Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“But please use this method for all your future demands,” he winked as I rode him slowly.
“Okay,” I whispered.
I didn’t make any more requests after that, but I did reserve the right to whenever I wanted to get whatever I wanted. Which was a rather lovely prospect. A prospect that had me sailing right into my third—fourth?—orgasm of the evening.
We were naked, in bed, neither of us sleeping. I didn’t know what was keeping him awake. Surely it wasn’t the same thing that was eating at me.
For me, the lovely feeling of post orgasm bliss had worn off. It had faded quickly, as the TV timer turned off, the room bathed in darkness, illuminated only by a thin sliver of light coming from the open bedroom door from the light I’d left on above the stove light.
Or rather Colby had left the stove light on from when he was cooking. I didn’t even know the stove had a fucking light.
Because of that sliver of light, I could see the shape in the corner.
It was always there.
When I woke up in the middle of the night, he was standing there, staring.
Sometimes he was there, right in my face when I woke up, dripping blood on my cheeks. I didn’t react, of course. Since he wasn’t real. But fuck if he didn’t look real. Smell real.
I really should’ve seen a therapist.
Or drank more before bed.
Maybe I should’ve taken up running, becoming one of those people who ran miles a day, pumping themselves full of all those endorphins. Endorphins made you happy. And happy people probably didn’t see the ghost of the man who’d almost murdered them in their bedroom.
“He took my blood,” I whispered, unable to stand the silence of the room a moment longer. “Covered himself in it. Drank it.” I bit back the shudder my body forced upward with the memory. “In almost every manifestation of what contemporary society would call witchcraft, taking someone’s blood is taking some of their soul.”
Colby had been solid underneath me when I first started speaking. It was the first I’d spoken of anything to do with what he did to me. I was kind of springing it on him, but I doubted there was an ideal time to start talking about such things.
Well, ideally, I would’ve kept my mouth shut, never spoken of it, never polluting the air he was breathing with the poison simmering inside of me. But I couldn’t not. Couldn’t keep staring at him in the corner of the fucking room. It was selfish and weak. But I’d said it. I couldn’t unsay it.
Colby didn’t speak. His arms tightened around me for a split second, then he was up. The lamp beside me flickered on, illuminating the room and chasing away the murderous ghost.
Colby trudged across the room, snatching his jeans and the knife that was strapped onto them.
It glinted in the soft light of my bedroom.
The bed depressed as he entered it again, holding the knife.
My heart thundered in my chest as the knife got closer, my vision splitting between the present and the past. I could see my blood on the steel, dripping down on the pool that had accumulated around me.
“Sariah,” Colby’s voice was firm, ripping me out of my flashback.
He was straddling me with the knife. I couldn’t breathe.
He held the knife between us, my eyes glued to the sharp point. My scars started screaming as if it were tearing into them all over again.
But it was not my flesh that was opened. Colby drew the knife along his own skin, right on his chest. The cut wasn’t shallow either. He didn’t even flinch.
“Take my fucking blood,” he demanded. “Take my fucking soul, Sariah.”
I stared at him in shock as blood trickled down his torso, dripping onto me as he leaned forward.
I didn’t think twice when he came closer, my mouth against his chest before I could fully process what I was doing.
He tasted coppery, bitter. And somehow infinitely sweet. Power thrummed through my veins, taking ownership over something that had previously haunted my nightmares.
Colby was giving me something. Giving me him. And he hadn’t even fucking thought about it.
His blood slid down my throat as he leaned back, eyes on me. His gaze was hungry, turned on. He’d … liked this. Giving this to me.
Neither of us spoke. I put my hand on Colby’s chest, blood spilling onto my hand. I communicated what I wanted with gentle pressure. Colby let me push him down on the bed, let me straddle him.
His cock was hard against me.
And I was soaking fucking wet.
But I didn’t focus on that. That wasn’t my plan.
My hands fastened around the hilt of the knife, and Colby froze.
“I want to give you mine now too,” I whispered, my heart slamming against my rib cage.