Page 66 of Bite Me

“Don’t,” she begs.

I rub my thumb over her lips and across her cheek. “Say my name, Em.”

“Dacre. Please.”

I press her into the counter and sink my teeth into her neck until her orgasm snaps—and so does mine.

Chapter Twenty-One

Dacre

“Em, come on. Open the door.”

I’m replaying the whole ordeal as I stand next to her door. Luxxia’s hallways have bright, hand-spun glass globes on all the light fixtures, and every student decorates their door, so it’s a cacophony of color every step you take.

Immediately after we came to our senses in the kitchen, her eyes widened, and in the few seconds it took her to blink, she ran out the door. I’d have run after her immediately if I didn’t have to change out of my slacks.

I knock on her door again, noting the decorations.

She’s painted her door a mixture of light blue and pink, with little white stars covering it from top to bottom. Atop that are iridescent, glued-on stars, reminiscent of the sprinkles she uses on all her desserts.

I knock again.

“Go away,” she says, her voice muffled.

“Let’s talk about this like adults, okay?”

There’s no immediate answer and no movement inside. This is what I was trying to prevent, a colossal mess. I shouldn’t be here at her door.

I wait a few more minutes, and just as I think about leaving and coming back, the door opens.

“This doesn’t change anything. Don’t think it does,” she says.

I stare at her. I never thought it did, and I didn’t want it to. Holding out a box of Quik-Recover, I wait for her to take it. It increases red blood cell production temporarily. Usually used for emergencies, but Emma has never donated before. She might be sensitive to blood loss.

“Just because I let you . . . It doesn’t mean anything. Okay?”

“Okay . . . Feel better?”

Her cheeks flush, and I think she’ll shut the door in my face until I grasp a strand of her hair and twirl it in my fingers.

“So when you said you . . . didn’t think you could.”

“Dacre.”

Suddenly, I like my name in her mouth, like I like the faint taste of her on my lips and the smell of her on my clothes. I’ve tasted her, and that scent that is usually unbearable is now a welcoming hug to my senses. Drinking her blood felt as if my world, once scattered, jagged, and broken, suddenly mended. As if tasting her for mere seconds was a healing balm to all my senses.

“You’re a virgin,” I pry because the only way I know to get her to keep talking to me is to be annoying.

“No. Actually, I’m not. Not that it’s your business,” she whispers, peeking around me in the hallway to make sure no one is around.

“But . . . this person . . . didn’t make you come.”

“It wasn’t his fault. I’ve never . . . I had never. How was he supposed to know?”

Oh, Emma.

“Uh-huh.”