Lifting out a blood-red thong, he groaned and replaced it to grab the alcohol. He pulled out a glass from the dresser and poured a generous measure, taking a sip of the strong liquid. Once again, as he studied the bed, the witch changed position, and now she lay flat on her back. She spread her legs and snaked her hand down to cup her sex. Roman watched, paralyzed. Is she doing this on purpose? He couldn’t help but study her as if in a stupor and sipped more of the vodka. Moans escaped her beautiful plump lips, and he longed to crush them. Fuck, she’s hot. His rock-solid erection tented his pants; he stood like a voyeur, watching as she slipped her fingers inside her wet folds. She wriggled and bucked, enjoying the sensation that she created. What a beautiful sight.
“Yes, yes, that’s so good. Please—”
He placed the glass on the dresser, drawn to her by the intensity and desperation in her sweet voice. She was dreaming. And briefly, he wondered whether he figured in those dreams at all. Unable to resist, he leaned over and kissed her lips, watching her reaction. Isabella’s eyes remained closed and when he felt her pulse, it raced under his touch.
“Please—I need more. I need you.”
She must be delirious, and he backed away, but her hand reached out and clutched him.
Unwilling to move, he kissed her again.
“Roman, I’m begging you, I need you.”
Shock rippled through him. Isabella may be only dreaming, but she dreamed of him. The last time he sampled the witch, he declared he would not touch her until she begged him, and here she was, doing just that. Despite protesting any interest in him, her body didn’t seem to get the message. Until she worked out what she felt for him, he wouldn’t play games. Coming to him, having sex, must be her decision, because from that moment on, there would be no turning back. There would be no Jake.
Right then, he could have stripped his clothes off and made love to her, fever or not. He wouldn’t regret it. It was probably long overdue, but Isabella would never forgive him. He would never cross that line—ever. He dipped his head and covered her lips, the kiss he pressed over her lips a gentle one, before he breathed into her mouth. A lover’s kiss, his people called it, a power used to remove fears and render the victim asleep, usually while the vampire drank and fucked them, but in this case, to calm her.
Isabella settled and he lifted his head, moving lower to drop soft kisses down her throat, and in the valley between her breasts. Looking sideways at her pulse as it throbbed, he resisted the temptation to drink despite his desperate thirst. Knowing the fever raged through her body, there was only one more thing he could do to make her better, and he hoped she wouldn’t be too angry. Knowing Isabella, that would be too much to hope for. He cut a long line across his wrist with his sharp blade. Fresh crimson blood flowed to the surface. Wrapping his arm around Isabella’s shoulders, he gathered her close and pressed his wrist to her lips.
“Drink, my love, drink. Tomorrow you will feel much better.”
She murmured and her soft lips nudged his skin, until she flicked her tongue out and swiped the blood flowing from his wrist. As soon as she tasted it, she moaned and grabbed his wrist with her hand, sucking deeply.
His eyes rolled back into his head. The pleasure and pain of sharing blood with her only heightened his arousal, but he needed to remain strong and make sure she didn’t drink too much. Satisfied she had taken enough, he removed his wrist and settled her into his side, wrapping his arms around her back to keep her close. He didn’t require sleep, and rarely did, but he wanted to hold her in his arms, listening to the steady beat of her heart.
Isabella was full of life and energy. Watching her as she smiled in her sleep, a pain where his beating heart should be caught him. Laying a kiss on her warm cheek, he swore he wouldn’t take that away from her. In the beginning, he demanded the marriage because he wanted her and later, as a matter of principle. At least, he told himself that. She had broken their rules, but now, even he didn’t believe it.
There were plenty of adequate females in his clan he could take as a mate, but she possessed qualities they lacked. Female vampires didn’t interest him; they were all the same—in awe of him and willing to do anything. Whereas Isabella took no nonsense. She spoke the truth. He was a monster, not some god or hero that his people made him out to be. If she joined him, she would lose not only her life, but perhaps, the chance to have children. She may become bitter and cold like him, or worse, a blood-crazed killer.
He stroked her luscious lips. No, he couldn’t put her through that, for his own selfish reasons. He should do as his friend Lucius suggested—walk away. Before the very pieces that
