Her hands slowly trail down the front of my shirt. I suck in a breath as she slides them below my trousers, running the very sharp points of her fingernails over my hard shaft. “We’re nothing alike.”
Her bottom lip quivers. I pull it between my teeth, tasting her lip gloss. Our shared heartbeat thrums madly with fear, with ecstasy. “We both killed our sires. We both crave wealth and comfort and safety. We both like to be in control of everything, including Sanctus. We bothknow that you’re a goddess who demands supplication. And I have been waiting a century and a half to show you how I can worship you.”
She doesn’t pull away when I kiss her again. Her hand in my trousers strokes harder, and the other goes to the back of my neck, pulling my hair so she can take in more of my mouth. Our tongues caress one another. I can’t even breathe because every time I do, I just take in more of her scent.
Memories from our night in her bed mingle with the here and now, so that the scrape of rock behind my back feels like the softness of her ridiculous bed and her hand on my crotch feels like the first time. But this is notthen, this isnow. Our old selves have died, and now we have nothing left to lose.
Hungry growls escape my throat as I let my fingers trail down her back, the tips still dancing from the memory of the heat, thewetness, between her legs. Now that she’s in control I can no longer touch her pussy, but I still feel every inch of her through her clothes.
I need to find a way to get the blasted things off her.
She must have read my mind, as her fingers make quick work of unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it aside. Next goes the leather belt and scabbard for my sword, which clatters loudly as it hits the floor. In her bed in Paris, she was languid, sensual – a nymph that might slip through my fingers and disappear. Here, she is not nymph but monster, hunger gnawing at her belly, teeth bared, taking what she wants.
I want her however she chooses to be. I want the bloodthirsty woman who killed for freedom and the sensual goddess who enchanted all of Paris and the terrifying vampire who agrees to partake in silly town variety shows to help her friends. I want the Arabella who must do everything alone and the monster who will devour the world for the people she loves. I want to be worthy of her loyalty, her passion, herlove.
I want every side of her. But if tonight all I get is the monster, then so be it.
She barely breaks our kiss to toss her shirt and bra to the side, undressing herself, robbing me of the pleasure. Her skin shimmers in the low light. My hands go first to the slope of her shoulders, the dip of her collarbone – beautiful bare skin, where there should be jewels.
I draw my touch lower, feeling the peaks of her nipples as they harden under my fingertips. She moans into my mouth, her hips pressing closer to me so her heat drags against my hard cock. Our teeth clash as we war for dominance, as our twin monsters dance.
Gripping her arse, I lift her and she wraps her legs around my waist. I spin her so now she’s the one flat against the wall. Her breasts are at the perfect height so I trail my kisses down to them, swirling my tongue around each hardened bud until she is mewling like a black cat begging to be let in from the rain.
Her skin against my lips isexquisite. She tastes exactly as I remember – like wild raspberries, like sweetness and danger. She threads her hands through my hair, tugging enough that it hurts, holding my mouth against her nipple, demanding the pleasure that is her due.
I kiss her like a fool who believes he could belong to her.
Sliding my hand between us, while keeping her balanced against the wall, I dip my fingers into the waistband of her tailored trousers, the button popping free as I push aside lace and silk to cup her. I hiss between my teeth to feel her slickness beneath my fingers.
I want to see Arabella, I want to know if she looks the same as my dreams. I want to smell raspberries and touch my lips to her wet heat and lick over that tiny mole high on her inner thigh. But I don’t dare break the kiss, lest she comes up with a reason why this is a bad idea.
I love a bad idea when it feels this good.
I curl a finger, teasing her entrance before sliding into perfect softness. She plunders my mouth with such vicious need that I’m not certain if she’s kissing me or punishing me.
I can’t breathe. I don’twantto breathe. Raspberries scent the air as I swirl my fingers over Arabella’s clit, her legs quivering, her talons clawing at my skin. Her little moans are the perfect music. And her sweet, sweet pussy…
She grinds against my hand, demanding more, but instead of giving it to her, I slide deeper, plunging two fingers inside her as another teases her other hole.
I murmur against her lips. “I’d love to utilise this two-for-one port.”
I can’t resist.
It’s too perfect.
Her whole body shakes, not from orgasm, but from laughter, her lips purring against mine.
“No more cheesy Catan puns. Let mecome.”
Her eyes are commanding but her voice is rough, husky, the inflection faintly questioning.
“Is Arabella Lestrangebegging?” I ask, utterly unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice even though I know she’ll make me pay for it. Or perhapsbecauseshe’ll make me pay for it.
“I… don’t… beg…” She digs her nails into my back as she arches against me. I pound the tips of my fingers into her clit and this time when she trembles, it’s because pleasure has finally claimed her.
Holding Arabella while she comes apart is a privilege, one I never dreamed I’d get to have again. I slide two fingers deep inside her, breathing through the tightening of her walls around them, trying not to lose my shit at the thought that I could be inside her—
“What was that?” Arabella breathes as she slumps against me.
