The halls stretch out before us, carved stone and shadowed alcoves flickering with light. Figures move along the edges—men and women, pale-faced, their eyes glinting like shards of glass in the dim. As we pass, one by one, each of them bows their head to Grayson. No words. Just silent deference, like the very air bends around him.
It doesn't feel like respect. It feels like recognition. Like they know exactly what he is—the strength coiled in his frame, the command in every step he takes—and I realize in a way I hadn't before: Grayson isn't just powerful. He is power, distilled.
The realization hits hot, startling. My pulse stumbles, then races faster, and heat blooms low in my belly, sharper than the whiskey's burn. Somehow, impossibly, the ache pulls tighter at me—I'm not just tethered to him. I'm tethered to everything he is. My body answers before my mind can protest, each bow we receive winding me tighter with a dangerous, thrilling need.
My thighs press together before I can stop them, the ache clawing, insistent, torn loose by the weight of Grayson's presence among his own kind. I stumble slightly, heat flooding my cheeks, but his arm is already there at my waist, steadying me like he expected it.
One of the vampires—a woman with eyes like glacial ice—lingers a fraction longer in her bow. Her lips twitch, almost a smirk, like she can scent what's unraveling in me. Shame prickles across my skin, but it only makes the pulse between my legs sharper, more demanding.
Grayson's hand slips lower, palm cool over the curve of my hip, his touch grounding but claiming all at once. His hazel eyes slash toward the woman in warning, and she drops her gaze instantly. Possessive, absolute.
The heat in me roars at the display, my body tightening as if I'd been the one staked by his authority. Every step he takes pulls me deeper into him, until the act of following turns into surrender itself.
He leads me deeper until the halls break open into a chamber unlike anything I expected. The space is vast, lofty, a masterwork of contradiction—modern lines cut sharp against gothic bones. Black steel and smooth glass meet arched stone doorways and carved beams. The walls are dressed in shadow and texture—velvet drapes heavy enough to swallow light, polished obsidian shelving stacked with books bound in cracked leather and fresh, gleaming spines alike.
A low, king-sized bed commands the space, its frame wrought iron twisted into intricate patterns, dark sheets stretched tight, offset by the faint gleam of chrome lamps and pale floor-ceiling windows shrouded in sheer black. On one wall, a massive flat-screen television is mounted, its dark surface currently blank, a silent promise of distraction or entertainment. A black dresser stands against another wall, its finish mirroring the polished stone floor. Tucked into a corner, a large desk is piled high with papers, neat stacks warring with loose sheets, hinting at a mind constantly at work, strategizing even within this sanctuary. The fire burning in the hearth throws fractured light across it all, a glow that seems to pulse in time with the ache pulling at me.
The room feels like Grayson refined—ancient and eternal, but sharpened with modern precision. Power dressed as comfort.
I stop just inside the threshold, my knees weak, my pulse hammering. The heat inside me flares sharper in this place that feels so completely his. A den. A sanctum. My skin prickles as though the walls themselves know me, claim me, the same way he does.
The memory of the vampire woman's smirk still burns my cheeks as I step into his room, that look of recognition scraping across my skin. The heat between my thighs only sharpens, shame and want tangled so tightly I can't tell one from the other. Crossing into this space feels like stepping willingly into his possession.
"Cassidy..." his voice wraps around my name, low and frayed with something I couldn't name, a command and a plea woven into one. The sound dragged through me, unraveling whatever walls I had left.
The heavy door shuts behind me with finality, sealing us into his world, and my hand found his without hesitation. His palm swallows mine, his grip sure, unyielding—it isn't just his strength I feel, but the inevitable pull of him, of us. Every step closer bound me tighter to the gravity of his presence, as if resistance had never truly been an option.
"I want you so badly," he growls, the words pulling taut the invisible tether that has already bound us long before this room, this moment. Desire radiates from him—undeniable, unrelenting—and I feel myself sway into its gravity, willingly caught. There is no space left for doubt, no air between us; only the inevitability of surrender, the dangerous promise of what came next.
His words settle over me like a warm, heavy blanket, steady and impossible to shake off. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don't feel the need to run. My breath catches, my chest too tight with everything I've been holding back. The space between us thrums, charged, and I find myself leaning into it before I even know what I'm doing.
His gaze pins mine—hungry, unflinching—and the ache I thought had dulled surges back with brutal force. It coils low, hot, pulling every rational thought under. I want safety. I want escape. But right now, I want him more.
I move first. A small tilt forward, a surrender disguised as hesitation. My lips brush his—brief, testing—and the second I feel his answering heat, restraint shatters. His hand finds the back of my neck, steady and claiming, and the kiss deepens, fierce, desperate.
The taste of him floods through me, wildfire where I've only known ice. My fingers clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, needing the feel of him as if closeness itself will hold me together. The trembling that once came from fear now shakes loose from something else entirely—need, raw and unrelenting.
My hands claw at his shirt, fumbling until he pulls it over his head in one fluid motion. My fingers find the button of his jeans, fumbling with the zipper. He kicks them off. As he sheds his boxers, I can't help but stare at his cock—hard, thick, and pulsing with arousal, the tip glistening with evidence of his need for me. It's the first time I've actually seen it, and the sight is almost overwhelming. I can't look away, mesmerized by the raw, primal evidence of his desire. It's both exhilarating and intimidating, but I can't deny the answering ache between my thighs.
His hands slide under my shirt, palms cool against my skin, and I lift my arms as he peels it off me. My bra follows, then my shorts and panties, until we're both fully bare, nothing hidden. It's just us—skin against skin, nothing between us but heat and need.
