A sudden, breathless vacuum swallows the neon haze of the club. The pounding bass vanishes, replaced by the heavy silence of the VIP booths above the club. Everywhere we look, there is only black leather, strong incense, and extravagant gold.
Iris stumbles as the displacement hits her. I catch her waist before her knees buckle, keeping her from falling over. It’s not unusual for this method of transportation to leave mortals confused. But in a minute, it won’t matter.
She just stares up at me, her chest heaving. “Rakan… I need you to—”
Whatever she was about to say is obliterated when my mouth crashes down on hers. I can’t wait any longer. Not for words, not for anything except her taste.
Iris groans, her mouth opening wide to take the sweep of my tongue. She kisses like she’s starving, the same way I am. Her teeth click against mine in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm that strips away the last of my patience.
Her hands slide up my chest, gripping the lapels of my jacket. The bite of her fingernails digs right through the bespoke wool.They are short and blunt. Trimmed flat for pulling espresso shots and wiping down counters. It shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.
Every woman who has touched me in the last five centuries has had finely manicured fingernails or polished claws. Yet, the desperate grip of these practical hands feels like the most devastating thing to ever lay claim to me.
My fingers find the thin straps of her plum dress. The silk slides off her shoulders, pooling uselessly around her waist to leave her bare. The chilled air of the room hits her skin, and a shiver runs through her small frame.
“Cold?” I ask. My thumb traces the fragile slope of her collarbone.
“Not when you’re this close,” she murmurs against my lips.
She isn’t wearing a bra, and I feel myself lose my mind a little. Her breasts are pale and full, scattered with an irregular dusting of faint freckles. Human socialites spend fortunes and endure endless spells trying to erase these mundane little imperfections. To me, they look like a map. A flawless constellation I suddenly want to spend the next century memorizing.
Lowering my head, I capture her mouth for another wet kiss. My lips trail down her jaw, lingering over the frantic pulse beating at her throat. When my mouth finally closes over one hard, freckled peak, a sharp gasp echoes off the walls.
My teeth scrape lightly over the swollen bud. Her hands immediately abandon my lapels, tangling tight in my hair. It shouldn’t be possible, but I feel the touch all the way into my horns.
“Rakan,” she whimpers, arching her spine to press herself deeper into my mouth.
“Tell me what you want,” I rumble against her wet skin, my hands spanning the soft flare of her waist.
“Everything.” Her fingers tighten painfully against my scalp. “Stop dragging this out.”
She isn’t asking for a wish. She expects me to deliver, and my cock strains against my zipper, responding to her demand.
She’s wearing only scraps of black lace now, the panties that shattered my composure on the dance floor. But even those feel like an insult.
I guide her to the nearby settee and set her down. “You are used to rushing through your days, Iris,” I murmur, dropping to my knees in front of her. “But I intend to take my time.”
I don’t bother taking her panties off like a mortal. The lace simply disappears between my fingertips, utterly obliterated. Iris jerks but doesn’t protest.
I gently press her knees apart, exposing her delicious pussy to my greedy gaze. Her glistening folds make my mouth water, and the trembling skin of her inner thighs feels softer than the silk I discarded on the floor. Has any mortal ever looked this perfect under the lights of a club lounge? Or anywhere, for that matter?
“Rakan,” she whimpers. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, unable to keep the growl from my voice. “Like you are the only thing in this world that matters?”
Before she can answer, I lean down and press my mouth to her core. Her taste explodes on my tongue, rich and intoxicating, more potent than any drug. I growl against her pussy, and a jagged scream tears through the room.
It’s a simple, carnal sound, but it tugs at me on a visceral level. I’m trapped in her pleasure, in her desire, and I don’t want to escape.
I sweep my tongue over her folds and then capture the hard, swollen bud of her clit. Her hips jerk upward, chasing the friction of my mouth. I lock my hands around her hips to anchor her against the settee. When I suck the sensitive pearl between my lips, the amber fire beneath my skin flares out of control.
“Please,” she begs, her short fingernails scraping frantically against the curve of my horns. “Please, it’s too much.”
It’s not. Not nearly enough, not for her. But I refuse to pull my mouth away long enough to tell her that.
I slide two thick fingers deep inside her tight, stretching heat. She clamps around them instantly, a frantic vise that draws a feral groan from my throat. I feed on her juices like a starving animal, my thumb circling her clit as I drive them deeper.
She rides my hand, writhing against the leather, her entire body demanding more. I let my smoke curl over her, and the final thread of her control snaps. Her entire body goes rigid, a violent spasm rocking through her. As she cries out, her internal walls tighten around my soaked fingers. I drink down all of her juices with greed as she falls apart against my mouth.
