Her smile—that goddamn sunrise of a smile—cuts through my self-flagellation. My body responds instantly—my cock inflates faster than a life raft on the Titanic, straining painfully against my zipper.
Great timing, Little Lucian. Nothing says 'I'm devastated about your trauma' like pitching a tent.
"Lucian," my name in her mouth sounds like a prayer. "You can't blame yourself for what that bloodsucking..." Her brow furrows, and angelic vocabulary clearly lacks the appropriate terminology.
"Bitch?" I offer. "Designer Dumpster Fire? Satan's Side Piece? Couture Cock-goblin? I've got a whole thesaurus of options, Cupcake. Been workshopping them for centuries."
Humor: the band-aid for soul-crushing guilt since... well, forever.
"Yes." Thatbitchdid this. Not you." The profanity on her divine lips is so deliciously wrong it's right.
Her fingers climb my neck, sending electric currents through nerve endings, before tangling in my hair. My eyes practically roll back in my skull. "You came for me.Again."
Like I'd ever do anything else.
I'm pretty sure 'rescuing angelic girlfriend' is in the fine print of the vampire handbook. Right under 'brooding on balconies' and 'always having a spare leather jacket'.
"What I saw..." My voice scrapes like gravel over the words. My eyes can't look away from hers—those golden galaxies I'd burn the world to protect. "It damn near killed me."
My hands trace the delicate sides of her ribs, memorizing every curve like a blind man reading braille. Her skin—that impossible silk—hums beneath my touch.
So fucking perfect. So impossibly mine.
"How did they get you to..." My gaze drifts to those wings—iridescent miracles folded against her back like living art. "Bring those out?"
Smooth, Lucian. Real smooth. 'Hey babe, quick question about your torture session?
Her eyes cloud with memory, but then her lips curve into that honey-sweet smile. "She threatened to kill you if I didn't reveal them. It wasn't even a choice worth considering, Sparky." She reaches up, thumb gently tracing my bottom lip. "Some things are worth sacrificing for."
Holy fucking shit on a sandwich.
My heart does something anatomically impossible in my chest. She surrendered her most sacred part—to protectme? A blood-drinking, smartass vampire with more baggage than an international airport?
I don't deserve her. Not in this lifetime or the next seven.
But my body disagrees completely, my cock throbbing against my zipper like it's trying to morse code "I worship you" directly through denim.
She tugs me down to her level, those fingers suddenly demanding in my hair. Then her lips claim mine, and sweet merciful fuckballs—it's like getting tased by pure sunshine.
Her mouth is warm velvet against mine, and the taste of her—sweet and delicious and something uniquely her—short-circuits my brain. My hands slide to her waist, fingers digging into the silk of her skin as I haul her closer.
The scent of her arousal hits me like a wrecking ball wrapped in Christmas morning. It changes the air between us, turning oxygen into aphrodisiac. Her heart thunders against my chest, each beat pumping more of that intoxicating scent into the space around us.
Vampire kryptonite. Angel-flavored.
My fangs descend without permission, primal instinct overriding centuries of control. Her blood calls to me like a fucking junkie, promising paradise… needing a taste.
Focus, dumbass. This isn't 'Fifty Shades of Fang.' She's been through enough without you going full vampire on her.
But then she makes this little whimpering sound against my mouth, and my restraint crumbles. I press her against the railing, my cock throbbing so hard I'm pretty sure my zipper is one heartbeat away from becoming shrapnel.
"Bite me, Lucian." Her words are a husky whisper against my lips, a plea that hits me harder than a silver bullet. "I know you need to feed. I can feel your hunger.Please."
Jesus, Mary, and the entire heavenly HOA.
I'm starving. After tonight's supernatural bullshit, I haven't fed since Discount Dracula and her Gucci Gang kidnaped Seraphina. And now her blood is singing to me like my greatest hits album.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, guiding my mouth to the delicate skin of her neck, then lower. I pay homage to that flawless canvas with feathery kisses that make her breath catch and her pulse dance beneath my lips.
