“Yes.”
She scoffs at me, a hand coming to rest upon her hip.
But I continue before she rebuts, “I deserved every moment of it—for how I treated you, for betraying your trust, for withholding the truth.” Her heart races, the rhythm betraying her anger. “I will never stop trying to earn your forgiveness. Not only for last night. For all of it.”
There’s a heated pause.
I feel her gaze trailing over me, like the blood—her blood—running through me is magnetised to her every movement.
“Well, this is a pretty good start,” she muses. “You on your knees.”
I lift my head, meeting her eyes now level with mine.
My voice drops, low and edged with something darker. “You enjoy seeing me on my knees for you, mon âme?”
She leans in slightly, just enough to make me feel it.
“I haven’t decided,” she murmurs, eyes sweeping down then up. “Maybe I should keep you there a little longer.”
I fight to keep my expression composed. “Then by all means,” I say, voice threaded with something darker, “keep me.”
I see it then, the flicker of something in her gaze—not just amusement, but curiosity.
I remain where I am, waiting. Not because I am powerless. Not because I have no choice. But because, for the first time in my existence, I want to be exactly where she has put me.
At her feet.
Hers.
I take a moment to appreciate her form again. Even in the shapeless, baggy clothing, it’s a tease. Only makes me work harder to imagine what’s beneath. I’d seen her in those short and tight dresses at The Inferno, they starred in many daydreams, I was almost certain I could draw from memory the body I imagined awaited me. Maybe I’d ask Sai to paint it...
“Did you cook?” She shifts, moving to the side as she scents the air.
I study her expression as it flickers, her brows pulling together, lips parting with the softest confusion before she looks back to me.
My lips curl into a small smile.
“A vampire who cooks… huh.” She huffs a quiet laugh.
“I am a man of many talents,” I murmur, the rasp in my voice intentional. “Are you hungry, mon âme?” I ask with more grit than I intend.
Because, somehow—still—I am ravenous.
Her eyes take on that glassy hue again, her teeth embedding her plump lower lip. Sai thought the wall was a torment but no. This. This is true torture.
She nods, her lip pulling free as she does.
“Come,” I say, holding out my hand for her, still on my knees. I won’t stand until she permits it.
“I just need to get dressed—”
“Why?”
She laughs, it’s quick and breathless but my darkness pulses at the heavenly sound.
“I don’t have pants on,” she says. I fail to see the problem, remaining silent with my hand holding still. She quirks a brow. “And I need shoes.”
“I will carry you,” I urge. I just need her with me—now.
