“She tried, but I didn’t take the bait.”
“Why not?” She should stick to the mission, but she had to know.
He twitched like he wanted to move toward her, then clasped his hands behind his back instead. “You’ll tell me if you want me know. The rest is none of my business.”
That’s…so not how their kind thought. Knowledge was power, and insight into people and their business was the ultimate power.
“What if I were to tell you that I’ve been in this room many times before? Sometimes with someone I was seeing, often with someone I’d just met.” How old-fashioned was he? And why was she trying to shock him again?
“I would say the same as I said to Clarice.” The female’s name was a splash of cold water. “That I wouldn’t disparage your ways. I’m confident you have your reasons.”
She moved closer. He was correct. Reasons. As simple as that.
This male defied her assumptions of him at each turn. He’d walked into this room like it was a bewildering foreign world he didn’t care to understand. But the desire that snuck past his restraint said that maybe this world could satisfy him, too.
Males were all alike.
She fisted his lapels. His big hands covered hers like he was going to pull them away, but he didn’t.
“What are you doing?” His voice had dropped to a low rumble.
“We have to make this believable.” She slipped her hands under his jacket.
He draped his on her shoulders. His warmth sunk in, more relaxing than any release she’d found in this room.
“We don’t have to do this. The Segals are a few doors away. We can question them.”
“How?” Ophelia pushed his jacket past his shoulders. It dropped to the floor. Bastian hadn’t moved, his expression a mixture of emotions. He wanted to run, but he wanted so badly to stay. Ophelia continued. “They are in the middle of fucking. I doubt they’ll open the door. If we bust it open, then Marcus will signal management to escort us out. I don’t care to explain what we’re doing here.”
She brushed his stubble-roughened jaw. The sensation delighted her fingertips. She traced the hard planes of his face. The line between business and pleasure was blurring. No matter her reason for being here with him, she wouldn’t need much other than because I wanted to in order to have sex with him.
His whole body jerked, and he caught her wrists. “Is there any management here besides Marcus?”
“Of course.” Had she ever seen any? She’d never cared who owned the place. “Marcus holds his own.”
“You can pretend you’re pissed at me and storm out. I’m new here, no one will know. The Segals’ address would be simple to find with your resources.”
She blinked. He didn’t…didn’t want her? Not even for the sake of show? All her years spent proving she was worthy of being a prime, and a servant didn’t want her.
And there she went with the class thinking again.
She yanked her hands away. “Yeah. No problem.” She spun for the door.
He clamped down on her again, his grip immobilizing her. Her heart rate kicked up—out of excitement, not fear.
His body shadowed hers. She could take comfort in it, but her mental walls wouldn’t allow it—or they’d allow it too easily. “I’ve insulted you. How?”
He’d noticed he’d cut her, but had no clue how? He didn’t want to use her, or he wasn’t interested in her? The questions stoked a fury within her. “Nope, not at all. Your distaste for my status and my preferences isn’t clear at all. But hey, your plan’s a solid one. I’ll leave pissed. No problem there.”
He pivoted with her. Her stupid heels offered no resistance against the flooring.
“Were you serious about— Did you really want to…”
“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to.”
“But we just met.”
As if that was ever a stumbling block. “You’re a good-looking guy. I get it. I’m the trash you’ve had to cater to your whole life, and you don’t want to fornicate with someone like me.”
His brows fell, and his lips flattened. They were full and expressive when he dropped his servant persona. How would they feel pressed against her mouth? Wrapped around her nipple? What would it feel like if he— She ripped her gaze off his mouth.
“Ophelia, trust me when I say that you’re the strongest, loveliest female I’ve ever met. It’d be my honor to lie with you. But not like this. I don’t work that way.”
Was he for real? So what did that make her? “You’re better than that. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, you are.” He crowded her and dammit, she liked it. “We have options and I’d like to use them—for both of our benefits. When I choose to sleep with a female, I woo her. I prove my worthiness because she’s the most important one in the relationship. Loneliness has won out a few times; otherwise I would wait for my true mate.”
