Rites of Blood: Cora's Choice Bunble 4-6 by V. M. Black Page B

still damp from stroking me, slid between the counter and my buttocks, then up, to my entrance again, where his fingers resumed the maddening rhythm that pushed me right to the edge again.
    My hands tightened into fists in his hair as I strained to reach climax.
    “Tell me how much you want it,” he said, his voice rough and low in my ear.
    “You know, dammit,” I said.
    He just gave his wicked laugh and looped his arms under my knees pulling my ankles up over his shoulders. Then, slipping his fingers inside of me, he hooked against that sensitive place, and with his thumb against my clitoris, he took me up and over.
    Without losing the rhythm, he withdrew his fingers and thrust himself deep inside me, and the first spasms of my orgasm were launched into something far more intense. His wet fingers worked my clitoris as he drove into me, the contractions wringing my body in time to his movements. His other arm held me against him even as my own arms loosened uselessly.
    I felt him shudder just at the last surge receded as his release came after mine. For a long moment, I just clung to him as he held me, feeling his heart beating through the thickness of our shirts, his breath in my hair, the strength of his arms around me.
    I realized I never wanted him to leave. And it scared me.
    With every ounce of will, I let go of him, my body protesting its reluctance with an almost physical pain.
    “I need you to go,” I said. “Before I ask you to stay.” Or before I asked him to take me back with him to that beautiful, dangerous house and the place that was made just for someone like me....
    He stepped back, his eyes hooded, and adjusted his pants. “You’ll find a way to be at peace in your own mind, Cora.”
    “Because I have to?” I asked.
    “Because you will want to,” he said.
    He pressed his lips against my cheek, and I closed my eyes, just breathing him for a long moment. And then he was gone.

Chapter Twelve
    I let out a breath. The apartment seemed smaller and dingier, somehow, and I had to fight the urge to go running out half-naked after him.
    I shook myself. Get it together, Cora. I had my own life to live, things to do before school started.
    Such as? That foolish part of me dared to come up with anything as imperative as following Dorian home.
    If I felt like this now, what would I feel like in a month? A year? He would wear away everything I used to care about until all I wanted was to please him.
    There had to be some escape.
    I looked around the sparkling apartment. I’d planned to clean it because Lisette had been taking up my slack for the last two months. It was time for me to pull my own weight.
    But Dorian had already taken care of that.
    I washed up, got properly dressed, took out what little trash there was, including my shredded panties, which did little to help me in my goal of not obsessing over Dorian.
    Restlessly, I went downstairs to the mailboxes. In the half-lit lobby, I sorted my mail over the trash can—six credit card offers, a shiny grad school brochure, and yet another medical bill, this one with OVERDUE stamped on the outside. And, last, an envelope from the University of Chicago.
    A thick envelope.
    My hands shaking, I tore it open and scanned the contents:
    Dear Cora Shaw.... Thank you for your application.... It is with pleasure that we announce your acceptance into the Master of Science program in the Department of Economics at the University of Chicago.
    My whoop split the silent air, my heart pounding with joy and relief. I’d been so sick that I’d hardly managed to fill out my application, but I’d managed to drag myself through it with Lisette’s help.
    Chicago. My top choice, one of the most innovative and exclusive economics programs in the entire country.
    I read the letter again, and then a third time, making sure that I hadn’t misunderstood. There was no doubt. I really was accepted.
    My life had been derailed by cancer, all the plans I’d laid out meaningless