenty ticks.
Something sweet drips onto my tongue, but I don’t have the energy to do anything but let it slide down my throat.
Chloe, drink, Asher demands, his voice cracking like a whip and pulling me out of the darkness. Drink and receive the blood of your fated.
I’m tired. So very tired.
I’d rather sleep forever.
But the words he spoke… they trigger a memory. A memory of Father McCall standing before me in his robes and offering me a gold chalice.
Deliriously I hear Father McCall saying, “The Blood of Christ.”
The chalice is pressed to my lips.
Wanting to receive my Lord, even though I’m not worthy, my mouth moves, my throat swallowing.
Yes, that’s it, my love, Asher encourages me. Drink and be reborn.
The words are wrong, and so is the taste, but I obey. My throat working hard to swallow down all that is being offered to me.
But it doesn’t end.
I keep expecting the chalice to run dry, instead the flow of the wine increases. Filling my mouth and some spilling out of my lips.
Starting to gag and choke, I try to shove the chalice away but it’s unmovable.
Let us never be parted again.
The wine is warm, oddly warm, and thick. The taste both sweet and deep. With rich, smoky undertones I can’t quite place.
With each struggling gulp I can feel my strength returning to me. The communion renewing me. Giving me life.
“Live and be with me forever,” Father McCall says in my head.
But why would he say that?
That’s not part of the Eucharist… and isn’t he dead?
My eyes fly open and I see Asher’s beautiful face above me, his eyes glowing in the darkness.
Confused and disturbed, I turn my head to the side and push his arm away.
“No, you must drink more,” Asher growls and grabs me by the hair, turning my head back.
Pressing his bleeding wrist against my lips, he tries to push more of his blood into my mouth.
I fight it, gagging, choking, and spitting it out.
Making an angry, demonic sound, Asher jerks his hips back, sliding his cock out of me, then rams back in.
More, Chloe.
Trying to shake my head no, I resist giving into the spike of pleasure he just drove into me. Refusing to allow my eyes to roll into the back of my head. Refusing to allow my mouth to open on a moan.
Determined to have his way, Asher drops his chin, his gaze searing into me, and pulls his hips back again.
I try to brace myself. I try to prepare myself for another spike of pleasure.
But he slams deep this time and doesn’t stop. Hips slapping hard against the fleshy part of my thighs.
Slapping hard against my mark.
Over and over. Clapping against me like thunder while lightning flashes in front of my eyes and ignites my core.
The electric response of my mark is unbearable, and it takes every bit of willpower I have to keep from crying out.
Holding me by the hair, he grinds his wrist against my mouth, pressing my lips into my teeth.