Chapter Thirty-Three

Wondrous, Indeed.

“How, uh, how do you want to do this?” I asked. Sure, it was cliche, but I’d had a monumentally shitty day. Sometimes the snark is a fickle mistress.

I was trying desperately not to fidget, but was pretty much failing epically. Ira’d run us down to unlock the gate, and then I’d driven my car up to the ridge where he parked his. After that he’d carried my trunk up the hill—with one hand, the show off—while I’d hauled my bags. All off that stuff was now stored in his bedroom, and here we were.

“You should probably sit down,” he said. “Never know how you might respond to it.”

Actually, I had a pretty good idea, but I sank onto the mattress without argument. My heart was beating fast, which I’m sure Ira could hear, but he didn’t say anything. He probably thought it was nerves.

“Give me your left arm,” Ira said. “Please.

In my t-shirt I didn’t have any sleeves to roll up, so I just held my hand out to him. Ira crouched down in front of me, and I wanted to make a crack about going down on one knee, but now didn’t seem exactly the time. Tact, sometimes I can have it.

Barely-chill fingers lightly gripped my forearm, pushed it so it was facing Ira straight on, and turned it wrist up. His thumb swept over my pulse, startling me for some reason.

“Just relax,” he said quietly.

I nodded, and he leaned in to brush his tongue over my wrist. His body seemed the reverse of mine, tongue colder than his fingers. Mere moments later the tingles started, a pins-and-needles sensation that was strangely pleasurable as it danced up my arm. Making a noise, I shifted in my seat.

Ira looked up at me. “Yeah, that part’s weird, huh?”

“Maybe not the term I’d use,” I returned, but he’d already bent back to his task.

Another broad swipe of his tongue, and my skin thrilled more. I bit my lip, trying not to make my wriggling hips too obvious.

“One more should do it,” Ira breathed across the wetness.

My shiver made my arm jerk. Ira’s grip was suddenly steel around my wrist, and I couldn’t keep back the gasp. His gaze found mine and I turned to stone. There was a predator staring back at me. Ira’s black eyes had gone liquid, feral, dark as an endless ocean. Nothing had physically changed, but the sensation was unmistakable. It was like footage collected from a deep-sea dive. A fish cutting through the fathoms was impossible to see, but there was a suggestion of motion nonetheless—a shadow, invisible in the dark. Even as my mind settled on the term the correctness of it rang through me.

Shadows swam through Ira’s eyes.

Right about then he noticed the completely conspicuous bulge of my erection pushing against my fly. He smirked, a wicked grin worthy of any of mine.

“Ah,” he said, “I see. No more foreplay, then.”

Before the words could even register he was sinking his teeth into me. I screamed, full-throated and earnest as my nervous system lit on fire. He gulped, drawing his first mouthful of blood from my body, and my head went dizzy. Thanks to Ira’s prep-work everything was heady and right there, pain just sharp enough to pump my endorphins, pleasure sweet enough to drown.

Scream dying away, my right hand flailed around looking for something, anything, to ground me. Against my noise of protest, Ira drew back.

“Be still,” he commanded, my blood dripping down the corner of his mouth to his chin. I should have found the sight repulsive.

I didn’t.

At his forceful tone my cock jerked. I could feel a dribble of precome dampening my underwear. Trembling, I fisted my hand in the comforter, trying not to move. For a second I tried to close my eyes but as soon as I felt the sting of his teeth reentering me I gave that up. Watching was better.

He swallowed again, and I felt the drag as another mouthful of blood left me. My head spun at the feeling of the flow. It was more than just Ira’s ‘wondrous’ saliva sinking into my skin. The strange friction as my blood was pulled from me felt amazing. I’ve had my blood drawn and never sprang wood before, so I’m not sure what was up with that. But, honestly, I didn’t really care. This was necessary to Milly’s justice so I’d do whatever it took. My enjoying the hell out of it was just a bonus.

And then an already awesome experience got even better when Ira reached for my fly. With one hand Ira thumbed open my jeans and brought the zipper down. My cock had been obvious enough with the denim covering it, but now it was painfully plain how he was affecting me. He palmed up the outline of my cock, rubbing around the wet spot on the head.

His thumb stroked the spot, widening the dampness. I was already losing higher brain functions, but they fell away altogether when his hand dipped beneath my waistband and brought out my cock. A strangled noise crawled from my throat as Ira gripped me firmly, clenched almost too tight around me, the pull dry and rough. When he reached the bundle of nerves under my crown, he needled it with his thumbnail.

I cried out again, my voice shrill and sharp with the perfect pitch of pleasure-pain. His grip contracted, and the cry choked off. Relaxing slightly, he began to move again. Our eyes met as he stroked me. It was too much—the puncture of his teeth in my arm, the bruising grip of his hand up and down my skin, his dark eyes peering up at me, smug and controlling, as he held my wrist tight.

My orgasm was building, hovering on the cusp. I just wasn’t quite there yet.

“Ira,” I gasped. “Ira, please.”

What I was asking for I didn’t even know, but the vampire seemed to intuit my meaning. His teeth sank deeper, a flash of pure pain that was almost immediately offset by the suction of Ira’s mouth. My blood flowed into Ira’s mouth, and flowed, and flowed. I felt my fingers tingle. Ira was drinking my blood and he wasn’t stopping.

Wordlessly, or maybe my voice had just reached registers too high to hear, I came. Forgetting Ira’s command not to move, my hand shot out and gripped his head as my body arched and come all but exploded from my cock. His hand worked me through the aftershocks, slowing when I slumped forward.

He reached up to catch me and set me back against the bed. I felt his tongue swipe across the wound a few more times, and it tingled strangely.

“Jesus,” I moaned.

“But for short, call me Ira.”

I huffed, but didn’t have the energy to reply.

Ira stood up, casually licking my come from his fingers. If I hadn’t just came the sight would have been enough to interest me again. I had to turn away, my eyes fluttering closed.

“Hey, don’t go anywhere,” Ira said.

“I’m awake,” I sighed, jaw cracking.

“Good.” He couldn’t hide the laughter in his tone. “You need to down some orange juice real quick. It’ll help with the blood loss.”

My nose wrinkled. “I don’t like orange juice,” I muttered.

“Tough,” he said, voice brooking no argument. “I’ll be right back.”

I must have dozed off for a minute because he was kneeling by the bed with a tall glass of juice in a split second.

“Here,” he said.

Uselessly my hand flailed toward it. Ira’s hand wrapped around mine and pressed the glass into my palm.

“Thanks.” I yawned again, but managed to rise up enough to gulp down most of the OJ.

Ira took it back and set in the bedside table. “That’s probably enough for now.” Then the bed shifted as he climbed in beside me, wrapping his arm around my middle. It hadn’t seemed like we’d made up quite that much.

Sleepy, I blinked up at him and murmured, “We need to talk.”

“I know,” he said, stroking my hair. “But this is enough for now.