by Sarah Piper
“I don’t know why I came here. I knew I wouldn’t be able to buy it.” She slipped off her shoes, leaning forward to rub her feet. “I don’t even have money for a taxi.”
“You what?”
She waved the words away. When she sat up again, she patted the bench beside her, finally inviting him to join her.
Dorian sat down and put his arm around her shoulders. She stiffened at his touch, but then leaned into him, resting her head on his chest and letting out a deep sigh.
“I miss him, Dorian,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, and he knew at once she’d meant her father. “Sometimes I still wake up thinking he’ll be in the kitchen—like, I swear I can hear him in there, flipping pancakes, humming some old Italian song his nona used to sing, waiting to tell me about his latest scheme.” She pulled back to face Dorian, her eyes full of so much pain and vulnerability, it nearly gutted him. “How can I still love someone who was so… so bad?”
“Unfortunately for us, love doesn’t discriminate.” He shook his head, offering a gentle smile. “Or… I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a fortunate thing after all.”
“It hurts,” she whispered, pressing a fist to her heart, her tears spilling.
“I know, love. I know.”
Charlotte rested her head on his chest again, and Dorian buried his face in her warm, silky hair. They sat like that for a long time, looking for all the world like a pair of lovers comforting each other, but the truth was so much more complicated than that.
With neither warning nor precedent, Charlotte D’Amico had broken upon the shores of Dorian’s heart like a tidal wave, unleashing feelings he’d never experienced—never even thought possible—overshadowing all else.
Then, just as quickly as she’d arrived, she was gone—a traitor, a liar, a thief from whom he should’ve hid every last one of his valuables.
Especially his heart.
But there, sitting on a bench in Central Park, his arm wrapped tight around her, her body leaning into him with an aching need he was certain they shared, Dorian was done pretending.
He missed her.
He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
And despite everything—everything—he still loved her.
Love.
Devil’s balls. All this time, he thought he’d understood the meaning of the word.
But he hadn’t understood a damn thing.
With a deep sigh, Charlotte sat up again, slipping out from his protective embrace. “I didn’t mean to cry on your shoulder. Um, literally.” She smiled and wiped away her tears. “Thanks for… listening.”
She held his gaze for an eternity, the darkness in her eyes rising to the surface, swirling together with pain and regret and fear and loss and things Dorian could only guess at. More than anything, he wanted to take it away from her. To bear it, so she wouldn’t have to.
“Dorian,” she whispered, “I need to say something.”
“You can talk to me about anything, love.” He took her face between his hands, brushing her satin-smooth cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And he wasn’t. Not again. Whatever confessions fell from her lips now, whatever treacheries new or old, whatever spells or curses, he would not turn his back on her. Not again.
“What I did was… It was unforgivable,” she said softly. “And it wasn’t just what I did to you, but to every family and person and museum I’ve ever… You’re just… You’re the one that kills me the most, because what we had?” She reached up and wrapped her hands around his wrists, her touch warm and electric. “Maybe it started as a ruse, but for me the ruse ended the minute you kissed me in that study. I can’t go back and change the past, but I guess I just… I wanted you to know how sorry I am. Truly. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but… Maybe I’m asking for it anyway.”
Forgiveness. Now that was a word whose meaning he’d never pretended to know.
When he’d found those floor plans under her bed, Dorian swore she was dead to him. Swore he never wanted to see her again. If vampires could’ve compelled one another, he would’ve grabbed the first one he’d stumbled across and ordered him to erase the damnable woman from his mind.
And every day since, he’d tried to remind himself of that. To convince himself that’s how things had to be. That he could never trust a woman who’d lied to him, who’d misled him, who’d conspired against him.
But all of it had been in vain.
And now, staring into her infinite eyes, Dorian realized it was already done.
He’d forgiven her the moment she’d uttered that first tearful apology in the dining room, bent over the sideboard as he fucked her slow and deep, swearing it would be the very last time.
Dorian supposed that made him a liar too.
Without another thought, he lowered his mouth to hers, claiming her in a possessive kiss.
She sighed into the kiss, sliding her hands into his hair, parting her lips and drawing him in deeper. As the tears fell down her cheeks, she kissed him as if it were their last chance, as if she were dying, as if the world was set to end and this was their epic goodbye.
Fuck, she tasted so good. So fucking right. So bloody perfect his head was already spinning, his cock bulging uncomfortably in his pants.
He wanted her—all of her. Her mouth biting his shoulder. Her hands stroking him hard and fast. Her perfect ass reddening beneath his commanding touch. Her toned thighs wrapped around his face as he sucked and licked and teased, her hands fisting his hair as she screamed his name, over and over…
Dorian broke their kiss, his whole body trembling with the need to possess her. “Fucking hell, woman.”
He couldn’t take it anymore. The kissing, the soft sighs, her hands in his hair…
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He needed more, and he needed it right fucking now.
He grabbed her shoes and rose from the bench. Then, scooping her into his arms, he gathered his woman close, nuzzled her neck, and whispered his next command—one he wouldn’t allow her to disobey.
Not tonight.
Not ever again.
