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Gripping the base of my skull, he turned my head, exposing my throat. He rocked his hips slowly against mine, his focus on the side of my neck.
“So fucking sexy,” he said.
I dug my nails into his shoulders. “Do it. I want to feel your teeth.”
He rumbled in approval and scraped his fangs down my skin. The pleasure/pain sent a shudder over me.
His mouth came down on my throat again. This time, he sank his fangs deep.
My body arched in pain. I moaned lowly and scrabbled at his back. “Please,” I said, not sure if I was asking him to stop or asking for more.
He murmured something soothing and tightened his grip on my skull, keeping me in position for him to feed. He thrust harder, fucking into me.
The pain morphed to a sharp pleasure. When I moaned a second time, it was a blissed-out, don’t-ever-stop sound.
He didn’t feed long—a minute, maybe two. I was coming before he finished, an intense, incredible orgasm that started deep inside and reverberated through me like a gong.
My mind blanked with the pleasure. The aftershocks kept coming, wave after wave of them. I clung to Brien, chanting his name in a broken voice.
He withdrew his fangs and, without breaking his rhythm, licked my throat clean, healing the tiny puncture wounds. His fingers dug into my hips and he thrust into me, fast and hard, then stilled and groaned, “Twilight,” as his own climax shuddered through him.
After, he lifted me enough to disengage from me, then turned me so I was sitting on his lap, my legs to the side. I kept my arms loosely around him, my head against his shoulder.
He toyed with my braid. “You didn’t cut it off.”
“It’s not like anyone’s letting me near a pair of scissors.”
“Like that would stop you.”
I shrugged. Okay, maybe I hadn’t cut it because he liked it. That didn’t mean I was going to admit it.
“I’m pretty sure I could know you a hundred years and never fully understand you, but thanks for not cutting it.” He feathered his fingers over my nape. “I can’t let it look like I favor you, Twilight. When we’re in sight of the cameras or my father’s men, I may act like an ass sometimes.”
“I figured that,” I said, lifting my head. “But what about last night when we were alone in the club? You sent me away like I was a goddamned toy. Someone to be used, then thrown away.”
He glanced away. “What about you? Are you going to tell me the truth about why you’re here?”
I pushed off his lap and picked up my bustier. “You know why—” I broke off because I didn’t want to lie to him, either.
He rose to his feet and we got dressed in silence.
“But thanks,” I added, because I couldn’t stand how the silence was building. “For bringing me up here.” For giving me a glimpse of the real you. “It was…special.”
Suddenly he was right in front of me. He tucked a strand of hair that had escaped my braid behind my ear. “Are you in trouble? Is that it? Because I can help.”
I stiffened. I’d almost forgotten the switchblade. Suddenly, it felt like a ten-pound weight in my shoe. Then I recalled I’d been wearing my high-tops when I’d wrapped my legs around his hips, and my body broke out in a cold sweat.
What if he’d felt it through the shoe? A vampire’s senses were incredibly sensitive, a human’s amped by a factor of ten.
“Why would I be in trouble?”
“And now you’re hiding something.” His hand tightened around my nape. “You should know I’m getting better at reading you all the time. It happens that way between vampires and humans sometimes.”
I swallowed. If Brien was finding it easier to read me, it meant we’d formed a personal connection, one he could use to track me.
He angled his head to one side, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. “You’re worried—afraid, even. Don’t be. You’re safe with me, love. I promise.”
I tried to push away from him, but he only allowed me to put a few inches of space between us.
