Cristian’s gaze slid to me. Slow. Intent. Something hot and devastating flashed in his expression.
“Turn,” he said quietly.
I did. My hands trembled as he stepped behind me. He lifted the gown carefully, smoothing it against my spine before guiding the zipper up. His fingertips brushed my skin—barely there—but the bond roared to life like a struck match.
I inhaled sharply.
Our eyes met in the mirror. Tension exploded, thick enough to drown in.
I leaned to the side without thinking. A tiny shift. A tilt of my head. A silent offering I didn’t consciously choose.
Cristian’s mouth touched the base of my throat, warm and reverent. A soft exhale over my skin. His lips traced along the line of my neck, each kiss a question and an answer all at once.
I gripped the vanity.
“Cristian…” My voice cracked.
His mouth curved against me. Not a smile—something darker.
“Hold still.”
His fangs brushed my skin, feather-light.
Then he sank them in.
Pleasure shot through me so sharply that I gasped, my knees buckling. One of his hands came up to brace my stomach, holding me upright as he drank—slow and intimate in a way that made my bones tremble.
Heat unfurled through my entire body.
I felt his breath, his hunger, his restraint. Felt how he tasted me like a secret he didn’t want to lose.
My hands fluttered helplessly over his wrist, gripping him. Wanting more. Wanting…
Everything.
He licked the wound closed, his tongue soft against my skin. I whimpered.
His voice rasped at my ear, low enough to ruin me. “We’ll save the rest for later.”
I blinked at him in the mirror, dazed. “The rest?”
He smirked wickedly. “I will not risk ruining your gown. Or your hair. I worked hard to restrain myself.”
My entire body lit up like a Christmas tree. His hand slid down my hip, slow enough to make a promise.
“Stay close to me tonight,” he murmured. “Very close.”
I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice. And because I wasn’t sure I even remembered how to speak.
I drove us to a supernatural masquerade ball in my 2011 Corolla, which had a dent in the front bumper from a rogue shopping cart, and a glove box that only closed if you prayed over it.
Cristian sat in the passenger seat like he was preparing for death by combustion.
This was not his first ride in a car, but he didn’t seem to be growing more comfortable with the idea.
His hand clamped the door handle with such force I heard it creak. “This machine,” he said solemnly, “was not constructed with safety in mind.”
“It passed inspection,” I said, merging onto the highway.
