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I’m not though; in fact, I’m so chill about it I’m wondering if this is some sort of dream. The sense that connects me to Ambrose is wholly and utterly content with the change in our relationship. The skeptical voice inside tries to shame me for giving in to him before our bargain is complete, but it’s easily rebutted. Maybe I’d be concerned if it was only Ambrose who claimed me, but he assures me that my mark on his heart vein is evident to other creatures even if it isn’t as strong as it’d be if I were a vampire.
That’s what I’m wrestling with as I stand in the shower, soaking in the hot water by myself for the first time since we marked each other. It’s silly to already miss Ambrose, when I know he has work to do and he’s just downstairs, but I do. I can’t say that I love him right now, but I’m sure as hell falling hard and fast, and it won’t be too much longer. The bond between us tells me that this feeling isn’t going to fade after the honeymoon stage of any new relationship. Like Ambrose, this bond between us is immortal.
I’ll grow old eventually, I consider as I begin to shampoo my hair. My scalp is sensitive from how much Ambrose enjoys pulling my hair, and my core tightens and slickens at the thought. Before he left the bed this morning, we’d taken our time with each other but he still made sure I saw stars twice before finding his own completion deep inside me.
Praise the doctor who came up with the IUD.
What would Ambrose do after I pass away, being mortal? What about when I grow old and wrinkly and my body is saggy and weak? He will still look the same, a beautiful, ageless sculpture of primal power, not a gray hair or wrinkle in sight. He’d said there would be no one else ever again for him, but if I’m honest, I’m terrified that he’ll come to resent me. How would it look to have an old lady at the side of the vampire king?
Sighing, I rinse out my hair. I don’t want to think about tomorrow’s problems, but that’s not who I am. I’m the worrier, the one who has to overthink everything. I don’t make split-second decisions, like binding myself to the vampire king on his desk when he’s balls deep in me.
A small tink and draft of cool air lets me know the shower opened, and the bond between us tells me it’s Ambrose who’s stepping inside just before his hands touch my waist.
“You’re worrying, little lamb,” Ambrose says against my damp shoulder and tugs me back against him. I melt against him with a sigh, my world feeling right again now that we’re in physical contact. I’ve never been clingy, but now I’d glue us together if I could.
He’s naked, and his length is half hard against my back. Through our new bond, I sense his concern and his growing arousal. I wiggle my butt against him, having learned just how much of an ass-man Ambrose is. He growls playfully against my ear, gripping me harder against him to keep me from moving.
“You can’t distract me that easily,” he rumbles, and starts to stroke my stomach with his broad hand. Warm fuzzies bundle up around my heart as I think about how he’s never once made me hesitate about my body around him. My stomach is soft and round with evidence that I prefer cookies and ice cream over lifting weights or running. Yet Ambrose touches every inch of me with reverence, and I’m swiftly getting used to it.
“A girl can try,” I say with a pout and another tiny wiggle. I think I’ve won when he moves, his length fully hard against my ass now. One hand dips down to cup my sex while the other slides up between my breasts and wraps around my throat. God, I love how it makes me feel when he holds me so possessively.
“Good girls get rewards, little lamb.” Ambrose undulates his fingers against my sex, enough to tease the arousal into burning coals but not enough to give me the pleasure I want.
I turn my head as much as I can in his grasp, wanting to kiss him but he’s keeping me out of reach. I give him a heatless glare. “And if I don’t want to be a good girl?”
Ambrose’s golden eyes turn cold, and his smirk is a match with its iciness. Without warning, his hand vanishes from my sex and I whimper at the loss.
“Then you’ll be punished,” he promises. “I won’t give you what you want.”
I hate that Ambrose means it. He has a thing about control, and I’m a sucker for it. Which means if I want his fingers in me, his cock in me, in the next five minutes, I have to play nice. I consider refusing out of spite, but the topic is going to come up eventually. I might as well get it over with now rather than let it fester in the back of my mind until it erupts like a nasty infected boil.
Turning to stare straight ahead at the white marble shower wall, I slump against his chest and bring my hands up to hold onto his arm. As if sensing my compliance, Ambrose slides his hand back between my thighs, his fingertips teasing my entrance with gentle pressure.
“I was just thinking about the future,” I admit quietly. Anxiety digs its claws into my stomach as I face the issue head on. “About how I’m going to grow old and die,” Ambrose stiffens, but I push on, “and how you’ll end up resenting having an old lady at your side. It won’t be good for your image.”
“Fuck my image,” Ambrose says with considerable heat. “I will adore and cherish you for the rest of my life, Eloise. You are a part of my soul, and if you die, I will follow without hesitation or regret.”
I turn in his arms, heedless of his hold on me, and press my palms flat against his tattooed chest. Tattoos that I’ve spent hours tracing with my tongue now. Ambrose’s expression is fierce, his eyes full of intimidating determination as he looks at me. His dark hair is still dry, but water drops run down his shoulders where the shower sprays over my head. My own hair is plastered to my head and back, and I have to blink away random drops of water that run down my forehead.
“No,” I say adamantly, aghast at the idea of Ambrose dying. “You can’t die. I forbid you. Even if I’m dead. I’ll—I’ll figure out a way to come back and haunt you or refuse to see you if there’s an afterlife.”
His gaze doesn’t soften as he gently grasps the side of my head, his thumb stroking my jaw. “Mates are new to you, Eloise. But not a single creature would wish to outlive their mate. You were the missing piece of my soul, as black as it is, a piece I never knew existed. If you leave, I will be a broken creature. It will be a hell unlike any other and you cannot ask me to suffer that.”
Tears burn my eyes at the sincerity in his words, and I hide my face against his chest. His arms wrap around me, and we stand there under the water together, existing with each other and ignoring the rest of the world. The slow, steady heart beat under my ear melts the worst of my anxiety away, and when one of his hands begin to stroke along my spine, all but one small part disappears.
Unable to look up at him, unwilling to see his reaction, I ask the question I’ve refused to consider until now. “Could I be turned into a vampire?”
Ambrose stiffens against me and fear that isn’t my own radiates down the bond, before it’s entirely cut off. I look up, concerned, but he’s got his mask firmly in place. My heart aches for him; no one feels that much fear unless they’ve experienced something to cause it.
“Talk to me, my king,” I murmur, hoping to give him the same safety as he gives me.
Ambrose turns me until my front is pressed against the cool marble wall, making me yelp from shock. His hands grip my hips like vices and his cock is heavy against the cleft of my ass.
“You can’t distract me like this,” I throw his words back at him, even if my sex is burning with anticipation.
“Can’t I?” Ambrose tilts my hips and cool air wafts against my back as he moves. He grips one of my thighs, lifting it up and opening me up to him. “Fuck, you smell delicious, little lamb.”
Giving up any pretense of resistance, I push my hips back in a silent plea. Then his mouth is on me as he pins me against the wall. I groan, unable to say anything that makes sense as his tongue delves between my slit and teases my clit. I want more; I need more. I will always need more of Ambrose.
