The Demonic Lord snorted, the sound oddly casual for him.
Zane ignored him, focusing on setting the mug on the table beside him and balancing the cake plate in his lap. He only had one fork. “I’m tasting this first.”
Of course he was.
Normally, I’d argue. But as I’d lost my appetite, I didn’t mind. “Go for it.”
He winked at me and broke off a piece, then brought it to his lips and demonstrated to the world how to properly eat cake. Only it was my eyes he held while he did it, the movement so damn seductive, it had my thighs clenching at the pure sexuality of it.
Only Zane could sensualize such a task.
And maybe me.
The moan that followed was pure sex, making me envision his lips wrapped around my nipple as he did decadent things to me with his tongue.
Oh, Hell,I thought, fighting my own moan in response.
My breath hitched in my throat as our eyes met again and he offered me the fork with a sensual grin. “Tastes amazing,” he praised. “Your turn.”
“I have things to do,” Lord Zebulon said shortly, vanishing without further ado.
I stared at the empty space where he’d been standing, my head whirling. Then I re-focused on Zane and the fork in his hand.
“So,” Zane said, all the playfulness gone from his voice. “Where do you want to feed tonight?”
Chapter Eight
Zane
Club Hoax—a sister nightclub to Club Haze—swirled with sex and need, the scents addictive and intoxicating to my senses. Watching Guinevere work the floor only added to that sensation.
She wore a short black leather skirt, knee high heeled boots, and a tank top that revealed every inch of her curves. No bra. No underwear. Just a succubus on the prowl in an outfit meant to kill.
Her tousled dark curls and sweet smile turned heads all over the dance floor, earning her several admirers, all of whom felt a desire to touch her without permission.
And it was making me want to break something.
Hellfire, I need to get myself under control.
Lights pulsed from above, a dizzying display that alternately cast shadows and illuminated the gyrating bodies.
Everywhere I turned, I saw skin, hands, teeth, and lips touching. Lust hung over the crowd in a haze of alluring power, making my inner incubus roar with pleasure.
I stalked the edges of the dance floor, following Guinevere’s movements. She knew how to use her body, which wasn’t surprising for a succubus. However, her rhythm was specific to her. She pulsed along to the thumping beat, her hips fluid, her hands in her hair, her eyes closed, and she resembled a goddess.
Aphrodite.
Sex incarnate.
A drug in her own right, stronger than anything else I could feel in this club.
A man danced up behind her, his fingertips alighting on her hips. Their bodies began to move together in perfect synchronicity, and Guinevere opened her eyes, twirling in the circle of his arms. She draped her wrists over his shoulder, grinding against him.
Her skirt rode up, flashing smooth, pale flesh near the tops of her thighs. My cock hardened at the tease of her naked body beneath the leather. I imagined those legs wrapped around my neck, and my face buried deep in her core.
Watching this was maddening. Beyond maddening.Infuriating.
What the Hell is wrong with me?I’d spent the better part of two decades building up the walls between us—because Zebulon had told me in no uncertain terms that she was off limits—only for this insane situation to make me want to tear them down.
