After inspecting the leather sofa and matching chairs, I turn back to Azrael to find him already watching me with his unique gold gaze. “Whose room is this?”
He arches an inky brow at me. “Mine. Who else’s would it be?”
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know. That’s why I was asking.”
Shaking his head at me, he wanders over to one of the wide, black leather armchairs facing the sofa. He shrugs off his suit jacket and throws it over the back before lowering himself into the chair.
Leaning back, he begins unbuttoning the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt and rolling up each sleeve, exposing his forearms corded with muscle.
My gaze is drawn to the black-and-gray tattoos that creep out from under his shirt all the way down to his fingers. On one hand, he has what looks like a clock made out of gears, and I can’t quite figure out what he has on his other.
He drums his fingers against the armrest as he watches me silently. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
My eyes go wide as I yank my gaze up from where I’m inspecting his tattoos, feeling like I was caught doing something I shouldn’t. “What?”
He gives me a smile that’s anything but friendly as he crooks a finger at me. “Come here, little bird. You can’t very well take my blood from across the room.”
His raspy voice talking about me taking anything of his sends a shiver down my spine, but I try to shake it off. The last thing I need is to be getting turned on by the man who can’t stand me. That’s just asking for trouble.
Crossing the room on shaky legs, I come to a stop in front of him. I’m standing in between his parted thighs, but I make sure to leave room between the two of us so we aren’t touching.
Swallowing a few times before I can get my voice to work, I ask, “Now what?”
He gestures lazily to his parted legs. “Now you sit on my lap.”
“On your lap?” I squeak. “Not just next to you or something?”
He chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Yes, on my lap. It’s easier this way. Unless you’re too scared to do it.”
I glare at him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, goading me, and I hate that I’m going to fall for it.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, I climb as gracefully as I can onto his lap. He doesn’t make it easy for me by closing his legs or steadying me. Instead, he just watches me fumble with barely veiled amusement until I land on him with anoomph.
When I’m settled with my ass on his legs and my knees on either side of him, I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not scared, you one-eyed rutabaga,” I grouse under my breath. “I’m wary. There’s a difference.”
I’m lying.
I’m definitely terrified to be sitting on his lap. At night, when I was reeling from a nightmare, it was different. Now, fully awake, I’m feeling too much, having my lower body pressed against his. I’m pretty sure I can feel the hard ridge of his cock nestled between my legs, but I’m doing my best to ignore it.
He snorts, having heard me despite my mumbling. “Where do you even come up with these insults?”
I consider not telling him just to spite him but eventually relent. “My sister.” I see his eyes soften ever so slightly, and I know I can’t deal with any questions about her right now. Instead, I rush to say, “So, you require your entire valor to sit on your lap to unlock their dragon. Seems weird.”
I hate the spike of jealousy at the thought of other women sitting on his lap like this. He’s not, and never will be, mine, so I have no right to feel like this.
“No,” he rumbles as his golden eyes rove over my face. “Just you.”
“Oh,” I respond, not really knowing what to say to that. “Now what?”
Instead of answering me like a normal person, Azrael begins unbuttoning his dress shirt. When it’s fully undone, he shrugs off the button-down and lets it pool near his waist.
He’s left in only a white tank top that shows off the ink running up both arms, across his shoulders and collarbones, and down his torso.
I don’t have time to appreciate his defined pecs and buff upper arms because he shifts one of his fingers into a wickedly sharp talon. Without warning, he slices it across the crook of his neck. Bright red blood wells in the cut. It looks like it hurts, but Azrael doesn’t display any reaction to the wound.
“Now, you drink.” Shifting his finger back, he sticks it into his mouth to clean up the tiny bit of blood on the tip.
I wrinkle my nose at the thought of having to lick his blood. I’m not a vampire, so drinking blood just sounds nasty.