Grayson's lips crash against mine in a searing kiss—slow at first, teasing, then deep, insistent. His tongue claims my mouth, forbidden and addictive.
I moan, arch into him, my body already begging. His skin against mine is a shock—cool but burning, making every nerve scream. I press closer, desperate, my nipples grazing his chest. The contact shoots sparks to my core, wetness slicking my thighs.
He pulls back just long enough for our eyes to meet, the question hanging in the air. There's no going back from this. But I don't want to. I nod, small, certain, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bed.
He sets me down gently, almost worshipping, but the hunger in his eyes is anything but soft. His skin is smooth, cool beneath my palms, and I can't stop touching him—shoulders, chest, the hard plane of his stomach. He lets me explore, muscles tensing under my hands, until the ache is too much.
His hands skim my sides, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. I shiver, hips rocking forward of their own accord. He dips his head, mouth hot against my throat, my collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat beading on my skin. I whimper, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. He chuckles darkly against my neck, then sucks hard enough to leave a mark.
His fingers find my clit, circling with just the right amount of pressure to make my hips buck. I'm wet, slick against his fingers, the sound obscene in the quiet room. He groans against my skin, the vibration sending shocks through my body. My thighs tremble, my clit throbbing under his touch.
"Grayson, please..." I moan, arching against him, desperate for more.
A low growl rumbles in his chest. "Please what? Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you inside me. Please, I need it..."
He smirks, enjoying my desperation. "Beg me for it."
"Please, Grayson," I whimper, trembling with need. "I'm begging you. Fuck me. I need your cock inside me. Please..."
I pull him down with me, our bodies aligning perfectly. He braces himself over me, arms corded with tension, and for a moment we just breathe together, the anticipation coiling tighter. When he finally presses forward, it's slow, deliberate, every inch a claim.
He feels huge inside me, my pussy clenching around him. I gasp, arching into the feel of him, and he stills, letting me adjust. His eyes find mine, checking, always checking, and I nod, urging him on. He starts to move, steady rolls of his hips that have me seeing stars. The trembling in my thighs becomes a shake, my nails digging into his back as the ache coils tighter, tighter—
"Grayson," I breathe, needing him to know this is more than just physical. "I—"
"Say it again," he cuts me off, voice ragged. "My name. I want it on your tongue when I make you come apart."
I swallow hard, lost in the intensity of his gaze.
"Grayson." It's barely a whisper, but it seems to snap the last thread of his restraint. With a growl, he captures my lips again, the kiss filthy, carnal.
Every thrust sends shockwaves through my body, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me with relentless precision. I'm trembling, sweat-slicked skin sliding against his, every nerve on fire. The ache inside me coils tighter and tighter, a molten knot of need begging for release.
Our bodies slam together—frantic, raw, animal. His hands are everywhere, pinching, squeezing, gripping until I gasp. His mouth drags across my collarbone, sucking, biting, leaving fire. The metallic scent of him fills me, sharp and dizzying. Skin on skin. Wet, desperate sounds.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Grayson growls, punctuating his words with a deep, brutal thrust. "So wet for me. You love being fucked like this, don't you?"
I moan helplessly in response, his filthy words sending me spiraling closer to the edge.
Heat builds—too much, unbearable. He slams deep, hitting the spot that makes my vision stutter, white at the edges. Again. Again. I meet him stroke for stroke, nails raking down his back, drawing pinpricks of blood. The copper tang mingles with his scent, heady, intoxicating. My legs tighten around his waist, urging him deeper.
"Yes," I gasp, nails raking down his back as he thrusts deep. "God, Grayson, yes. Don't stop."
He groans against my neck, hips slamming into mine with even more force. With every pulse inside me, I know—David could never touch this, never reach this hunger. Only Grayson. Only him.
"Never," he growls. "Never stopping. You feel so fucking good."
In one swift motion, Grayson yanks me closer, his lips finding the sensitive skin of my throat. I feel the sharp sting of his fangs piercing my flesh, a delicious pain that only heightens the pleasure coursing through me. The sting should terrify me. It should wrench me away from him. Instead it brands me, blood and fire sealing into something I could never undo. He groans against my skin as he drinks deeply, the pull of his mouth in time with the thrust of his hips. The sensation of him feeding from me while he fucks me is almost too much to bear, the dual points of pleasure sending me hurtling towards the edge.
It snaps all at once, pleasure crashing over me in a hot, blinding rush. I'm drowning in it, every nerve alight, as wave after wave washes through me.
"Grayson!" his name torn from my throat like a prayer and a curse all at once.
With a roar, Grayson follows, his cock spurting hot jets of cum inside me. We collapse together in a boneless heap, sweat-slicked and panting. His cum leaks out of me, sticky on my thighs.
When his fangs finally retreat, he licks the wound closed, my pulse still racing under the seal of his mouth. I'm trembling, though I don't know if it's from climax, from the blood he's taken, or the truth that some part of me will never belong to anyone else again.
I trace the already-fading marks on my neck, a chill whispering across my skin. The ache that haunted me for days is sated again, but in its place is a new awareness—a connection that hums in my bones. I look at him, his eyes still glinting with possession, and I know there's no going back from this. Not from him.
"That's it," he murmurs, thumb grazing my pulse. "You're mine now, Cassidy. In every way."
I shiver, the weight of his words sinking deep. My body still thrums with his claim, but a phantom warmth lingers on my cheek – David's kiss, a promise of normalcy. I'm caught between two worlds, and in this moment, suspended between blood and a stolen kiss, I'm not sure which one I'm truly running towards.