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“Show me.” I sat back, widening my legs. “Show me how sorry you are. Show me how you can do better.” I rubbed my hand over the hard ridge my dick was making in my jeans.
She swallowed, her gaze glued to my crotch.
The woman was going to kill me. I had to clamp my molars together to stop myself from grabbing her head and forcing her face between my thighs.
I didn’t, though.
An apology should come willingly—or not at all.
13
Eden
“Show me how sorry you are.” Talon’s voice was low and edged with a roughness.
It licked hotly over my skin, sending an answering tremor through me.
I’d returned to the castle with my emotions all over the place. Excited about the baby, and worried I wouldn’t be a good enough parent. Upset about my mother and yet glad she knew I was okay. Eager to see Talon but sick of the tension between us.
But that all faded away when I saw him lazing on the couch, hard-bodied and wolf-eyed. In the dim lighting, his face shimmered, vampire beautiful.
In the human world, he could’ve been a model, the kind they photographed slouched against walls exuding testosterone and attitude. Thick brown curls cut short on the sides and long on the top. Chiseled jawline. Full lower lip.
My heart fisted. Sometimes my love for him was so strong it hurt.
I’d been lanky and awkward from age eleven to thirteen. Even after I’d filled out, I’d felt funny in my own body. Yeah, as a thrall I’d learned to hide that discomfort—wearing the short, tight dresses; applying the makeup—but that had been like playing dress up. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
But these last two nights I’d said to hell with that. First, I’d dressed down, and Talon had still seemed to find me hot. And tonight I’d dressed sexy, but on my terms, pregnant belly and all.
Now I wondered if I’d been trying to prove that he didn’t really want me, Eden. He wanted the seductive, eager-to-please thrall in the tight red minidresses.
If so, I’d been wrong. Maybe sex was all we had, but there was no way he didn’t want this as much as I did. His cheekbones were slightly flushed, his eyes heavy with lust.
“Apologize to me, baby.” Reaching between his parted legs, he slowly ran his hand up his tented jeans.
Squeezed. Released.
My nipples tightened into points. A honeyed heat slid through my belly.
Yeah, he was being kind of an asshole, demanding I suck him off as an apology. But I couldn’t pretend I didn’t like it in a kinky sort of way. Because I did…a lot.
And I wanted to do it, wanted to show him how sorry I really was.
“Maybe tonight I’ll even let you come,” he added.
Okay, that was definitely assholey behavior. My chin lifted. “How do you know I didn’t come last night?”
His eyes hooded and the hard planes of his face took on a dangerous cast. “Did you?”
“No,” I admitted.
His mouth curved. “That’s what I thought. Now stop stalling and suck me.”
My stomach contracted at the arrogant demand.
His living room was modern urban-loft—wood-and-metal tables, wide-plank floors, industrial copper lighting, a distressed leather couch. Except for the lack of windows, it could’ve been in New York or Vancouver.
I lowered myself to my knees on the copper-and-gray Kilim rug in front of him, and his smug expression dissolved. He stared at me with an intent, animal focus. The shark tat swimming up his neck seemed almost alive.
