Charley thought of him earlier in the study, crushing the glass in his fist.
The memory made her shiver.
“Too cold?” He brushed a lock of hair away from her face, trailing his fingers down her jaw.
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.” Charley sighed, a deep sadness settling into her chest.
That Dorian Redthorne still cared for her was obvious, no matter how many walls he’d erected to keep her out.
Yet for all the emotion hecouldn’thide, his thoughts remained veiled.
“What are you thinking about, Dorian?” she whispered.
He lowered his eyes and shook his head.
Charley scolded herself for pushing.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s not my business.”
Not anymore.
Dorian didn’t respond, and Charley wondered if he’d finally had enough of her antics. She tried to think of something funny to say—something to get them back on neutral ground—but before she could speak, his deep, warm voice penetrated the silence once again.
“Itkillsme to see you like this, Charlotte. To imagine you there, totally alone, scared to death while that monster put his filthy hands on you. It killed me to see you last night, at the mercy of a crazed vampire using you to punish me. It killed me when I fed from you and watched the light drain from your eyes, and still, I couldn’t stop. I nearly killed you. I was so, so close to—”
“But youdidstop.”
“It never should’ve gone that far.”
She shook her head. “You could’ve died, Dorian. Ithadto go that far. I’m fine.”
He sighed and caught her gaze again, his eyes full of shame and regret.
And this?” he said softly, sliding his hand beneath the hem of her T-shirt, fingering the silver scar that peeked out from the top of her underwear, just above her hip bone. “You’ve lived your life at the mercy of monsters, and no one was there to protect you. Not even when you were a child.”
In their short but explosive time together, he’d covered her body in kisses and caresses, exploring every inch. He’d lingered on the scar before, undoubtedly curious about its origins, but he never pushed for the story.
Now, heknewthe story. It was all part of her life, part of who she was—who she’d grown up to become. Yes, she’d lived at the mercy of monsters. And nothing he could say could make it any less terrible and brutal.
But she’dlived. Wasn’t that the point? She’d survived. That was worth something, right?
His touch lingered, and Dorian closed his eyes, the muscles in his jaw tensing.
Charley didn’t have the words to make it okay—not for either of them. So instead, she found his hand beneath her T-shirt and squeezed.
He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm, the warm touch of his lips searing her cool skin.
His eyelids drifted closed as he breathed her in, blazing a trail of soft, fluttery kisses from her wrist to the inside of her elbow, his stubble scratching the sensitive skin. With her free hand, she ran her fingers through his hair, urging him closer, the feel of his soft, thick mane as familiar to her as his touch, his kiss, his scent.
The ice packs slid from her shoulders, but Dorian’s tender kisses were a better balm, brushing her injured flesh with no more than a whisper of lips and breath. Slowly, he worked his way up her neck to her chin, across the line of her jaw, up to her ear.
With a soft but possessive growl, he breathed the words she’d been aching to hear for an eternity. “It wasn’t a dream, Charlotte. It wasn’t a lapse in judgment. And try as I might, I can’t promise you it won’t happen again.”
Charley’s heart banged wildly, her chest heaving with desperate breaths as the current of Dorian’s electric touch flowed throughout her body.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, tracing a delicate pattern across her forehead and down her nose, slipping his fingers through her hair, cradling her head in his strong, protective hands. All of her pain and regret melted away at his touch.
His lips hovered teasingly, so close to her own that Charley could taste him. She wanted so badly to take him, to press her mouth to his, to welcome the hot, wet slide of his tongue.
