Page 137 of Thirst
“And I love you.” I curled an arm around his nape, keeping him there, turning my face for his kiss.
That led to me on my knees on a thick towel, sucking him off.
“Because you need to know exactly who’s in charge,” he told me. But we both knew he just wanted my mouth on his dick.
We had a late dinner—blood-whiskey for him, wine and a rare steak for me—then curled up on the couch.
My belongings had been delivered to his apartment, and he took in the canvases stacked against the wall.
“We need to set up your studio,” he told me. “You need sunlight, right?”
“Filtered,” I said. Unlike him, I could take small amounts of sunlight, and I loved the heat on my skin, the colors of daytime. “But yeah. I prefer natural light.”
“We can do that,” he said. “And you already made room in my closet.”
I bit back a smile. I’d seen how he’d eyed the clothes hanging next to his neat, black-and-white outfits.
“What about when all the clothes you ordered arrive?” He’d bought out an island store’s stock in my size, and more was on the way from shops in London and Paris.
“We’ll make room,” he returned gamely.
I tapped my lips. “And I was thinking one of my paintings would look good on that wall.” I pointed at the bare wall opposite the couch.
“You’re going to make some changes around here, aren’t you?” He didn’t seem upset, just bemused.
I grinned. “A blank canvas.”
He blinked, and I chuckled and kissed his cheek.
“Don’t look so worried. I love this place—it’s so you. I don’t want to change that. But maybe a little color?”
He pulled me onto his lap and took my chin in his hand so he could meet my eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not just mine anymore, it’s ours. And I don’t care what the fuck you do as long as I have you.”
“Good answer,” I said and somehow that ended up with me bent over the arm of his leather-and-chrome couch.
His voice dropped, rough and hungry. “Gods, I can’t get enough of you.”
“Then take me.”
“Oh, I will,” he said. “But first, I want to play.”
My pants were jerked off, my panties following.
“Play?” I asked.
He slid a finger into my wetness and drew it out again, painting my clit with knowing strokes that made me gasp.
“Yeah,” he said. “And I want some begging in there, too.”
I turned my head so he could see my pout. “What if I don’t want to?” I asked, poking the beast because it was so fun.
He dragged his teeth over my throat. “You’ll want it,” he said. “But just for that, I’m going to make you scream.”
And he did.
Epilogue
Cain
