My Not-Yet Mate and the Thirty-Day Trial novel · Chapter 18 of 24

Chapter 18: Teeth

We did not turn on the lamp when we got home.

I shut my bedroom door and leaned on it, still shaking from the Grange hall and the cloakroom and what he had promised.

Moonlight came through the curtains and lay across the iron bed in a long pale bar.

Joss stood in the middle of the room, in his good shirt, with his hands loose at his sides.

"Take it off," I said.

He took it off.

I watched his fingers work down the buttons, steady and unhurried, and I watched the dark hair come into view on his chest.

He dropped the shirt on the floor and stood waiting.

"Boots. Jeans."

He sat on the bed and pulled off his boots, then stood and stripped.

He was already hard, thick and heavy and curving up toward his stomach, and he did not try to hide it.

I put my palm flat on his sternum and pushed him back until he sat on the edge of the mattress.

"I told you the bite is for day thirty," I said.

"You did."

"I didn't say anything about the rest of you."

His breath went out of him in a rush.

"Laney."

"Don't move, and don't help."

I knelt on the floor between his knees and put my mouth on his collarbone.

I kissed it, then bit down, slow, and pulled until the skin went white under my teeth.

He hissed.

I let go and sucked the place until it flushed dark.

"One," I said.

"You're counting."

"I'm going to need the whole number."

I worked across his chest, one mark at a time.

I bit the muscle under his collarbone on the left side and then on the right.

I bit the soft curve below each nipple and licked the sting away with the flat of my tongue.

He cursed softly and gripped the quilt with both fists.

I moved to his ribs and found the saw scar.

I bit all along it, a line of small neat dents that slowly darkened.

"Laney. Laney, Jesus."

"Four, five, six."

I bit his stomach, below the navel, where the muscle goes hard and the hair begins.

I bit the sharp inside edge of his hip, and his whole body jerked, and the head of his cock bumped my chin.

I leaned back and looked at him.

His eyes were closed.

His mouth hung open, and the marks across him glowed in the moonlight.

"I'm going to put one here," I said.

I took the inside of his right thigh in my teeth, high, an inch from where he was straining, and bit until he shouted.

It left a perfect purple half-moon.

"Eight."

"Please," he said. "Please touch me."

"No."

I bit the left thigh as well.

I moved down his leg to the soft place behind the knee and sank my teeth in, and he laughed in a cracked broken voice.

"Nine and ten."

"How many are there going to be?"

"Until you can't count them."

I stood and told him to turn over.

He lay on his stomach across the bed.

I climbed over his back and bit the long muscle between his shoulder blades, over the old scratch lines.

I bit the top of his spine.

I bit each side of the hard dimple at the base of it.

Then I bit his ass, left and right, and he made a sound into the quilt that I felt in my own stomach.

"Twelve, thirteen, fourteen."

I leaned down over the back of his neck.

His dark hair was damp there, and the skin on the left side, where the neck meets the shoulder, was bare and unmarked.

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