“No.” Resentment creeps in.
He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. Even if she was working here on the floor below you?—”
“She was in the TV part of VMR,” I interrupt. “Point the way, and I’ll go and ask around. You won’t have to do anything.”
He takes my arms. The hold is firm but doesn’t bite like before, and yet I know I couldn’t break free if I tried.
I don’t want to try.
“Monty,” he whispers my name like a sigh, and my heart flutters.
“She’s my friend,” I say. “She’s the closest to family I have. And you can’t keep me locked up forever. That’s cruel.”
“I need to trust you to let you roam freely.” He lets me go and straightens. His face turns into an unreadable mask. “I have meetings.”
“You’re leaving me again?”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Be aware, the elevator has guards on every stop.”
Before I can snarl choice words at him, he draws me to him and kisses me. My mouth opens beneath his of its own volition.
A hunger rises, taking over everything. I can’t help myself, melting into him like I’m ice under an intense sun.
He smells the same, but deeper, more compelling, like there’s an addicting scent beneath the one I know.
The kiss he gives and cajoles out of me is pure devastation, and I fall into it, into him, mating my tongue with his in a slow, sinful dance.
The kiss tastes to me like forever—and love—and that’s a lie. Nothing but a fallacy, and something I reject. I don’t want soft with him.
I want hard. Shallow. Sex and sex only, because if we kiss like this then it’s a lie I’m buying into. I want him, desperately. Mybody throbs for him, my pussy drips and heats, a hollow ache between my thighs only he can fill.
I want him.
But it doesn’t mean I like him.
I want him to suffer for what he did to me, his lifeblood in me, singing in my veins and giving me the strength of him.
I want Lucian but I hate him, too.
Sosoftis something I reject.
I pivot the kiss, pressing into him, turning the kiss into altars in the rain, thunder threatening to rip open the heavens.
Lucian moans, his erection pressing into me. What I want is to rub up on it. No, what I want is to climb on him and fuck myself stupid. I want to suck him off. I want him to tie me down and do whatever he wants with me.
I bite his lip. Hard. The heat of blood, salty, darkly sweet, touches my tongue, and he growls, shoving me away.
“You don’t get my blood anymore, Monty. You’ve had enough. And I’m late.”
With that, the fucker leaves, elevator dinging as it descends. The wall slides back, hiding it once more.
But…now I know it’s there.
Blood’s still in my mouth, a few drops, a lick, but it swirls like a ferocious gale through me, and I lunge forward for the elevator…where I know it is. But I stop myself.
Make myself breathe.
If I’m to survive, then I need to control the blood and not the other way around. Do I still want to bathe in pools of blood?
