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He pulls me back to him, stares down at me with wild eyes, his jaw tight, breathing heavily. His grip tightens. “Not that it’s anyone’s business, especially not Amethyst’s, but the woman I sleep with don’t mean anything to me.” He inhales, forehead furrowed. “You mean something to me, Lenore. And that’s a problem.”
My heart has skipped a few beats already. “How is that a problem? You sleep with women you don’t respect, but you respect me and—”
“This isn’t about respect,” he says gruffly, pulling me to him until I’m pressed up against his chest, his other hand going to the small of my back. He fastens my body to his, until I feel every inch of how hard he is. “I respected those women too, believe it or not.”
“Then what is it about?” I ask in a hush, so confused.
He presses his lips together, frowning, his eyes looking haunted. “There’s more to me than you know, Lenore. There’s a part of me that could hurt you.”
“I know that. You’re a vampire.”
He closes his eyes and exhales heavily, his breath smelling like sweet wine.
“It’s not just that. There’s…a darkness that lives inside me. That’s been there for my whole life as I know it. A darkness that has led to madness and back again. A darkness that feeds a beast. I can’t risk unleashing that beast with you.”
When his eyes open again, I see more than just pain in their blue depths. I see a dark figure with claws, and big, wide black wings that blot out the sun. Something beautiful and horrifying. But I feel no fear.
I take my free hand and reach up, placing it against his cheek. “Then I will tame the beast.”
He stares at me, and from the intensity of his gaze, I can’t tell if he thinks I’m stupid or if he’s impressed. Then he takes my hand and brings it to his mouth, placing a long, soft kiss on the palm of my hand, eyes never breaking contact. It feels like a fuse being lit, igniting my blood, rushing up my veins to my heart.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he whispers against my hand.
“I know I want you. There’s nothing else.”
He lets out a low rumble from his chest, his eyes flashing with desire.
“Oh, Christ,” he swears.
Then he’s grabbing my face with both hands, kissing me with such ferocity, such passion, that I nearly fall backward, my knees buckling.
He keeps me upright, one arm going around my lower back, the other gripping my face as his lips move against mine, mouth open, licking my tongue with his.
Fuck. Me.
Fireworks explode down my spine, spurring on my hunger for him, a tangle of tongues that feels as close to fucking as possible, something deep and raw. His mouth ravages mine, a hot, hard messy whirl of lips, tongue, teeth. It’s unraveling me more and more by the second, the way he so expertly owns me already, our kiss deepening into parts of me I didn’t even know existed.
I gasp against his lips, my hands traveling up the hard, wide expanse of his back, trying to claw the shirt off him, feeling feral, an animal on the loose.
He pulls away and for a moment I think he’s going to change his mind or chastise me for trying to ruin another shirt. Fingers press into my cheekbones, his mouth open and wet, and when I stare into his eyes, I see a man on the verge of losing all control.
Please, please, come over the edge with me.
The corner of his mouth lifts for a second, showing that he heard my thoughts.
“I’m not going to be gentle,” he says hoarsely, breathing hard. The sharp, intoxicating tang of his adrenaline and desire fills my nose.
“I don’t want you to be gentle,” I say, digging my nails into his back. “I want to feel everything you have for me.”
“Fuck,” he says gruffly, grabbing my chin with hard fingers, searching my eyes with something like amazement. “You’re going to be my ruin, aren’t you?”
Then he’s kissing me again, moving me backward until the back of my thighs hit the bed and I sit down.
He steps back, taking off his shirt, unbuttoning his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxer briefs and socks. He’s completely naked in front of me, his cock jutting straight up, hard as stone and impressive, enough that I’m almost salivating, my body hit with a sharp pang of need.
He truly is the most perfect-looking man.
Vampire.
Whatever he is, he’s mine for the moment.
I reach down to take off my sweater, but he gives a shake of his head.
“You’ve been doing that enough. Lie back on the bed,” he commands.
I do as I’m told, heart in my throat as he prowls over me, his fingers curling around the hem of my sweater as he slowly pulls it up over my skin, goosebumps forming as he plants kisses on each section he exposes.
