Blood Claim Laura Mykles (best classic novels txt) 📖

the mattress he had a good view of his cock jutting out from his belly, its dusky rose length curved to his navel, clearing the bed by several inches in its erect state. Beyond his legs, between them, stood sculptured slabs of pale marble thighs and a pendulous sac surrounded by curls of coarse hair. He couldn't see Malcolm's cock, but he could feel it bump against the curve of his ass now and then, and he could see it in his mind's eye, knew it was inches away from his open and ready ass, glistening, thick, and heavy.

He tried to lower his groin enough to touch the bed, to gain friction on his cock's head, but another hard, stinging slap to his already sensitive butt cheek stopped him. He couldn't stop the choked groan that escaped. Flushed and fevered, every nerve singing for relief, his mind felt as if it was stuffed with cotton, disoriented and slow. Only his cock and ass seemed to have a clear connection with his brain, both parts overwhelmed by sensation and need. But every time Hunter's passion began to arch toward climax, Malcolm changed his tactics and the glow faded, then built again under a new rhythm of stroking caresses.

Finally, the touch stayed long enough that Hunter felt the stirring of an orgasm coiling deep in his abdomen. It gathered energy, his entire focus narrowed to the pattern of licks and jabs on his opening and ass, building higher and higher toward the point of no return. He sensed more than heard the low, deep murmur in his head say something he couldn't comprehend at that moment, and then, like a light bulb gone bad, all stimulation was instantly gone, taking with it the building buzz and pressure of climax.

He pounded a fist on the bed sheets, uncaring if it earned him punishment. But nothing happened, absolutely nothing. Malcolm's solid presence remained behind him, but the vampire had apparently moved back enough that no part of him touched Hunter.

Hunter's first urge was to roll off the bed, away from this maddening creature, but that little murmur in his head told him that would be the short and sure path to non-survival. Besides, he didn't want this to end. He never wanted it to end.

"Bastard, you really are a monster! You're killing me here. Do something. Please.” Ass in the air, thighs spread, face pressed into the bed, Hunter knew he must look like an eager rentboy, a slut, a whore begging for a hard fuck.

"I will decide when and how I kill you, pet. And when I do, rest assured, I will not start at your delightfully red, handprint-marked ass."

A flush of embarrassment heated Hunter's face. Then inspiration hit him. His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath came in shallow pants triggered by excitement and fear.

Forehead taking the strain off his upper body, Hunter spread his knees as far as they would go, squatting low to the mattress, balancing his weight so he could reach around behind and grab his ass with both hands. He parted his cheeks, exposing his opening, then tightened the ring of muscle and relaxed it, a wordless beckoning to Malcolm's cock.

A sudden sharp intake of breath let him know he had the vampire's attention, and that awareness sent a thrill through his body, making his ass wave slightly. A hand fell on his hip and stayed there, long fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to leave bruises. Hunter imagined the blue-black fingerprints on his hip, the red, glowing handprints on both sides of his ass, the healed but still tender bites on his back and cock. His balls pulled up and his dick tapped his belly, pulsing to the beat of his racing heart.

But still nothing happened. No spank, no bite, not even a ghostly hint of a breath on his skin.

He presented himself more fully, but when he remained untouched, Hunter moved one hand to his cock and pushed it back between his splayed legs, pointing the dusky shaft, its tip glistening with dabs of creamy white pre-cum, directly at Malcolm. He swayed back and forth, rubbing the creamy liquid into the sheets, releasing the musky, pheromone-drenched scent into the air. The hand on his hip twitched. Hunter closed his eyes to clear his mind, knowing the whispering murmur was still there, quiet, and let his mind form the question he wanted to ask out loud but didn't dare to. Bored with me already?

The room stayed silent as a tomb for several agonizing seconds. Then Hunter felt himself lifted and flipped in the air. He landed on his back on the mattress, eyes wide open, legs folded back at the knees so his heels rested on the bed, his raised hips resting on Malcolm's muscular upper thighs, legs bracketing Malcolm's thick, firm waist. His wrists were captured in a loose grip at his sides. The air had been knocked out of him, and his head spun.

Malcolm leaned over him, eyes blood red, fangs extended, lips curled back in a hissed growl that vibrated through every fiber of Hunter's body. Malcolm was magnificent and deadly-looking—power, animal attraction, and control mixed with stamina and amazing strength. He was the predator at the top of the food chain.

The vampire slowly bent down until he could latch on to Hunter's lower lip with his teeth. Tugging on it, he let it slip out of his grip centimeter by centimeter. The tension split open the healing bite Hunter had given himself earlier so that a small bead of blood welled to the surface when Malcolm released it.

Hunter could feel the warmth of the blood on his lip. Eyes locked on the vampire's unearthly gaze, he deliberately pressed his lips together, smearing the droplet over both of them, then parted them slightly, the invitation clear.

"So vibrant, rich, so alive. No one has ever made me miss the warmth of being human, until now.” Lips only inches away from Hunter's, Malcolm