Gentleness is still a new thing for me. It’s a skill I’ll need to master before allowing any more contact than this. I’ll need to ask Gaius for guidance. He is a master of women’s pleasure. Giving it. Withholding it. Prolonging it.
Hadrian, on the other hand, likes to tie up his vampire wife, Carignan. But from her screams, which are filled with declarations of love for him, I gather she likes it.
I don’t want to hold Zahara down. I know what it is like to be bound and forced against your will until you have no will left. No, I want her to seek me out for pleasure. Just like a cat would curl up in its master’s lap.
Just as she’s doing now as I stroke her.
The sound of her purring makes the beast grow harder. It throbs and pulses, eager to get at her. The head of my cock rubs away at the thin sheet separating us. It’s blunt but it could punch a hole in the cotton with the right amount of friction.
I need to put it away. To jam it back inside my pants, which are now too small. Though I know it’s a fool’s errand. The monster has reared its head. It won’t go down without a fight. I don’t have much fight in me with heaven in my arms.
Zahara is pressing her face into the palm of my hand. She rubs her cheek against my fingers, as though she’s seeking more of my touch. The sensation is so foreign to me that I stop petting to watch her now pet me.
From a distance, the angles of her heart-shaped face had appeared sharp. Now that I’m holding her cheekbones, I feel the softness of the flesh there. There are fine hairs along her temples that tickle my fingertips. I stare at them in wonder as her softness, her heat, her nearness, invade all of my senses.
Does she realize that I am now wrapped around her little finger? Does she understand that my entire world view has narrowed down to encompass only her? Does she know that I have her scent, and will follow her wherever she goes until the end of time?
She says she’s trapped me. She is entirely right. My cage is here inside the palm of her hand, and I will never leave willingly. If she wants to keep me underground in this room, in this bed, I will gladly stay.
I am so hyper-aware of all the new sensations that I miss the invasion. An unfamiliar sensation presses against my mouth. It’s Zahara. She rubs her lips against mine—once, twice. And then she presses forward. I jerk away from her before she can…
I’m not sure what she had planned.
Zahara’s eyes slam open. She gulps and looks around as though she’s forgotten where she is. Her brown cheeks are stained red. But it’s a darker shade of red than passion. She looks embarrassed.
“What did you just do?” I ask her.
“Me? I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who got all handsy.”
She swats at my hands. I do not loosen my hold on her, though I am mindful of my strength. I only exert enough power to keep her in my lap, pressed against my chest so that she cannot escape.
“With your mouth?” I say. “What was that?”
“Don’t get all excited that I kissed you. It didn’t mean anything. I was just sampling the milk, since I’ve already bought the cow.”
Zahara continues to push and shove at my chest. She turns her head away, avoiding my questioning gaze.
“That was a kiss?”
Her face reddens. She manages to get an elbow free and uses it to deliver an uppercut. I merely grunt and tighten my hold. She is strong for a little thing. But she doesn’t realize she is mine and I will not let her go.
“No one’s ever done that to me before,” I say.
Zahara stops struggling. She turns back to me, her lips parted in a perfect O.
I gaze at the shape. My eyes do a full circuit of her upper and lower lips, remembering their softness. I knew what a kiss was, though it was rare to see in a whorehouse. Patrons came to have their loins plundered, not their lips.
“Do it again,” I say. Then, remembering my manners, I add, “Please.”
Zahara’s breathing is heavy. But she’s stopped struggling. Something else that has stopped throbbing is the beast below. It appears just as entranced by the kiss as the rest of me.
I taste the sweetness of her breath as she exhales once more. My tongue aches to trace her lips. My belly aches to drink her down. Not her blood—though I wouldn’t mind a taste of that, as well. But right now, I just want her. Her breath mixed with mine. Her essence inside of me.
Barely a couple of inches separate us. Zahara’s lips are right there for the taking. I hunger for her mouth, but I don’t want to do it wrong.
“Show me how?” I say. And then I remember, belatedly, “Please.”
She swallows, and I want to growl in protest. I wanted to taste that.
One of my hands releases the hold I have on her face. My fingers slide down her body to rest on her hip, to hold her steady and not let her go.
“Please,” I repeat. It’s the last time I’ll ask. Then I’m going to take.
“Sure,” she says. Though she fails at the nonchalance I think she’s aiming for. “Why not? We’ll be fucking soon anyway.”
I don’t correct her. I was being truthful when I said I wouldn’t have sex with her. Down below, the monster in my
