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I ate what he pressed against my lips, which turns out to have been chocolate toffee chip cookies. Whoever made them, I had wanted to propose. This morning, remembering how good they tasted, I still want to propose.
Ambrose had taken care of me, a much more intimate version of the volunteers at the blood donation centers. When I’d eaten enough to satisfy him, I could barely finish chewing, I was so ready for sleep. All I remember is pressing myself against Ambrose’s chest and him rolling us towards the center of the bed.
He didn’t fuck me last night like I’d expected... like I wanted. Now, with his hips cradling my butt, I learn that male vampires have the same physical response as human men have. My stomach twists with desire and heat pools between my thighs as I remember the sounds he made last night. Ambrose had come after I had, his mouth on me, and something about that is really, really hot.
I push my hips back just a little bit, afraid if I move too fast I’ll disturb the sleeping vampire. He’s not hard as a rock, but even at half-mast from sleep, he’s large. I’m bombarded with memories of watching supernatural porn with Deidre, both of us curious as hell but too intimidated to look alone. Ambrose said he was turned into a vampire, which meant he’d been human before, so I guess his cock is what I’m used to working with. There are no knots or moving ridges or...multiples of them as there are with other supernaturals.
Unless becoming a vampire changes his shape?
I press back harder, shifting, my face bunched in concentration as I try to feel him up without actually feeling him up. Each little movement makes it firmer, and even though my curiosity is half academic, knowing that I’m arousing his body is heightening my own arousal.
What will he feel like in my hand?
I’m like a damn curious cat, but curiosity gets cats killed. My ardor cools. Curiosity got Deidre kidnapped and hurt. I know Rapture and Ambrose’s dick aren’t the same thing, but I’m out of my element here. I might have given in to the temptation of Ambrose, but I have to remember we have an expiration date. I’ll keep booking clients and going with Ambrose whenever he needs me somewhere, but this isn’t a fairytale.
Ambrose isn’t a savior, isn’t a prince charming, even if he has wealth and power and insists on the best for me. I can’t let myself get used to it.
“Where are your thoughts at this morning?”
It’s so hard, though. Because I can really, really get used to that sleepy, husky voice murmuring in my ear.
I lean back against him, looking over my shoulder through my messy hair. “I was thinking about how you are not Prince Charming,” I say with utter honesty.
Ambrose’s lips—lips I know are so soft and wicked now—tilt in a grin. “God forbid anyone ever accuse me of such.”
I roll my eyes and tug away from him, my bladder making its needs known. He lets me slide out of his arms and it’s so hard to get up out of the cocoon of warmth and safety. When I start to pull the blankets off, I realize I’m still totally naked and yank them back to my chest, staring at the floor in consternation.
Letting Ambrose see me in the buff in a dark room last night was one thing, but it feels entirely different to walk across a dawn-lit bedroom. He’ll see every bounce and jiggle of my butt and thighs.
“Is there a problem?”
I twist around to glare at him, the thick white duvet still clasped to my chest. Words die on my lips as I take Ambrose in. After I fell asleep, he must have showered and changed since there’s no sign of blood—mine or what he’d had on him when he came to the Tooth and Claw. He’s spread out on his back, one hand lazily behind his head and the other splayed out on his abs. A dusting of dark hair trails from his navel to the waistband of dark gray sleep pants, which are slung low enough that the trail of hair spreads out enough for a taunting tease.
Is this what it’s like for guys when a woman’s top is so low cut, you just know the nipple is barely staying covered? Because hell, I’d never thought a thin smattering of pubic hair would make me want to yank a man’s pants down, but here I am all the same.
Especially since his pants are tented enough to know his morning situation hasn’t entirely dissipated.
Realizing I’m staring at Ambrose’s crotch like a crazy person, I yank my eyes back up to his golden ones. There’s no trace of red in them this morning, and my heart thuds because I’m the cause of his satisfaction. Pale gold and orange from the sunrise warm his skin, and his brown hair is tousled from sleep. The biggest surprise of his appearance, though, is the lack of lines on his face. This is Ambrose, the man, before he takes on the mantle of vampire king. This is him without the crown of blood and night he insists on wearing.
I can give my body to Ambrose, leader of the Nightshade vampires, king of all Vampires, and ruler of the Barrows.
It’s Ambrose, the man, that I truly have to protect myself from. Everything is telling me to give this man my heart. And that’s terrifying. Because I might be able to trust Ambrose the man to never break it, but Ambrose the king will never put me first.
His forehead wrinkles and he reaches out, but before he can touch my face, I jerk back and he halts. I can’t let him touch me with tenderness, not when he has no barriers up right now. I’ll dive headfirst into him and that can only end in misery.
“Can you look away?” I ask, hoping he mistakes my shaky voice for modesty instead of the emotional battle raging between my heart and my brain. “I’m not wearing anything.”
“And deprive myself of such beauty first thing in the morning?”
I cast my eyes down at the bedsheet, biting the inside of my lower lip to keep from looking at him. Where is the dramatic asshole that I’m used to? That’s who I need right now if I’m going to keep it together today. Thinking quickly, I force my eyes into a roll.
“You’ll survive considering how long you stand in front of a mirror.” I yank the rest of the duvet off him and twirl it around my shoulders and head as I finally stand up. I know I look ridiculous, but who hasn’t wrapped an entire blanket around themselves like a wearable tent? The hardwood floors are chilly against my feet, another sign that the seasons are turning. The air is cooler this morning than it was a week ago. I rush through the bathroom door, closing and locking it behind me. If Ambrose really wants in, the lock won’t stop him but it makes me feel better to have something solid between us.
As the water is heating, I abandon the white duvet on the floor and look at myself in the mirror above the sink I’d claimed as my own. I’m paler than normal, but that’s not surprising given how much blood Ambrose drank from me last night. My fingers find the new bites on the side of my neck, the set from the first time he fed no longer sensitive. They’re healed but send just as much pleasure through me as the first set had. Around my nipple is bruised, and my core clenches at the memory of his lips and tongue on my nipple. Peeking down, I try to balance with a leg up to see if I have a bruise near my clit but my knees prove too wobbly still. A tentative touch makes me bite my tongue to stop the moan from slipping out.
Holy shit, if I thought the bite on my neck is sensitive? The punctures on either side of my clit feel both heavenly and torturous from my touch. It’d be so easy to get myself off right now, but Ambrose is on the other side of the door. I bet he could hear me with his super vampire senses that he’s so proud of.
Deciding I’m not brave enough to push his buttons this morning, I jump into the shower and don’t linger. By the time I’m done and dressed for the day, I’ve got enough of my shields up to face Ambrose again.
