Chapter 382: Fuck or Drain.

She drank.

Blood left me in long hard pulls. Each one took heat out of my arms first — the strength in my shoulders going soft, then my hands, then the fingers locked on her thighs.

I held the fold anyway. Knees crushed toward her shoulders. Cock buried to the hilt. The angle kept her cunt open around me whether she wanted it or not.

Her fangs were deep in my neck. Her growl vibrated against the wound. Her fingers punched into my back and anchored there like iron.

Adrenaline tore through the fog of blood loss and lit every nerve still working.

Two options.

Die on top of her.

Or fuck her until the river broke.

I chose.

I drove down into her — short, brutal strokes forced deep into a body that was trying to empty me.

The wet sound of it was thick and filthy under the softer sound of her throat working as she swallowed. My hips slammed.

The metal frame screamed against the stone with every thrust. Her cunt clenched around me in panicked spasms.

The climax she had been murdering was still stacked inside her; I felt it from the inside, pressure so full it had nowhere left to go except through.

Quench the thirst—

Blooo—

Blood— Blood—

Drain him.

Empty him.

Leave nothing—

My vision strobed. Hard white light went grey at the edges, then sharp again, then grey. Blood ran hot down the side of my neck into the sheet.

[Keep going.]

I felt the strength leave my quads next — the upward drive getting heavier, slower — and I fucked her through that too. Hands slipping on the sweat of her thighs. Digging in again. Nails finding purchase. Nails finding purchase. I held the impossible angle and drove into the exact place that made the river rise.

She shook.

Violent. Continuous. Her cunt started to seize around my cock in longer pulses. A sound tore out of her against my throat that was half scream and half growl.

Her fingers raked my back and opened fresh lines. I felt the edge of her climax hit the edge of my remaining strength and understood, cleanly, that the next stretch of seconds would decide which of us emptied first.

My hands were going numb.

I locked them harder.

Thrust.

Thrust.

The fold held. Her fangs pulled harder on the wound as if she could feel me choosing and wanted me dead before the choice finished.

Black spots bloomed across the ceiling. My heartbeat stuttered in my ears. The wet slap of my hips against her became the only rhythm I could still count.

I thrust.

Deep. Last.

The full length of me buried in her and held —

—and something left me.

Not cum. Power. A sudden cold drain from the base of my spine outward, as if a plug had been pulled inside my own body. My hips stuttered. My hands went weak on her thighs. The system flared white across a vision that was already failing.

She stopped.

The fight went out of her in one clean collapse. Fangs slid free of my neck with a wet release. Her mouth left my skin. Her fingers loosened on my back.

She dragged herself backward along the mattress, spine scraping the sheet. Her pussy slid off my cock in a slow heavy drag — inch by inch, the slick heat of her pulling away along the shaft until I was free of her and the cold air hit the wet length of me.

She stopped half off the bed, chest heaving.

Her mouth open. Fighting for air. Each breath a raw, broken pull, as if the blood and the climax and the sudden stop had all hit her lungs at once. A thick run of cum spilled from her open cunt down the inside of her thigh onto the sheet.

My arms gave out.

I collapsed forward into the empty space she had left.

My skull hit the sheet. My arms would not lift. Blood ran warm from the open wound in my neck down into the fabric under my cheek.

I could see — blurry, tunnelled — the hard white bulb on the ceiling, then the edge of the metal frame, then the dark of the floor beyond it.

A thick jet of cum burst from her open pussy under pressure — like a broken tap, hard enough to arc into the air between us. A few hot drops landed on my stomach and the base of my cock. The rest spattered the sheet as she dragged herself backward, still spilling in short forced pulses she couldn't control.

She fell from the bed.

The sound of her hitting the stone was soft and final.

I forced what was left.

Power that did not want to answer. Survival that had already spent itself in the fold.

I dragged one elbow under me, then the other, blood smearing the sheet, and pulled myself to the edge of the mattress until my head hung over the drop and my eyes could find her.

She was on the floor in the same wreckage I had once watched Eleanor fall into.

Back arched off the stone. Knees drawn up and then kicking out. Arms locked rigid at her sides.

Her cunt was still pulsing — open, closing, open — and cum poured out of her in thick continuous pulses like a broken pipe, white against the dark floor, mixed with her own release in shining rivulets that kept coming as the seizure tore through her.

Her mouth was open on a silent cry. Her fangs were still down. Her eyes were black and unseeing. Every muscle in her shook through wave after wave of the climax, the river finally breaking with nothing left in her to hold it back.

[ Sophia Vale. Extracted. ]

The words sat in the centre of my failing vision.

Her body jerked once more on the stone. Another heavy run of cum spilled out of her.

My eyes blurred.

The floor tilted.

And everything went black.