Dorian’s mouth was on hers in a blink, silencing her as he took her into his arms. Even as he’d followed her upstairs, watching from the shadows as she snuck into the first bedroom, he’d wanted to kiss her.
She sighed in his embrace, nipples erect beneath the dress, and when she finally parted her lips and allowed him to deepen their kiss, all the awkwardness evaporated, bringing them right back to those precious, stolen moments in the Salvatore closet.
By the time they broke for air, her eyes were large and glassy, lipstick smeared across her mouth like blood. The sight sent a dark thrill through Dorian’s heart.
He ran his thumb along her lower lip, and Charlotte opened her mouth. Her teeth scraped his skin as he slid into the soft, wet heat, his cock straining against his pants.
The remembered scent of fresh blood rose anew.
He wanted to bite her.
He wanted to feed.
Slowly, he drew his thumb from her mouth and dragged it down her chin, down her throat, wrapping a hand around her delicate neck.
He could compel her to remain absolutely still. To tilt her head and offer the vein, welcoming the bite as readily as she’d welcomed his mouth against her flesh in that closet…
Forty-nine years, one month, and sixteen days.
That was the last time Dorian had fed on a live human. Since that fateful meal, he’d spent his days and nights burying his innate desires so deeply, he’d sworn nothing could unearth them again.
And yet…
Dorian closed his eyes, fangs burning through the gums, desperate for a taste of her sweet, seductive blood. More than the velvet touch of her tongue, more than her soft, breathy moans, the very thought of feeding on her broke through nearly every wall he’d erected over those dangerous desires.
He was holding on by a gossamer thread. One wrong move, and it would snap.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispered, breath warm on his lips, pulse strong and steady beneath his grip.
Taste me, it whispered in time with her heartbeat. Taste me, I’m yours.
Taste me…
Taste me…
“All the filthy, beautiful things I want to do to you,” he said, his voice thick as he sank deeper into his own depravity. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, and now, all he could see behind them was blood.
Blood, glittering against her neck like fresh berries in a bowl of cream.
Blood, running along the edges of her collarbone, pooling in the hollow of her throat.
Blood, coating his lips and tongue as he licked it from her flesh, savoring every drop…
Don’t do this, Redthorne. Fight it, or she’ll die…
The thought sobered him just enough to allow him to speak again.
“And you?” he asked, his words no more than a whisper in the darkness. “What are you thinking about, love? Tell me. Please tell me.”
Distract me from the thought of sinking my fangs into your flesh and bleeding you dry…
“I’d much rather show you, Mr. Redthorne. If you’re into watching.”
Dorian opened his eyes just in time to catch her wicked grin, and then his crazy, mysterious, reckless as hell woman dropped to her knees.
In a single, fluid motion she unfastened his pants and freed his stiff cock, grasping it in her firm hands, warm beneath the satin gloves.
Her touch was fucking incredible.
And just the distraction he needed.
“I’m definitely into watching.” He slid his hands into her thick, silky hair. “Show me.”
She released him just long enough to try to remove the gloves, but Dorian stopped her.
“Leave them,” he ordered.
“If you insist, Mr. Redthorne.” Fisting the base of his cock again, Charlotte glanced up at him and brought her mouth closer, tongue darting out to tease the tip with a slow, maddening circle.
Every time Dorian thought he had the upper hand, she shattered him. Her laugh, her touch, her devious eyes, her mouth…
Screw his power games, screw his control. He’d given most of it up the moment she’d stepped inside Ravenswood Manor. She wasn’t here for the fundraiser—that much was certain—and Dorian didn’t know how much longer either of them could continue this game of make-believe. But for now, Charlotte was his again, gift-wrapped in satin and secrets, just like before.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she took him in deeper, moaning against his flesh.
“Fucking hell, Charlotte,” he breathed. “You’re out to ruin me.”
She pulled back, dragging her tongue along his shaft, breath hot on his skin. With another smoldering gaze, she looked up and said, “I don’t want to ruin you. I want to taste you.”
He almost came right there.
“Turnabout is fair play,” she teased, then closed her lips again, sucking him into a state of sheer euphoria.
Desperate to regain even a fraction of control, he knotted his fingers into her hair and guided her into a perfect rhythm, fucking her hot mouth, thrusting as deep as he dared. But Charlotte wasn’t ready to give up so easily. She reached behind him and cupped his ass, driving him in even deeper.
Harder.
Faster.
She glanced up again, her eyes alight with some new challenge, those blood-red lips wrapped around his cock, her tongue swirling against his flesh.
In that moment, Dorian utterly lost it. All of it. His control. His composure. His mind.
He tried to pull back, but she only sucked harder, determined to do it her way.
His hands tightened in her hair, and she moaned again, the sound vibrating straight to his balls.
That was all it took.
His orgasm exploded, spilling in a hot torrent down her throat, his legs shaking, his growl as feral as the wolves that roamed the woods beyond.
Charlotte slid his cock out of her mouth and swallowed, a mischievous grin lighting up her face.
Dorian finally released her hair, and she got to her feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. Her cheeks were dark, her lips swollen, her hair wild, and she’d never looked more beautiful. More alive.
Glancing at the door, she said, “We should probably clean up and get back to the party before anyone notices we’re missing.”
“Nice try. Did you honestly think I’d let you escape?” Sliding his arms around her waist, he found the zipper at the back of her dress and tugged it down, tracing the path of her freshly bared skin. “Before I’ve had a chance to show you all the hot, dirty things I’ve been dreaming about?”
The dress slid off her shoulders, pooling around her hips like black water. Dorian lowered his mouth to her breast, tonguing her nipple through the red lace of her bra while his fingers slipped down the front of her panties.
She was wet with desire, smooth and slippery beneath his touch.
“What if someone comes?” she asked, gripping his arms.
“Oh, someone will come. You.”
“But this house—”
“Is mine,” he said, realizing in that moment she didn’t know. She’d come to the fundraiser with no clue about its host—another red flag Dorian tucked away for later examination.
Right now, he had better things to do.
“No one will enter unless I command it,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “No one will come to your aid.” Then, in a low, dark whisper, “You aren’t leaving here until I’ve got you dripping wet, trembling, and screaming for mercy. Understood?”