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Nothing for it. He moved the curtain aside.
Min was standing in front of the mirror, the dress on, but the zipper only half done up, exposing the curve of her spine, the little knobs of her vertebrae, the smooth, milky white of her skin.
His mouth suddenly dry, Ethan stepped forward and gave the zip a tug. It didn’t budge.
“Maybe if you pulled the sides of the dress closer,” she suggested huskily. He did, and that meant his fingers grazing her skin.
He tugged again and the zipper moved up a fraction, then stuck again.
She moved her hair aside, giving him a full view of the long line of her milky white neck.
Instinctively, he stepped closer.
And then he swore, yes, swore, that she arched her back enough for her butt cheeks to graze his crotch.
Arousal surged through him, almost making him dizzy.
The warmth of her body, the sweet scent of her, the glow of her skin, he wanted to place his lips on the nape of her neck and nibble at it with his fangs. Suck her soft skin, give her a hicky to claim her as his.
She let out a little sigh.
Slowly, he did the zipper up to its full length. She turned, and her eyes raised to meet his.
“Min,” he said huskily, shakily. “Min.” He was going to fess up, wasn’t he? He was going to let everything spill out, right here in this little cubicle. Tell her to tear up the stupid note he’d left about wanting to put distance between them. That it was the biggest lie. Because in reality, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wanting to be the one to pleasure her—the only one, for eternity—and he’d do it better than her own hand, making herself come to monster fantasies. He wanted to tell her that hell, he was jealous of her fantasies, and so fucking jealous of that little hand that pleasured her while she dreamed of beasts.
Because he wanted to be the beast in her bed.
Every single fucking night.
They stared at each other. Ethan’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
“Yes, Ethan?” she breathed softly.
“I just wanted to say…” the words stuck in his parched throat.
She stared up at him, her eyes huge behind her glasses.
“That this dress—it’s definitely the one.”
CHAPTER 20
For what felt like the hundredth time since it had appeared in the paper three days ago, Min flicked through the pages of the Motham Times until she reached the photos of her and Ethan in the orange grove. Tingling all over, she stared at the images of them passionately kissing. Truth was, when she looked at these, she could almost imagine they were in love. The way they laughed up into each other’s eyes, his big green hand splayed intimately on the swell of backside, the other tangling in her hair, angling her face to his.
The kiss, so deep, so intimate. There was even a glimpse of his long tongue visible in one photo. Her gaze kept catching on the way his fingers indented her thigh over the material of her dress. How her body was pressed against him, reliving every nuance of the feel of him against her yielding flesh.
Min squeezed her thighs together with a little moan to try and ease the throb in her pussy. Placing the magazine down, she went over to the window and gazed out at the darkening sky.
She’d eaten with Cressida and Beau tonight.
They weren’t so very different from a human family really, with their own foibles and idiosyncrasies. Except for the fine silverware and the bejeweled cutlery and the seemingly endless array of dishes and serving staff.
And the fact that her supposed lover, Ethan, didn’t join them.
It had been nearly a week since the kiss, and truth was, he was keeping her at wingspan length. They’d been to an art gallery launch and the official opening of some new hover cab station way over in the east quarter of Motham, but as soon as they got back to the Blade mansion he would disappear, either to his office or his music room.
Late into the night, he would play the piano. And she would lie in bed, her body ripe with longing, until finally the beautiful melodies would chase away desire and let her slumber.
But not tonight. The music room door was firmly shut, the piano silent.
