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“I like it when you’re good,” he said against my temple. “It makes me think you want to please me.”
My heart swooped in my chest like a seagull through the blue sky. I swallowed thickly. Because I did want to please him—or a part of me did, anyway.
“Twilight.” His grip tightened on my throat—not hurting me, just showing me who had the power here.
My limbs grew heavy, and my knees would’ve buckled if his free hand hadn’t come to my stomach to press me against his body. He was going to feed from me, sink his fangs into my throat.
And I wanted it. Lord help me, I wanted it.
A wave of heat flushed my skin. My body strained toward his.
I shouldn’t want it so much. I was so messed up.
This—us—was so messed up.
But I did want it. That was my guilty secret. I fucking loved a vampire’s kiss. That aphrodisiac they have in their saliva can make sex so hot.
I wasn’t the only slayer who felt that way, either. We might not like to admit it, but for some of us, sex with a vampire was a definite perk. Just like some of us wondered what it would be like to be turned…
And this wasn’t just any vampire, it was Brien. The man who’d starred in my dirtiest fantasies for the past two years.
I was desperate to feel him naked against me. Over me. In me.
He caressed my throat with long fingers warmed by my skin. His other hand cupped me through my shorts.
With a ragged moan, I pressed back against his erection. He bent his knees, aligning the hard ridge with the crack of my ass, and ground against me, his dick burning hot even through the layers of material separating us.
I reached back, grabbing his thigh through his cut-off jeans. I ran my hand down to the coarse hair of his inner leg above his knee.
He pulled me tighter against his hard body. “Sweet bloody Lilith, I want you.”
I melted into him. “Yes.”
A single, softly spoken word that felt like surrender. Hell, it was surrender. This was wrong, and I knew it—the man was my target, for God’s sake—but I couldn’t fight both him and myself.
Brien exhaled a breath, stroked a possessive hand up my belly to my breasts, palming one and teasing my nipple through the soft black tee.
“No bra.” He pinched my nipple, making me arch against him. “Youarebeing good.”
“Mm.” I rubbed my ass against him, and his hand went to my other nipple, pinching it as well.
“Or is this all a lie?” He turned me around and put me a few inches away from him.
Eyes half-closed, I murmured in protest and reached for him.
He caught my wrists and brought my arms to my sides. I forced my heavy lids open. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth twisted skeptically.
I jerked against his hold. “Let me go, damn you.”
He tightened his grip on my wrists, keeping me where I was. Frost-green eyes searched mine. “Iwilllearn to read you. You’re good, but I’m starting to get little glimpses. Right now you’re upset…angry. Why, Twilight? What are you hiding?”
I glared back, but it was hard to hold his gaze when I was fighting the conviction that he could read my mind.
He can’t. That’s your guilt talking.
However, he could sense my emotions, and despite my training, mine were apparently leaking out. Anger, agitation, sadness—and at the center, a hopeless sort of emptiness.
Tell him.
