Gasp!!!

The weight of my bag drags at my shoulder, case files a burden I’m ready to ditch as I head for the door of Harrington & Sons. It’s late, the office a hollow shell, and I’d told Claire I’d lock up, my voice fading into the silence as I grabbed my coat. But a sound—raw, wet, a moan thick with lust—snags me, pulling me back, my sneakers hushed on the carpet as I edge toward the reception desk, my pulse hammering, a mix of dread and curiosity tightening my chest. I peer around the corner, and a gasp rips from me, loud and unguarded, rooting me to the spot, my eyes wide, my body betraying me with a sudden, shameful heat.

They’re a vision of sin—Claire sprawled across her desk, papers a chaotic mess, her auburn hair a sweaty snarl, her blouse torn open to bare her full, heaving breasts, nipples dark and hard against black lace, her skirt shredded, thighs splayed wide, her pussy glistening. A man—tall, dark, shirtless, his chest a slab of pale, sculpted muscle—fucks her relentlessly, his cock thick and slick, plunging deep, stretching her open, his silver eyes blazing with a hunger that knots my stomach. And her—a woman, all sleek, feral curves, her leather jacket discarded, her naked torso pressed to Claire’s back, one hand kneading Claire’s breast, pinching her nipple, the other gripping the man’s hip, urging him harder. The air’s heavy—sweat, sex, blood—crimson trails on Claire’s neck, her shoulder, their lips red and wet—and I’m frozen, my breath a shallow rasp, my cunt throbbing under my jeans, my nipples peaking against my sweater.

Claire’s screams peak, her body convulsing, and I see the bites—fangs flashing as the woman licks a wound, her tongue slow, deliberate, the man drinking deeper, blood pooling as he thrusts, his balls slapping against her. My hand grips the wall, nails biting plaster, my thighs squeezing tight as a flush races up my chest, my breath hitching. It’s horrifying, it’s intoxicating—their rhythm, their dominance, Claire’s surrender a mirror to the ache I can’t shake. She comes, a wail that cuts through me, her pussy clenching around him, and he follows, his growl primal, hips jerking as he unloads, thick spurts filling her, the woman’s moan a soft, shuddering counterpoint as she grinds against Claire’s ass, her own climax a wet rush I feel in my bones.

My gasp echoes, and they turn—silver eyes pinning me, cold and ravenous. “Who’s there?” the man snarls, his voice a dark velvet that coils around my spine, and I stumble, files crashing, my heart a frantic thud. The woman slides off Claire, her nakedness a weapon—breasts swaying, hips rolling, her skin a pale glow as she stalks toward me, a smirk curling her blood-smeared lips. “A little mouse,” she purrs, her voice a lick of heat, and I back up, tripping, but she’s faster, her hand seizing my chin, tilting my head back, her touch ice against my fever, her silver-flecked eyes drilling into mine. “Pretty little thing,” she whispers, her lips brushing my ear, her breath cool and spiced with blood, and I tremble, my mind fogging, my body arching into her despite myself.

She presses against me, her breasts soft and heavy against my chest, her hips grinding slow, deliberate, and I whimper, caught in her web as she tears my sweater open, buttons scattering, baring my bra—white, plain, no match for her hunger. Her hands rip it away, my tits spilling free, and she cups them, squeezing hard, her thumbs flicking my nipples until they’re stiff, aching peaks, a cry slipping from my lips. “Mira,” the man warns, but she laughs, wicked and low, her fangs grazing my neck, teasing my pulse, and then she bites—deep, sharp, a flood of heat as she drinks, her tongue lapping at the blood, her hands roaming, tearing my jeans down, my panties with them, leaving me bare, dripping, my thighs slick with want.

She doesn’t stop there. She spins me, shoving me against the wall, my hands splayed, my ass out, and her fingers plunge into my cunt—two, then three, stretching me, fucking me hard as she presses her body to mine, her nipples grazing my back, her breath hot on my neck. “So wet,” she growls, her free hand sliding around to pinch my clit, rolling it until I’m sobbing, my hips bucking, my juices coating her fingers. She pulls out, spinning me again, and lifts me, my legs wrapping around her waist, her strength inhuman as she grinds her pussy against mine, slick and hot, our clits rubbing, a friction that sends sparks through me. I claw her shoulders, my nails drawing blood she doesn’t feel, and she kisses me—deep, filthy, her tongue plunging, tasting my blood, my arousal, her fangs nicking my lip as I moan into her mouth.

The man—Liam, I hear her call him—watches, his cock hard again, stroking himself as Mira takes me. She lowers me to the floor, straddling my face, her cunt dripping over my mouth, and I lick her—hungry, ****, sucking her clit, tasting her sharpness as she rides me, her hands in my hair, pulling tight. She leans forward, her mouth on me again, sixty-nining me, her tongue plunging deep, her fangs grazing my inner lips, nicking me, drinking as she sucks, and I come—hard, screaming into her pussy, my release a gush she laps up, her own climax shuddering through her, her moans vibrating against me as she floods my mouth.

She rises, blood and cum on her lips, and Liam steps in, his hand on my throat, his will joining hers. “Forget us, serve us, this firm is ours,” he commands, and my mind bends, snapping to their control, the scene—Mira’s body on mine, Claire limp, their silver eyes—blurring to a haze. She kisses me once more, slow and possessive, her hands lingering on my ravaged body, and I slump, dazed, owned, my clothes in tatters, my blood and hers mingling on my skin. They’ve bitten me, fucked me, taken me, and I’m theirs—a cog in their machine, the law firm falling as I will, a secret etched in my flesh I’ll never recall, a heat I’ll chase in dreams I can’t name.