He forced her to her back and followed her down. Her legs were splayed indecently, the hem of her long dressing gown bunched around her mid-thighs, while the ribbon sash was undone, hanging precariously by a loose bow.
Bastian tugged the end of it. The bow slid free easily.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was whisper-thin.
He curled the ribbon in his fist, then tugged it free from around her waist. It caught under her back, and he wrapped his hand around it, forcing it to slide from beneath her. When it was fully undone and away from her body, the front of her dressing gown fell open down the middle, baring her soft, small breasts and pink, peaked nipples.
She gasped, then bundled the fabric closer, covering her stomach and the space between her thighs.
Luella’s flesh was pebbled with chill and awareness, chest rising and falling rapidly, the longer he stared.
He let his Mind magic drift against her thoughts. She didn’t shove him away—so he dove inside her.
He was assaulted with a barrage of desire—a lust so consuming it made his own swell. Her thoughts were an amalgamation of intense emotions, drifting by.
Is this okay? Does he like this? Does he like me? Am I… worthy? Why does he watch, without speaking? His touches are so different from the rest.
Bastian dove deeper.
Maybe if I give in, it’ll all be better. Do I even deserve it?
Deeper.
Everyone would be better off if I weren’t here. What if I disappeared—what if I had let the sea carry me away that day?
Like the mist enveloping the Isles, her worries turned his desire into anguish.
Her thoughts were swift, hard to catch, and harder to hold onto.
Some thoughts weren’t even fully formed, but a whisper of an idea. He knew she loved his touch, yet was ashamed by her own wants; he knew she had been intimate with the others; he knew a part of her grieved her innocence; and he knew what she searched for in truth was distraction—not pleasure.
But her deepest, darkest thoughts made his heart twinge.
Bastian let his forehead fall against hers. He breathed her in. Strawberries and cream-tipped roses.
"If you had let the sea carry you away, I would have followed." Bastian reached up and curled a tendril of her hair around his finger, letting the strands sift through his palms. "We are fated, pet—the sun and the moon, our witnesses. You were given to us, to me. I have been your advocate for centuries, yet nothing could have prepared me for who you truly are. Perhaps the Fates decided even a wretched, corrupt vampire like me deserved a bit of goodness."
She stared up at him, blinking quickly. Bastian saw a shimmer in her blue eyes, betraying her.
"Just when I think I’m starting to know you, you undo me," she whispered, her small hand brushing his cheek; he leaned into her. "Never stop, Bastian."
As she shifted beneath him, her body pressed against his.
He kissed her again. Soft and slow and heart-achingly gentle. Those vile thoughts in her head were dashed upon the hard foundation of his words, his touch.
He kissed her until he no longer sensed her worries or fears, until the sweetness was replaced with rapacity.
He felt the slip of silk in his fist and realized he still held the sash. He let his fangs tease her bottom lip, then pulled back from her. Her lips were swollen and wet, eyes half-lidded.
Bastian drifted the end of the sash over her chest. She trembled beneath him.
The top of her dressing gown had already parted during the heat of their kisses, and he guided the sash down, teasing over her breasts, then down further, letting the fabric fall away slowly.
Her stomach twitched as the sash fluttered past her navel. Then lower.
Until her bare flesh was revealed to him.
He groaned lowly at the sight of her.
