“Please what?”
“Fuck me,” I demand.
Arran lifts up only far enough to show me his devious grin. “I will, lass.” He nips at my bottom lip. “But, I’ll decide when, where, and how.”
“Not now?” I groan.
Skimming a hand toward my waistband, Arran fumbles with my button and undoes my zip.
I’m starting to understand why so many women on the island choose to wear sundresses. They’re probably going commando too for easy access. I’ll have to check up on my own sundress order from Peregrine in the morning, because if Arran and I are going to play around with free use, then I want to make it as easy as possible for both of us.
I gasp loudly as Arran glides two thick fingers over my clit. He circles the sensitive nub slowly, pressing down with the perfect amount of pressure that has another breath stuttering out of me.
“So beautiful,” Arran praises, his eyes tracing each of my features. “Right now, you’re going to come on my fingers, just once, then I’m going to take you on a tour of the castle, show you some of my favorite spots.”
“But—” I start to protest.
Arran’s fingers still. “My meal, my choice. Right?”
“Yes,” I answer, arching into his touch for more.
Arran obliges, continuing with his tight circles again. “When I decide it’s time, I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name, and only know mine.”
“Okay.” I’m beyond snarky replies.
This vampire has gotten to know my body so well that my orgasm is already building under my skin, sensations coursing through my veins as he invites me toward the edge of euphoria, ready to push me over and catch me at the bottom again.
“That’s it,” Arran encourages. “Let go, darling. Fall for me.”
I do. I ride the crest of my orgasm, my body pulsing with my release while Arran’s gaze stays locked on mine.
Chest heaving, I pull Arran down to me again and kiss him with whatever words lay jumbled underneath the protective barriers of my heart.
When I have full function of all my limbs again, Arran helps me up. He keeps his fingers laced through mine while he gathers Anita in his other hand.
“Let’s get you to bed, baby girl,” Arran whispers before pressing a kiss to her head.
My heart does not melt. Not really.
Together, we put Anita in her little bed in my room, making sure she has enough food, water, and toys, before Arran leads me toward the top of the central staircase, right in the center of our two wings.
“This was the first portion of the castle I built,” Arran says, gesturing to the impressive foyer below, the parlor and the empty kitchen on the other side.
“Was there a reason for that?”
Arran rubs at the stubble along his jaw. “It’s a replica of Castle Stewart, the one I grew up in. Of course it’s not perfectly accurate, but I tried my best to bring a little bit of my heritage to Starry Hill.”
My heart aches anew for Arran. How lonely it must’ve been to know that you’ll never have the opportunity to see the ones you love again, never visit the place you call home again, and therefore have to resort to creating a physical representation of that love, that heritage.
“I love your castle,” I say and truly mean it. “It blows my mind that you built something this magnificent with your own hands, and all from memory.”
Even in the low light provided by the sconces, I notice the slight flush to Arran’s cheeks.
“I had a lot of time,” he mumbles and I resist the urge to kiss him again.
I want to know all about Arran’s history, the history of the castle and his clan. I’m hungry for any tiny morsels Arran can provide me with, both for the purposes of my projects, but mostly because I want to knowhimbetter.
“Did you play any kinds of parlor games?” I ask, jutting my chin toward the room where we spend most of our time, our hands still linked.