“I’m taking you home, Charlotte D’Amico.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Strip,” Dorian demanded, jamming the button to close the privacy window. “Now.”
He’d just blurred Charlotte across the park and deposited her into the waiting limousine, and now she sat on the leather bench seat across from his own, still trying to catch her breath.
Her lush lips, red and swollen from their earlier kiss, parted in surprise. “In here? Are you crazy?”
She glared at him across the darkened space as though she’d already made the diagnosis, and hell, maybe he was crazy. Utterly certifiable.
In that moment, he didn’t care.
“Perhaps I was unclear, Ms. D’Amico,” he said, his tone as relentless as the rock-hard bulge in his pants. “That wasn’t a request.”
New heat flared in her eyes, bringing a dark splash of color to her cheeks.
Oh, how he’d missed making her blush…
As Jameson smoothly navigated them through Friday rush-hour traffic, Dorian continued to hold her gaze.
Moments passed.
City blocks passed.
An eternity passed.
Dorian was beginning to fear he’d pushed too hard, too soon. But then, miracle of bloody miracles, she lowered her eyes and slid the wrap from her shoulders, a seductive smile stealing across her lips.
His heart lurched sideways. It was everything, that smile. Radiant and beautiful. Sweet and sultry. Devastating.
And by its light, Dorian knew, at long last, Charlotte was his to command once again.
The realization sent a throb to his cock.
“Yes, Mr. Redthorne,” she said, lowering the zipper at her side. Slowly, torturously, she peeled the dress from her body, revealing her soft skin, one provocative inch at a time.
Dorian’s gaze traveled across her colla
rbone, skimmed over a delicate lace bra the color of ripe raspberries, straight down to the matching lace below, all of it making his mouth water.
Charlotte folded the dress in her lap, then carefully set it aside, raising an eyebrow as if she were daring him to issue another command.
Don’t worry, love. We’re just getting started.
“Forgive me,” he said, stroking his jaw, “as I’m quite advanced in years and my memory is unreliable at best. But I could’ve sworn I ordered you to strip. Did I not?”
“You did, Mr. Redthorne. I’m sorry.” With a mischievous grin, she unclasped her bra and tossed it aside, gifting him with the sight of her full, perfect breasts, dark pink nipples hardening at the barest brush of the car’s air conditioning.
She removed the matching panties next, slowly dragging them down her long legs.
Before she could set them aside, Dorian’s hand shot out, gesturing like a greedy child at the cookie jar. “Mine.”
She tossed the panties to him, and he caught them and brought them to his mouth, inhaling deeply.
Fuck… The heady scent of her desire almost made him come. He wanted to blur into her space and bury himself to the fucking hilt.
But… no. He’d just gotten her back. And thanks to rush-hour traffic, they had two long hours before they reached Ravenswood, trapped together behind the darkly tinted windows, nothing to do but reacquaint themselves with their favorite sinful delights.
Naked before him, Charlotte leaned back against the soft black leather, arms at her sides, her legs slightly parted.
Dorian took a moment to drink her in, his gaze raking over every inch of newly bared flesh, heart slamming against his ribs, cock straining behind his zipper.
“Anything else, Mr. Redthorne?” she asked, further parting her thighs to reveal the dark, wet heat at her center, already glistening with desire.
Dorian unfastened his pants and slid his hand down the front, finally unleashing his cock, hard and eager for her.
Across the darkened space, Charlotte let out a soft gasp and bit her lower lip, shifting on the leather seat as if it was suddenly difficult for her to sit still.
Her eyes glazed, and he flashed a smirk, wondering if she was recalling the last time she’d taken him in her mouth.
Dorian certainly was.
“Come to me, Charlotte,” he ordered.
Charlotte hesitated, a silent war waging in her eyes, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.
“Is there a problem, Ms. D’Amico?” Dorian teased. “Something you find… unsatisfactory?”
“Damn,” she whispered, the smile finally breaking through in earnest. “You’re a very bad influence, Mr. Redthorne. I’m supposed to be on the VDD.”
“VDD?”
“Vampire dick detox,” she said, as if it made perfect sense.
Dorian laughed. “I see. And how’s that working out for you, love?”
“It was working out just fine, until you…” She gestured at his cock, still fisted tightly in his hand.
“The VDD,” he mused. “Well, this is an unfortunate turn of events. But not entirely unworkable.” He stroked himself once, twice, long and slow, her eyes following the movements of his fist. “I suppose we’ll have to get creative.”
Charlotte sighed, nibbling again on that plump lower lip.
Dorian wanted to bite her.
But that would have to wait.
She reached for him, already moving from her seat, ready to follow his commands.
“Easy, love,” he teased. “You’re on a restricted diet, and I respect that.”
“Dorian, I—”
“Dorian?”
“Mr. Redthorne,” she said, adorably exasperated. “Please let me touch you. Please.”
Ignoring her, he hit the intercom for Jameson.
“Yes sir?” came the reply.
“Jameson, I’d like you to take the long way home, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, sir.”
He turned off the intercom, then said to Charlotte, “There’s a compartment beside you. Open it.”
She did as he asked, finding a small ice chest, freshly refilled. He heard the change in her heartbeat, the quick skip as the realization set in. He knew at once she was thinking of their rendezvous in the game room in Tribeca, just as he was.