Those words made her heart thud. “And if your true mate didn’t wait for you?” She clenched her teeth together. His answer was too damn important. Why?
“It’s once we meet each other that matters. All this”—he swept an arm from one side of the room to the other, past the wall of tools and the massage table in the middle of the room, his gaze following—“doesn’t bother me.” He dropped his arm, but not before a blush graced his cheeks at the array of dildos lined up on the counter that resembled a bar in a swanky club. “If it was what my mate wanted, I would learn how to use each one. I’d become a master. But.”
She swallowed hard. Had he gotten closer? He was so much taller than her, but their faces were only separated by inches.
“I will admit that my ego would first have to prove that I am enough.” His voice fluttered over her.
Their lips were a breath apart. She wanted to know how he tasted, how he kissed. Hard? Soft? A mix of both to keep her breathless and guessing?
Did it matter? Even if her true mate appeared, the pool of men she’d dated didn’t give her hope that he’d know how to prove he was enough.
Besides, she’d heard smooth talk like this before. I’m all you need, baby. Bastian was no different and she’d prove it.
Snaking her arms around his neck, she pulled him down for a kiss. He didn’t resist.
She didn’t linger with a soft kiss but demanded entrance into his mouth. He opened for her, his groan resonating between them.
She held hers in to prove she was the stronger party. But it was hard. His taste was divine. Uniquely Bastian. Strong, refined, and easily addicting.
He embraced her until she was cocooned in his heat and surrounded by his scent. Her body burned for him. If he let up, she’d be naked in less than a second. Two more seconds, and she’d have him stripped down.
But he didn’t. He dominated the kiss. She’d been so lost in his flavor that she was following his lead.
No. That’s not how it worked.
She tightened her hold on him and tilted her head in renewed demand. But he pushed forward until her back hit the door. He straightened, lifting her feet off the ground.
Out of reflex and an unwillingness to let him go, she wrapped her legs around his waist. His mouth claimed hers, wiped from her mind what they were supposed to be doing and why they were here.
His hard length surged through his clothing and pressed against her sex. A moan escaped her and she rocked her hips.
Yes. The friction only teased where she needed him the most. She burned for him. They couldn’t be physically closer, but it wasn’t enough. Yet…she could stay like this forever. Bound by only him, giving and receiving only pleasure, no pain—it was exquisite. Her core throbbed and they were smashed together so tightly, her slickness probably coated the front of his fly.
And she was nearing climax.
This never happened. She required a lot of stimulation to get off. She needed to be transported out of her mind before she could hit her peak. She’d never had this before.
Her blood hunger roared to life. One drop of his blood and she’d be gone, careening over the edge without penetration.
She deliberately nicked her tongue on one of his fangs.
He jerked and ground into her harder.
Yesss. So close.
As if sensing her need, he wrenched his mouth off hers and used an arm to cradle her head against his neck.
“Drink.” His sex-roughened voice was all the persuasion she needed.
She struck. Her fangs sunk into the supple flesh over his vein. Rich blood flooded her mouth.
Another moan. There was no taint of chemicals, just pure, rich blood. He wasn’t prime, and she could tell, but not because of its potency. Raw strength poured down her throat. Before Bastian, she didn’t yen for blood beyond the stimulation of the bite and the nourishment.
But this was like tasting the world’s finest liquor for the first time and realizing she’d need it to survive ever after.
Pressure built, his blood flowed, and they rocked against each other. She swiped her tongue across the puncture marks with a gasp as her orgasm hit.
Lights bloomed behind her closed eyelids. She cried out incoherent words.
Bastian grunted, his hips spasming in quick thrusts.
Her mouth fell open as she dragged in lungfuls of air. What just happened?
She beat at his chest until he swayed back, giving her enough room to slide down.
