Maybe the blood we drank was laced with some kind of aphrodisiac.
Because the moment he pulled out of me that first time, our breaths ragged, hearts pounding, he swept me up effortlessly into his arms and carried me to the bathroom. I still didn't know how my husband managed it.
The bathroom was cramped, nothing like the spacious one in his bedroom back home, designed for just one person. Yet somehow, he made it work. His touch commanding despite the confined space, as he pinned me mercilessly against the wall opposite the shower. His mouth and fingers worshipping every inch of me, like he was showing me how much he loves me.
It didn't take long before pleasure crashed over me again. Sharp and intoxicating, until I trembled beneath him. He chuckled, low and dark as he cleaned me, a satisfied predator savoring the result of his conquest.
When we stepped out of the shower, the air still thick with warmth and tension, I couldn't help it.
