Page 59 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

“I told you I’m extremely possessive, and I don’t fucking share,” I add, my lips grazing her cheek. Her shiver against me draws a slow, satisfied smile from my lips.

“And neither do I. I’m not here to meet anyone. I’m just here as Henrietta’s friend. That’s all.”

“Good,” I say, stepping back just enough to slip my arm around her waist. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“To somewhere more private.”

“What about Henrietta?”

Henrietta’s laughter rings out, joined by the man’s easy chuckle. Edie can’t see them, but it’s obvious Henrietta is happily distracted. “She’ll be fine. I won’t keep you from her for long.”

Leading her to the staff door, I open it, and we slip inside. Then I lock it, sealing us away.

“Where am I?” Edie demands. Her body heat spikes, a noticeable flush blooming between her thighs, fear sharp in her voice.

I smirk. “Alone, in a pitch-black room that only I have the key to.”

“Dorian…” she whispers, voice trembling as she presses against the wall, her arms reaching out beside her as she edges along it.

I have her all to myself.

Alone.

Vulnerable.

At my mercy.

My fangs descend, drawn by the pulse of her heat and the winding rivers of her veins. Despite preparing for this moment and feeding until I was full, hunger still claws at me. No other blood has ever tasted like hers. Everything else is dull, flavourless, like drinking water. I tongue my fangs, the sharp points reminding me of the rapture they can bring, and the damage they can cause. My chest heaves as I curl my fingers into fists, battling against instinct. And yet my darkness still moves restlessly within me, a fiend trying its best to pick at my resolve.

I’m stronger than this. I’m stronger than the lure of her blood.

“Dorian?” Edie repeats, her voice quivering in the dark, a warm puff of air releasing from her mouth in a cloud of orange.

“Don’t be afraid, Edie,” I say, retracting my fangs, refusing to succumb.

“I’m not afraid,” she argues, still edging further away from me.

I can’t have that.

Lunging for her, I grab her hips, twist her in my arms, and press her against the wall. She lets out a startled breath as I sweep her hair over her shoulder and run my tongue up the curve of her neck, feeling the tiny hairs lift beneath my lips. “Well, maybe you should be. Just a little.”

“Dorian, I… This is…” she stutters.

She’s conflicted, her fear wrapped up in lust. It’s a heady combination, one that plucks at my resolve to stay strong. I press my lips against the curve of her neck, kissing her gently, reverently, and some of the tension releases from her body.

This is about her pleasure. I can give her that. I will give her that. Nothing more.

“Shhh, I won’t hurt you,” I say, between open-mouthed kisses against her skin.

It’s a promise I’ve vowed to keep. A promise I’ve only uttered once before.

And it’s a reminder that promises can be broken.

I force that thought away.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, her breath hitching as I reach for the hem of her skirt, my fingers skating over her bare skin as I slip my hands beneath it.