He doesn’t.
A hot ache blooms in my chest. Every heartbeat pushes the heat higher until it pulses behind my eyes, while he continues to touch me as he wills. He keeps invading my mouth, one layer at a time. Pulling my lower lip down, twisting it between his fingers, every which way he wants, slowly working his way into me.
Like he has every right to.
Like I’m his plaything.
Anger thumps in my veins, taking over reason, shredding all restraint. On the next stroke, he grazes the edge of my teeth. My fangs bare, and I bite down.
Hard.
Hard enough to draw blood. Hard enough to keep it in a tight grip even as he tries to pull away.
“You fucking brat.” He winces. “Let the fuck go.”
I don’t. Not even when he growls like an animal. I dig my teeth deeper into his flesh until…
Mason grabs the roots at the top of my head and pulls them back, making my mouth fall open in a cry and releasing his bloodstained limb.
“You have some fucking nerve, Etheridge,” he hisses, leaning down so his face is an inch from mine. “You think you can draw my blood and walk away, unscratched? I’ll knock that crown clean off your head. And when I’m done with you, not one of those posh twats will touch you with a fucking barge pole.”
My skin prickles as I stare at his raptorial face, speechless.Any attempts at words end in quivers. And then there is no time for apologies. Mason yanks my head farther and places his bloodied thumb on my tongue. The metallic taste burns, a mixture of smoke and ash.
“Clean up your mess,” he barks.
I freeze with his thumb stuck to my tongue that’s as dry as sand.
“Don’t test my fucking patience, princess. I don’t have any to begin with,” he grits. “Suck. Unless you want me to use another one of your holes to wipe my blood off.”
That does it.
His brash words melt all my inhibitions, making me surrender. My mouth wraps around the base of his thumb, tongue swirling, licking the liquid off his skin. His eyes darken as he watches me suck his limb, drawing it in and out of my mouth. Something feral flickers behind them; a monster pressing its face to the glass.
My temperature rises, all the way to my core. And in that moment, I see what others see on his face—the false magnetism he uses to lure them.
“Good girl,” he drawls in a deep voice.
Three things happen at the same time: I freeze, my tongue pauses, and something wet pools between my legs.
What just happened?
My reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. His lips twitch slightly, then curve in a wicked smile that only amplifies my clenching, throbbing core. My mouth jerks off him, cheeks burning red hot. His thumb falls out, clean and shiny, coated with my saliva.
“It’s done,” I whisper.
“I see that.” Mason slowly twists his thumb in the air. “Shame you didn’t bite harder.” He wipes a drop of red from my mouth. No,not wipe. Spreads. He brushes my lip, replacing my pink with his red.
The act itself is so unsettling, I miss the approachingfootsteps until the door bursts open, clanking against the wall. I jump. Right into Mason.
Dark shadows drift in, something green flashing in one hand—Jack, followed closely by a man, dressed all in black—Kane Berkeley.
“Eva.” Jack’s face is stern as he glares at Mason but speaks only to me. He motions toward the door. “Time to go.”
Relieved, I start toward Jack, but before I take the first step, I’m whirled around. My eyes widen in horror as Mason leans down and presses his lips to mine.
His taste of smoke and whiskey and something tantalizing I don’t want to name hits me like a drug injected directly into my brain. My heart pounds, heat rising inside me as his lips move against mine, blood and saliva swirling between us.
What is happening right now? Why is he kissing me? And why hasn’t Jack ripped him off me yet?
