I didn’t stop.

I kissed her like she owed me money. Like she’d been running her mouth all night and this was the invoice coming due. My teeth caught her bottom lip and I pulled until the black lipstick smeared across both our mouths and she made that wounded animal sound again, the one that hit me somewhere below my ribs and refused to leave.

Addison kissed back harder. Of course she did. This was a woman who manifested death scythes for fun and named her knife collection. Gentle was a foreign language she’d never bothered to learn, and I respected the hell out of that commitment.

Her tongue found mine and she bit down on it. Actually bit me. Not a playful nip, not some cute vampire cosplay bullshit. Real teeth, real pressure, the copper taste of blood mixing with cherry lollipop and the remnants of her own milk still coating my mouth from earlier. My brain short-circuited for a full second—actual static noise between my ears—before rerouting power to the part of me that found this insanely hot rather than medically concerning.

"That all you got, milk boy?" She spoke directly into the kiss, her words vibrating against my lips while her nails raked down my chest and left burning lines that traveled from collarbone to navel like someone had dragged four hot wires across my skin. "Aurora said you’d ruin me. I’m not seeing it yet."

Oh.

Okay.

So that’s how we’re playing this.

I grabbed her jaw with one hand and tilted her face up so she couldn’t look away, couldn’t avoid what was coming.

The blindfold sat pushed up on her forehead like a headband now, dark silk against dark hair, and those not-really-violet eyes burned up at me with the reckless energy of someone pouring gasoline on a fire they started themselves. She wanted this. Wanted to be pushed back. Wanted someone who wouldn’t flinch when she showed her teeth.

"You talk too much," I said.

"Make me shut up." She grinned, bloody black lipstick smeared across her teeth like war paint.

I sealed my mouth around her left nipple and pulled hard, no warning, no gradual pressure increase. Just immediate suction and tongue and the sudden rush of her milk hitting my palate in a bitter wave that reminded me of cold brew coffee mixed with baker’s chocolate and something sharper that tasted like pure confrontation made liquid.

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 50 points!\]

Her spine bent backward off the sheets and both hands fisted in my hair and yanked with real force, the kind that made my scalp burn and sent signals to parts of me that responded to violence like Pavlov’s dogs responded to bells. But she didn’t pull me away. She dragged me closer, mashing my face against her breast hard enough that breathing became optional and drowning became probable.

"Harder." The word came out between her teeth. "What, you worried I’ll break? You drink from your other girls like they’re made of fucking porcelain or something?"

I drank deeper. Pulled harder. Let my teeth scrape just enough that she’d feel it through the pleasure, just enough that she’d know I heard her challenge and raised. Her milk kept coming in rhythmic pulses that matched her accelerated heartbeat, and each mouthful burned down my throat with that same bitter edge that tasted like someone who’d rather die than admit weakness.

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 50 points!\] 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 50 points!\]

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 50 points!\]

Addison stopped talking for the first time since we’d started. Her mouth opened but no sound came out except for a sharp inhale that whistled through her teeth. Her legs came up and locked around my ribs and squeezed like she was trying to snap me in half or pull me through her, and I wasn’t entirely sure which.

I bit down on her nipple.

Not enough to injure. But enough that Euphoric Feedback at level seven converted the sharp sting into a detonation of pleasure that traveled through her entire chest and exploded somewhere south of her navel. Addison screamed. The candles on the nightstand jumped from the force of her body slamming back into the mattress, and one of them toppled sideways, wax pooling against brick in a slow amber river.

"Better," she gasped. Her voice cracked on the second syllable. "Better but still not. Fuck. Not enough. You think I can’t take more? You think I break easy?"

I released her nipple and milk sprayed across my chin in a warm arc, dripping down onto her stomach. I looked at her properly then. Addison Baxter, destroyer of training dummies, terror of House Obsidian, the girl who kicked doors open because handles were beneath her dignity. Currently lying in a pool of her own milk with lipstick smeared across half her face and tears tracking through her eyeliner like shattered war paint.

Still talking shit.

"Flip over."

Something flickered behind her eyes. Not fear. Recognition. Like she’d been waiting for someone to say those two words in that specific tone for years and had convinced herself it would never happen.

"Make me."

So I made her.

I grabbed her hip with one hand and her shoulder with the other and rolled her onto her stomach in a single motion that used every ounce of my C-rank strength. The wine-colored sheets bunched beneath her body and her face pressed sideways into the pillow, one eye visible and wide and burning. Her black hair with purple streaks fanned across the dark fabric like spilled ink. Those lace panties were still clinging to her hips despite being completely useless at this point, soaked through and riding up in ways that left very little to imagination and everything to raw hunger.

The thigh-highs. The thigh-highs stayed on exactly like I’d asked. Black stockings ending mid-thigh with those little bands pressing into the flesh where muscle met softness. Above them was nothing but pale skin and black lace and curves that could start wars. Or end them.

I ran my palm down the center of her back, slow, tracing the channel of her spine from the nape of her neck to the dip above her ass. Watching the way her shoulders trembled. Watching the way her hands fisted in the sheets. She shivered under my hand and pressed her hips into the mattress, grinding against the fabric like she was already chasing friction before I’d even given her permission.

"Well?" Her voice came muffled by the pillow but the bite in it was sharp as ever. "You gonna stare at my ass all night or are you gonna actually do something with it, vampire?"