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She is the best thing he’s ever tasted. Her blood is sweet—like strawberry ice cream, like honey candy, like perfection beyond words. Jasper could get lost in the nuances of it, could get drunk on her alone.
Tonight, she straddles his lap as he drinks and each press of her body against his is intoxicating. The delicious scrape of her painted nails against the back of his neck, the way her other hand tugs at the front of his dark t-shirt, the slight roll of her hips as she sighs—each bit of contact draws him deeper into this indescribable sensation. The scent of flowers—roses and jasmine and wildflowers he can’t quite name—overwhelms his senses with each new rush of pleasure.
His lips pressed against her neck, the swell of her blood in his mouth, the soft sounds she makes as the Kiss sweeps through her—this is as close to heaven as he’s ever likely to get. The only feeling that dares to rival this one is the ecstasy of her own fangs piercing his skin.
Eva moans his name close to his ear and he digs his fingers into her thighs. One of his hands moves up to the curve of her spine as she arches into him and he can’t even try to suppress the hungry growl that rises in the back of his throat. He wants her, in every sense of the word. His Beast demands that he feed, that he take, that he drink her dry, but with each mouthful of vitae, it quiets in his chest. And the angel whose pale legs bracket his hips, whose chest presses against his own, all but begs him to drink his fill. He can’t bring himself to deny her this—he’s never liked arguing with her anyway.
She sighs, her breath brushing past his cheek, and he can taste the pure pleasure in her blood. The love and lust and tender affection she feels for him bleed through the connection of the Kiss. He can taste the magic in her veins, the undercurrent of crackling lightning beneath that complex floral bouquet. And he chases that spark of deadly power as her vitae washes over his tongue.
“Don’t stop,” Eva murmurs, cradling his head as she presses it even closer to her neck. He groans against her, reveling in the taste of how much she wants this, wants him .
A growled purr rumbles through his chest. He wishes he could honor that request. If he could drink nothing but her for the rest of his godforsaken unlife—if there was no risk of going too far or taking too much—he’d be content in this bliss for the rest of eternity.
Jasper drinks slowly, trying to prolong her pleasure as well as his own. To feed like this might be considered taboo among most of Kindred society, but when it’s just the two of them—behind the locked and warded doors of their haven, no space left between their bodies—he can’t comprehend what’s so wrong about this. These moments are precious, exhilarating, laced with both desire and comfort. There’s a bone-deep sense of contentment that he’s never felt with anyone else. He could lose himself in her without complaint. This feels good, feels right—why shouldn’t he take what’s offered so freely? Why shouldn’t he enjoy making this creature of starlight writhe and moan beneath his mouth? Why shouldn’t he hold her close and give her whatever pleasure his broken, crooked form is still capable of giving?
He feels the delicious sting where her nails dig into his gray flesh and despite her earlier entreaty, he knows he needs to stop. He unclenches his jaw, releasing her outstretched neck from his bite like the sated predator he is, and drags his tongue across her pale skin to close the wound. Jasper lingers a bit longer than strictly necessary, catching the last few drops of her perfect vitae as they slide down her throat. She whines at the loss of him and he growls a wordless answer. He presses a kiss just below her ear in apology, another below her jaw, breathes in her scent and lets himself exist in this fading ecstasy. No racing heartbeats or heaving lungs, but still—her body slumped against his, her hand cradling the back of his head, cold forms twined in a desperately close embrace.
“You alright?” he murmurs against her skin.
She nuzzles against him and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.
“More than alright,” she answers, voice low and dreamy, “That felt…”
“Yeah…” Jasper agrees as she trails off, not needing to know what adjective she would settle on. The taste of her that still lingers on his tongue—her desire, her willingness, her satisfaction all mingling in delicious combinations—conveys more than words ever could.
Eva leans in to place a kiss on his neck, opening her mouth to drag her teeth across where his pulse once was. Someone playing at the idea of ripping his throat out should not be this enticing, and yet he melts beneath her touch even as her fangs are poised to tear into his veins. She won’t bite down, he knows; won’t let herself give in. Even with her Carna training, there is still always some danger of a blood bond forming between them if she drinks from him. They can’t risk that kind of indulgence without a very good reason, and tonight there is no need for it. But still, the press of those twin points against his neck—the promise of more —is painfully tempting. He makes an odd noise that falls somewhere between growling and begging, and he can feel her smile against him.
“You’re teasing,” he grumbles into the softness of her hair, her mouth still brushing against his neck as he speaks.
She pulls back to look at him again. “Only a little.”
Eva moves to kiss him and he welcomes her, her lips soft against his. One of her hands finds its way to his face as he presses his tongue into her mouth. He traces the sharp edge of her pretty fangs, swallowing every sigh and moan that escapes her lips. There is a push and pull to this, a deliciously familiar rhythm.
She rolls her hips against his, chasing a different kind of pleasure now, and pulls at the hem of his shirt, rucking the fabric up around his ribs. Jasper moves his hands from her thighs to her waist, stilling her movements as he breaks off the kiss.
“Hey, no need to rush,” he says with a grin, another growl creeping into the edge of his voice, “We have all night.”
“Are you… not in the mood?” There’s the slightest hint of worry in her eyes, a common fear that she’s overstepped or pushed him too far past his comfort zone. Intimacy has been an ongoing process for them, with many hard won battles against his own anxieties and self-loathing tendencies. But tonight those misgivings couldn’t be further from his mind. He banishes her concern with another insistent kiss before pulling back to meet her blue eyes again.
“I didn’t say that.” He traces one of the intricate floral patterns of her lace skirt, where it sweeps across her thigh. “I just said I wanna go slow.”
“Convince me, then,” she whispers with a grin that tells him she’s more than willing to play this game. She lets go of his shirt and drags one red nail across his skin, following the outline of a dark vein from his neck down his arm before carefully wrapping her delicate fingers around his wrist. Eva knows his pressure points just as well as he knows hers, and there is a mischievous sparkle in her eye—so at odds with her unhurried pace—as she guides his hand up her side, encouraging him to touch her. “Show me it’s worth the wait.”
“I think I can manage that.”
He bares his sharp teeth when he smiles. Their kisses are unhurried, his touch just light enough to tease. He laces his fingers through her hair, careful not to tug too roughly, even as she trails her fingertips along his ribs and up his spine in the same gentle pattern that always makes him purr. It’s a dance of hands roaming beneath shirts, of hips moving in slow circles, of words whispered into the breathless space between the two of them. And there is a playfulness in the anticipation before the first heartbeat, a joy in refusing to rush this.
They have time, after all, and unlife has taught them both patience.