Blood And Bondage
“Oliver shouted, setting Anaïs down on the chair next to the bed in her suite. Her knees buckled at the forceful gesture. He took a Swiss Army knife out of the pocket of his trousers and cut a tiny slit across his left wrist. “Here. Drink. Before you topple over and faint.” Anaïs shook her head in vigorous denial. She didn’t want his blood. At least, not like this. She needed to be the aggressor, the one in control.
The only thing she could think about was the brutal image reflected in the photograph. Again, Pierre had hurt an innocent woman. All because she dared to live a life without him in it. Of course, she couldn’t share her true suspicions with Oliver. She didn’t want to get him involved.
But involved, he was. In fact, the musky, metallic scent of Oliver’s life essence called to her. Maybe just one little taste. Unable to stop herself, Anaïs darted her tongue out, lapping up the thin dribble of crimson that threatened to stain the cuff of his white collared shirt. It tasted swee...t with a hint of spicy, exotic ginger.MoreLess
The only thing she could think about was the brutal image reflected in the photograph. Again, Pierre had hurt an innocent woman. All because she dared to live a life without him in it. Of course, she couldn’t share her true suspicions with Oliver. She didn’t want to get him involved.
But involved, he was. In fact, the musky, metallic scent of Oliver’s life essence called to her. Maybe just one little taste. Unable to stop herself, Anaïs darted her tongue out, lapping up the thin dribble of crimson that threatened to stain the cuff of his white collared shirt. It tasted swee...t with a hint of spicy, exotic ginger.MoreLess
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