I picture myself kneeling at the altar of her body, spreading her thighs wide and pressing my mouth to the sweet, swollen flesh between them. Her scent will be heady—warm…feminine…fucking intoxicating. I will breathe her in until I’m dizzy, until I’m drunk on her. And then I’ll lick—slowly at first, savoring her taste, then harder, deeper, until she’s bucking against my mouth, tugging at my hair, begging me not to stop while she rides my tongue and her juices flow just for me.
I want her thighs trembling around my ears as she cries out, slick and wet against my tongue. I want to taste her while she’s coming—her magic will crest with her pleasure—the Sanguis Vita ripening…flowing hot and strong in her veins.
Her pleasure will feed me, yes. It will break the curse strangling my bloodline. But that’s not why I ache to hear her scream my name.
I want it because it’s her. Because every fantasy I’ve had since the moment I saw her in the Eye has led to this—me on my knees for her, devouring her, proving in the most primal way that she is mine.
And when she finally gives in, when her nails dig into my shoulders and she sobs my name, she will know—body and soul—that she is beautiful. Desired…Worshipped…Owned.
My cock throbs at the thought. The image of her wet and needy…of her thighs gripping me while her curvy body shudders with release, nearly undoes me.
Soon…soon I will taste her.
And once I do, I will never let her go.
20
Jules
Lucian’s arms are solid steel around me as he carries me into a room that makes my breath stop in my throat.
Oh. My. God.
This isn’t a bedroom—it’s a set piece from a vampire version of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.
Seriously—my whole apartment could fit inside here twice over and there would still be space for a dance floor. The ceilings stretch up impossibly high, crisscrossed with carved black beams etched with roses and thorns, like even the architecture here wants to remind you that beauty has teeth. From the center hangs a chandelier dripping with ruby-colored crystals, scattering scarlet light across glossy dark wood floors.
The bed dominates everything. A solid four-poster frame carved from obsidian, its columns are etched with vines and roses. Its crimson sheets ripple under the chandelier’s glow, shimmering like water. The mattress looks so massive and plush it could swallow me whole. This is a bed designed for sin—not sleep.
There’s a fireplace against one wall big enough to roast a dragon—or to heat up enough s’mores for an army. Velvet curtains the shade of midnight drape the windows and puddle on the ground, heavy enough to block out a hurricane. A bar cart glitters in the corner, all crystal decanters and silver stoppers. The air smells faintly of spice and smoke and something darker, headier—Lucian’s scent seems to be woven into every corner of this room—every fabric and thread.
The contrast to my crappy apartment almost makes me laugh. Back home, my bathroom faucet drips unless I twist it exactly right, my couch has a spring that stabs me in the thigh, and my “view” is the back of another ugly beige apartment building. Here, I feel like I’ve stepped into a gothic fever dream.
Lucian sets me gently on the edge of the bed. The mattress sighs under me, molding to every curve, and for one crazy second, I want to wrap myself in the silky sheets and relax. But then his voice cuts through the haze.
“You will rest here tonight, my Queen.” His eyes blaze storm-gray, intent and absolute. “I will leave you for now—but soon…” His gaze roves over me, heat burning through my towel. “Soon I will need to drink from you.”
My stomach lurches. I can’t help glancing at his mouth, at the sharp white fangs that flash when he speaks. During that incredible bath he gave me, I almost let myself forget why he really wants me and what it involves…which is bound to be a whole lot of painful biting.
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
“I don’t think so—I’m not about to be your personal blood bag. I don’t even like needles, let alone fangs.”
If my negative answer dismays him, he certainly doesn’t show it. The corners of his mouth curve, slow and deliberate, like a predator entertained by its prey.
“Needles are so cold…so clinical. My bite is nothing like that.” His voice drops, velvet wrapped in steel. “When I take your blood, it won’t hurt you, my lovely one. You will feel only pleasure. Intense pleasure.”
Heat pools low in my belly before I can stop it. I hate that he can do that with just a few words! Still, I try to play it off like he’s not affecting me, even when he’s giving me that “I want to fuck you right now” stare.
“Uh-huh, right. Pleasure. That’s what every vampire says in the books before they go full Dracula. You can just keep your needle-sharp fangs to yourself.”
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest.
“No needles, Julia. Only my mouth. Only me on top of you, piercing your sweet throat to drink.”
I swallow hard. My brain tries to tell me what a bad idea letting him bite me would be. But my body…my body is way too interested. All my life I’ve been reading romance books where the heroine’s body “betrays” her. But I’ve never actually experienced it up until now. My body is genuinely aching for something I know would be bad for me—or should I say someone.
Lucian leans down to murmur in my ear, his breath brushing my cheek.
