All told,Carmine had spent a lot of time watching Atticus drive. The way he held himself, the motions of the vehicle, the speed at which he drove — she thought she had all those things well-categorized and filed in her mind.
She’dneverseen him drive like he did that night.
Carmine gripped the arm rests of her seat and laughed with exhilaration as he hurtled up the mountain roads. There was no fear, no worry that they’d careen over the edge and plummet into the frigid river below. Her trust in Atticus was bone-deep. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Not now. Not ever.
They made it back to the estate in record time.
Anticipation was a warm, heavy weight in her stomach. Her pulse beat between her thighs. Her panties were wet. Longing unlike any she’d known gripped her as she recalled the weight of him in her palm, the scent of his skin, and his harsh gasps in her ear.
Atticus had been too focused on navigating the tight, winding roads of the mountains to touch her as they drove, but once they made it onto the estate, his palm landed on her thigh, so close to the gusset of her jeans that his pinkie brushed the seam.
Before she could so much as gasp, he’d moved to cup her instead, pressing so firmly that her hips lifted reflexively off the seat.
“I think about this pussy every fuckin’ night,” he growled, turning the car onto the private road that led to the cottages. “I love how wet you get when you feed from me, and I lose my mind when you come. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”
He pressed his two middle fingers into the seam, applying pressure where she needed it most. “Atty,” she breathed, grasping his tattooed forearm like a lifeline.
“It’s going to be even more beautiful seeing you wrapped around my cock.” He glanced at her, his jaw flexing. “You ready for that?”
“Gods, yes.” She didn’t hesitate, didn’t consider the repercussions or the fear that had always clouded her imaginings of intercourse. What had once seemed like a harsh inevitability had revealed itself to be a source of joy and anticipation.
Atticus had introduced her to sex with care. He’d wrung orgasm after orgasm out of her without once asking for anything in return. He let her lead, and his touch was rarely uncomfortable and never unwanted. Carmine couldn’t imagine that penetrative sex would be any different — except, perhaps, in that it would bebetter.
He flashed a fanged smile full of promise. “Good.”
The tires squealed as he came to an abrupt stop in front of his cottage. All of the homes on the estate looked similar, each one assembled with discarded stone from the mine, old bricks, and local timber. Inside, however, each one had been renovated to suit the owner’s taste. Carmine was intimately familiar with Atticus’s dark wood accents, clean lines, and white walls. His taste ran more Spartan than her own, but it suited him. It alsopleased the part of her that desired order and cleanliness both in the morgue and in her living space.
She wasn’t thinking of any of that, though, as Atticus yanked her door open and practically dragged her out of the car. She laughed and scrambled to keep up with him as he pulled her toward the cottage.
For all that they were in a rush, they couldn’t seem to stop themselves from pausing every few steps to allow their greedy hands to wander, grab, stroke, and pull. Their kisses were hungry and increasingly desperate. Atticus’s taste always drove her wild, but her desire was sharpened to a keen edge by this new hunger he revealed.
Her back hit the heavy wooden door with athump.Atticus cupped the side of her neck with one hand, his thumb tilting her chin up, as his other fumbled with the biometric lock. Their mouths were fused, their kisses raw and wet. Her hands roamed beneath the stretchy material of his shirt, tracing all the flesh that had been barred to her for too long.
She tore her mouth away from his to pant, “I want to see you. You’ve never let me see you before.”
“Couldn’t risk it.” The lock beeped. Atticus pushed the door open and walked her inside. He licked at her lips, lapping like he couldn’t get enough of her taste, even as he kicked the door shut behind them. “Thought if I got naked I’d lose any sense I had left.”
“I want you to lose your sense,” she replied, tugging at his shirt. “I never thought I’d have someone who wanted me so much that they’d lose their head. I never thought it’d be this good.”
Being a blood bride meant being possessed, used, even coveted. It wasn’t the same as being desired — not just as a vessel, but asher.Carmine Safi. A woman who likedsparkly eyeshadow, arcades, murder mystery shows, and Atticus Caldwell.
He huffed a dry, incredulous laugh against her lips. “Gods, Carmine, I haven’t had my head on straight since I opened that fuckin’ trailer. I’m crazy about you. Love how stubborn you are, how smart. I love how you smell and how you taste and when you look at me like I’m a science experiment. I hate when we’re apart and I count the minutes until I see you again.”
“Me, too.” She didn’t bother looking behind her as he walked her backward toward his underground bedroom. He wouldn’t let her bump into anything. “I thought it might dim a little when things settled down, but…”
But it hadn’t. It’d only simmered in the back of her mind, getting warmer, sweeter, more complex. While she’d adjusted to life outside the crypt and actually got to know him, her desire had quietly permeated every cell of her body, changing her fundamentally.
“It didn’t,” he finished for her, gritty and knowing. “It only got stronger.”
She dragged her blunt claws down his chest.“Yes.”
Atticus hissed. Without warning, she was hoisted up into his arms. Her legs banded around his waist as he supported her weight with a forearm under her backside.
“Duck your head,” he growled.
Carmine didn’t need to be told twice. She pressed her kiss-swollen lips to his throat, tasting the delicious, familiar tang of his skin as he jogged down the short flight of stairs to his bedroom.
He told her that it had once been a root cellar, but she wasn’t exactly certain what the purpose of one was. It had something to do with food, she was fairly sure, which explained why he’d converted it into a bedroom. Not only was it light-proof, butit was below ground — something that called to a vampire’s instincts and made her feel safe.
