“You’re right,” I said after a few more minutes of irritating silence. Asshole I might be, but I knew when an apology was needed with a female. And I’d apparently crossed the line with my goading today. So I’d fix it now. “It was rude of me to accuse you of something I knew you wouldn’t do. You’re too smart to leave a body exposed like that on the sidewalk. And you’ve given me no reason to think otherwise.”
She stilled in the process of wiping down the counters, her spine erecting in a way that told me I’d struck a nerve.
I nearly sighed. When I’d opted to be an ass, I hadn’t anticipated my behavior to well and truly piss her off. She was Guinevere. She rarely exuded anger. And even on the few occasions when she did, she usually acquiesced quickly enough for us to reconcile.
Apparently, that wasn’t the case today.
So I tried a little harder to coax her into talking to me rather than ignoring me.
“Look. Lord Zebulon asked me to help with feedings. That’s why I’m here—to organize a schedule with you so I can be available as you need me.”
Guinevere swiped her rag over the counter once more, though I could see even from across the kitchen that the counter was spotless. The rag served as a distraction so she could sort through her thoughts. Through her irritation. The tension in her shoulders spoke volumes of her feelings—disbelief I’d actually apologized, suspicion I had ulterior motives in doing so, and finally, acceptance that I wasn’t going anywhere, regardless of my intentions.
A couple of decades as her mentor had allowed me too much insight into her thoughts. Sometimes it felt more like a curse than a blessing.
Draping the rag over the edge of the sink, Guinevere turned and leaned a hip against the counter, biting her lip. The movement immediately drew my gaze to her mouth, sending a thrill straight to my cock. I imagined her teeth scraping my skin while she wrapped those plump lips around my shaft and sucked me deep into her throat.
Fuck.
It took physical effort not to allow my reaction to show in my features. It was bad enough that she could feel the lust rolling off of me. Alas, I couldn’t do anything about that except pretend my reaction had nothing to do with Guinevere and everything to do with just being an incubus.
The sweet succubus sighed, long, low, and full of defeat. “Would you like some wine?”
An impassive response, but an acquiescence, nonetheless. One that I liked a little too much because of the implied vulnerability in her tone. It reminded me of the old Guinevere, which went a long way toward restoring our usual balance.
I ventured into the kitchen. “I had started to wonder if you’d somehow misplaced your manners.”
Heat flared in her gaze, turning her stunning cerulean irises to dark blue thunderclouds. “I can take the offer back, if you wish.”
“And I can pour my own wine,” I countered smoothly, crossing to the open bottle on the counter. I wasn’t thirsty, and I didn’t need to fortify myself the way she preferred, but my show of dominance firmly cemented my authority. As I opened the cabinet overhead to extract a glass—yes, I knew my way around her kitchen well—I added, “Now, let’s discuss a feeding schedule.”
“Like I’m an exhibit in a zoo,” Guinevere muttered.
I upended the wine bottle over my glass. “I could remain here indefinitely, if you’d prefer. That could be rather uncomfortable. Or delightful, depending on how things go.”
Turning with my freshly filled libation perched between my fingers, I found Guinevere still leaning against the counter, that thunderous look remarkably adorable on her face. It made me want to saunter across the kitchen, bend her over, lift her skirt, and fuck that expression right off her face, all while holding my wineglass.
But I wouldn’t. Icouldn’t.
We all had our responsibilities.
Finally, Guinevere nodded. “Fine. I don’t need to feed yet, but I probably will by the end of the week. I’ve been doing what you said and taking only a little at a time. It’s meant that I need more partners, but at least they’re living afterward.”
I nodded. “Good. Glad to see your lessons haven’t been in vain. What about choosing your conquests? Are you having any issues we should discuss?”
She clutched her wine glass to her chest in a move that pulled her halter top tighter to her breasts. “No, no issues. I’ve figured out if I choose less attractive partners, it’s easier to take what I need without hurting them.”
Indeed. I could hardly disagree with her. Less attractive prey made for much easier control—something that didn’t happen around Lord Zebulon. My Demonic Lord set my blood on fire, but he repaid me in kind with generous feedings that would last for weeks.
Too bad his feedings couldn’t keep me from reacting to Guinevere.
The thin fabric of her top revealed the outline of her pebbled nipples. My grip tightened on the stem of my glass, the crystal doing little to soothe my desire to explore those tender little points. I’d seen them several times during our lessons, but I’d never touched them. It was one of the many cravings I held at bay in her presence.
“Like last night,” she went on, either unaware or pretending not to notice my gaze on her breasts, “I chose the most boring guy in the bar. Trevor something. He was an accountant. So boring. But the sex was enough to hold me over, you know?”
“But not for long,” I replied. “Never for long.”
Guinevere shot me a glare and whirled around to set her glass on the counter, then she reached for an overhead cabinet. “You know what? I’m not sharing my coffee cake with you,” she said as she extracted a tray from a lower shelf.