Without being asked, she retrieved an ice cube from the chest and brought it to her lips.
“Suck on it,” he whispered, tightening his grip on his cock.
She wrapped her lips around the ice cube and slid it into her mouth, obeying his command. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, working the ice as if she were working him.
Bloody hell, I could die right here and call it a life well lived…
“Open your legs,” he demanded, and she did, her sweet blush spreading from her cheeks to her neck, cresting over the tops of her breasts. “Touch yourself for me, Charlotte. Show me what you do when you’re all alone in that bed at night, thinking of me. Remembering all the dark, wicked ways I’ve made you come.”
Charlotte moaned again, dragging the ice cube from her lips to the hollow of her throat and down to her breast, slowly running it over one nipple, then the other, rivulets of water dripping down her skin. A low growl vibrated in Dorian’s chest, and he stroked himself again, following the trail of melted water with his eyes, recalling the sweet, addictive taste of every soft curve, every dark hollow.
“Charlotte,” he breathed, his own heart rate matching hers, beat for rapid beat as she slid the ice cube down between her thighs.
She gasped at the shocking cold, but didn’t stop, her head falling backward against the headrest, her hips tilting up as she swirled the ice over her clit, then dipped inside, fucking herself for his pleasure.
“That’s it, love,” he whispered, his breath ragged and hot. “Show me.”
“Oh, fuck,” she breathed, a sound of pure ecstasy as the ice finally melted and she took over with her wet fingers, stroking herself faster, the blood singing through her veins, her heart pounding as she pushed herself closer. “I’m… God, Dorian. You’re… impossible…”
“Don’t stop, Charlotte,” he warned, his voice strained.
The moment threatened to overwhelm him, Charlotte melting at her own touch before his eyes, the limo purring hypnotically along the highway, her scent invading his senses, his balls tightening, desperate to unleash everything he’d been holding back for a fucking eternity as they’d spent their nights apart…
“Please, Mr. Redthorne,” she whispered, trembling and desperate. “I’m so close.”
“I know, love.”
“It’s you I want,” she breathed. “It’s you I always want.”
Dorian tightened his grip, forcing himself to resist the siren call of her begging. “Not yet, love. Not until you come for me.”
She caught his gaze, her eyes dark and glassy, defiance sparking in their coppery depths. But Charlotte was, as ever, eager to obey. With another desperate moan, she closed her eyes and slid her fingers inside, then back out, frantically circling her clit, harder, faster, faster still…
“I’m… Dorian… Oh my God! I’m there… I’m… Fuck! Yes! Yes!”
She came for him hard and wild, the blush spreading across her skin like a sunset, chasing the waves of her orgasm until she was spent and panting, her body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, her legs trembling, her heartbeat like a thunderstorm.
When she finally met his eyes again, Dorian growled, hungry and possessive. Fucking feral.
He’d never seen a sight so beautiful.
And she was his.
Right. Fucking. Now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A deep, erotic growl rumbled through Dorian’s chest—Charley’s only warning before he blurred into her space, capturing her shoulders and pushing her onto her back.
He pinned her down on the backseat and kissed her mouth, her neck, her throat, her collarbone, his cock pressing ha
rd against her thigh. Everything about the moment conspired to sweep her out to sea, lost to those dark, dangerous currents she so craved.
Charley was drowning in him again, and she didn’t want it to end. The possessiveness in his gaze, the weight of his powerful, muscular body as he settled between her thighs, the teasing brush of his cock against her already aching pussy…
Hell yes. Yes to this. Yes to all of this…
“I can’t get enough of you, Charlotte,” he whispered, nipping her neck. “You’ve entranced me again, and I don’t even care. If this is nothing but a dark spell, may it never break.”
“It’s not a spell. It never was.” Charley reached for his shoulders and pushed off his suit jacket, desperate to feel his bare skin beneath her hands. She’d just started in on his shirt buttons when the limo hit a bump, jostling them both. Dorian fell forward, his chest briefly smothering her face before he righted himself again.
But it was too late.
That moment—however brief, however unintentional—changed everything.
The dam broke, and memories flooded her mind, making her sick and panicked.
She was no longer in the back of a limo with the vampire she’d fallen in love with. The one she knew, logically, would never hurt her.
She was in an old sedan outside an abandoned pizza joint on Long Island—a thin, scrappy child trapped by two impossibly strong men.
Don’t struggle, D’Amico bitch…
Fear gripped her chest. Her throat closed on a scream, and Charley thrashed, shoving hard against Dorian’s shoulders, desperate to escape.
To make it all go away.
“Charlotte?” Dorian stilled, his voice tight with concern. “What’s—”
“No! Stop! Stop!”
He backed off in a heartbeat, and Charley sat up and scooted to the far side of the seat, curling in on herself, squeezing her eyes shut to block it all out.
“Tell me what you need, love,” Dorian whispered, gently draping her in his suit jacket, careful not to crowd her.
Charley sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and slid her arms into the sleeves, willing his warmth to penetrate the sudden chill. She opened her eyes, and slowly, the limo came back into focus.
