I cry out. Walls shatter as release crashes through me like an unstoppable wave.
And I can’t look away.
“That’s it. Keep looking at me.”
He removes his finger from my mouth once I release it, then grips my cheeks. He angles my face so I can’t look away.
My eyes flutter
Pat,right to the side of my face, sharpening my focus on him.
“Eyes on me,” he scolds.
He slows the motion of my hand, guiding me through the aftershocks until I stop trembling. Then he finally releases me.
“You tasted me,” he says, lifting my hand. “I think it’s my turn now.”
He sucks my fingers into his mouth. My eyes widen, caught between amusement and intrigue as I watch him savor each one.
When he pulls them free, it ends with a softpop.
“Delicious,” he murmurs. “Just as I imagined. You taste like a horrible idea—my favorite.”
“You can have more,” I purr, shifting closer and letting my body speak for me, “if I can have more, too.”
His gaze doesn’t waver, but the smile that touches his lips is colder now.
“As enticing as it is to play with that delectable little body, if you’re only offering it for more blood, I’ll pass. I don’t stoop that low. Not today.”
His sharp words slice clean. The insult is clear to me.
“I didn’t want your blood in the first place,” I growl.
“And yet, here you are, letting meeatyour pussy for dinner just to bleed me dry.”
I slap his chest with a wet smack, disgusted—and done with his bullshit. I rise from the tub.
“Shut the door on your way out, witch!” He shouts after me, laughter echoing through the chamber.
I grab a towel, drying myself quickly. With no clothes of my own, I settle into a plain tunic and cotton trousers from his wardrobe.
For once, I’m grateful we don’t share this wing with anyone else. No one needs to see me like this.
I reach my room quickly and find Ollie waiting patiently on my bed, only his head, wings, and arms visible beneath a pile of blankets.
He teleports to the door and lands on my shoulder.
“Me Misses! You are home, finally! A bath is drawn, and wine is ready.”
“I already bathed, Ollie, but wine sounds perfect.” I curl up with him on the couch, burying myself in a large fluffy blanket.
A BOTTLE OF WINE—AND a long-winded story later—Ollie is fully caught up.
He lounges in the corner of the couch, both hands wrapped around his tiny wine goblet.
“Me Misses still is on top,” he declares confidently, wiggling his toes.
“Oliver,” I sigh, amused, “out of everything that’s happened, how am I on top?”
