Celine growls and yanks my head back to lock eyes with me. “Stop being nice. I’m taking advantage of you, and you’re letting it happen.”
“I know.” I grin at her. “You’re doing a magnificent job.”
She kisses me again, and I devour her—long, slow, thorough kisses, the kind that require coordinated timing and careful execution. I kiss her the way I’ve fantasized about since the firsttime I saw her put a rowdy patron in his place, my free hand playing with her nipple.
“I-I-I need,” she moans.
“I know,” I grunt, dropping my right hand between us and locking my gaze on hers. Her eyes are half-lidded, the warm brown consumed by her blown pupils. She leans forward and tries to kiss me again, but I shake my head. “Stay like this, please. All I want is your eyes on mine.”
Because we’re staring at each other, I get to experience the delicious rush of her reaction when I slip two fingers inside her and roll her clit firmly under my thumb. I want to play with her body for hours, but her break won’t last forever.
Celine clenches around me, her eyes glazed with pleasure. “Harder,” she says.
I give her exactly what she wants. Adding a third finger, I curl them until a string of unintelligible sounds leave her mouth.
When she gasps my name desperately, I lose it, adding a hint of vampire speed to my movements. Celine breaks beautifully, her eyes rolling back as her mouth falls open in a silent scream. She goes limp in my arms, panting wildly. I’ve never been this close to coming in my pants.
I carry her to a liquor crate and fix her outfit. There’s a smudge of eyeliner under her right eye. I wipe it away, making sure both sides are even. Celine’s upper thighs are damp. I unbutton my shirt, then use it to clean her up, knowing she won’t want to dance with even a hair out of place. When I check her face again, I find her watching me with an intense expression.
“What about you?” she asks, dipping her chin to my obvious erection.
With a grin, I put my shirt back on, wearing the damp spot on the front with pride. “The best thing about a dildo is that it will never demand you return the favor,” I say.
Celine laughs and hops off the crate. Shesurprises me when she rocks up on her toes to kiss my cheek, then walks to the door without a word, only turning to look at me when her hand is on the knob.
“Find me at the fight tomorrow,” she says. “We’ll have some fun, then talk after.”
She slips out, and the smell of her on my shirt holds my attention for the rest of the night.
NINETEEN
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #11:
Stay alert, you never know who’s watching.
CELINE
Street parked outside my apartment, I wait for Luca and let my mind drift to the tall, dark, and handsome complication I’ve added to my life. Alistair is good with his hands, I’ll give him that, but can I really treat him like a dildo?
My long-dormant libido cracked one eye open last night and loved what it saw. Dildo or not, leaving Alistair in the dusty storage room without returning the favor didn’t sit right with me. By the time I got home, I had discovered an uncomfortable truth: I wanted him inside me, rocking my world.
His little speech about fixing the Roscoe problem knocked over every one of my defenses. So much so that I feel bad for letting him think I killed the demon. I can’t expose Luca, though. Bringing Alistair in to help is my risk and mine alone.
Plus, if I’m trusting him with a murder confession, letting him get me off a few times is the least of it. From the way he kissed meto the way he fixed my clothes after; Alistair’s sincerity was blazing hot. I wish I hadn’t enjoyed it so much. Either way, it won’t stop me from ending our agreement when the time comes.
“Whatever you’re thinking about must be a doozy,” Luca says, whistling softly through his teeth.
I glance at my phone. “You’re late.”
He frowns. “No, I’m not. I’m exactly on time.”
“Which might as well be late.”
Luca rolls his eyes. “It’s good not to get your way all the time; keeps you grounded in reality.”
“I have wings,” I remind him. “The time I spend on the ground is my choice.” And to avoid scaring the humans, but that doesn’t fit into my argument.
“I’m... You know what? Fuck it,” he grunts. “I’m too tired to argue with you.”