Her gaze caught on the wet marks she’d left next to his stain of release. How mortifying.
Patting her hair with one hand and arranging her dress with the other, she gathered her wits. So much for taking his time and going slow to build a relationship. She swallowed her pride that she was the one to make him lose control. Disappointment at his empty claims replaced it.
“Well, that should do the trick.” She forced herself to look him in the eye but couldn’t hold his gaze. Hunger swirled there, like he’d had a taste and wanted to sate himself. In her state of mind, she’d offer herself on a platter and he unsettled her enough as it was. She looked away. “I’ll leave first and go back to the compound. I need to update Demetrius before we interrogate the Segals.”
Bastian touched a knuckle under her chin until she met his gaze again. “Aren’t we going to talk about what just happened?”
She kept her tone flat. “We both got off. Now we smell like sex and can leave without suspicion. Any guilty parties in the club shouldn’t feel threatened and run into hiding.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth. His taste filled her.
It was a hard act to pretend she was unaffected.
“This wasn’t an act for me,” he said tightly.
She cocked her head. “Then you should’ve stayed behind. We’re from different worlds, Bastian. We’ll go our separate ways when this is over, but for now, you and I have one common goal: Find out who’s threatening that young girl. Or did you forget?”
Before he could respond, she elbowed her way past him and out the door. She was such a chickenshit.
The hallway was empty. Muted pleas of ecstasy came from behind closed doors. Ophelia raised her hand to feather her fingers over her hair again. Her arm trembled. She fisted her hands and released them over and over again, all the way down the hall.
She wanted to run out the door and go back to her room to huddle in a corner, but by the time she’d reached the salon, she’d collected herself. She strode out of the club like she was a fucking boss. An act she’d perfected over many, many years.
***
Bastian stabbed a hand through his hair. He drew in a shaky breath.
He’d orgasmed, fully clothed. A grown male, coming in his shorts like a whelp who hadn’t seen the far side of puberty yet. Worse, even. He’d never lost control like that when he was younger.
Then Ophelia had exited like a regal queen who had no more use for him.
We’re from different worlds, Bastian.
Was it because he worked for families like hers? She came from a bloodline that commanded respect. It was how their kind functioned, and while that way of thinking was changing, he continued to treat everyone with dignity and respect. His parents had worked hard to instill manners in him; he wouldn’t let their efforts go to waste.
And Ophelia. Treating her like nobility wouldn’t be enough. She called to him in the most primal way, but also prompted the refined parts of him to dote on her. His queen.
But to her, it was all in a day’s work.
He patted his shirt back into place. His pants were shot, but his jacket might cover it. Snatching it from the ground, he shook it out.
She’d had him losing his sense in less time than it took to screw in a lightbulb.
He shook his head. She probably thought he’d been all bluster when he’d explained how he’d treat his female, and he’d reacted exactly like the males he’d warned Antonia about.
Shrugging into his suit jacket, he cursed himself the entire time.
He’d let her down. They had a tenuous lead on Antonia’s attacker, but he remained below Ophelia’s expectations.
Why was he worrying about his love life when a young girl was still in danger?
With a snap of his cuffs, he left the room, striding down the hallway and out the door. He probably looked like he felt: irritated, stressed, and unsatisfied.
He drove Nadair’s car back to the dead male’s empty home, then flashed to the compound. The exterior door clicked open for him. He went straight for the room they’d prepared for him.
His first priority was checking on Antonia, but he couldn’t in his state. He ran through the shower, concentrating heavily on each task to keep his mind off those few minutes with Ophelia.
Soap. Rinse. Dry. Dress. He donned the tactical clothing he’d worn earlier.
He was frowning at the row of weapons when his phone chimed.
Meet in the conference room in twenty.
Twenty minutes. That left enough time to check on Antonia.
He abandoned his suite and went to hers next door. His raised fist hovered over the door, but laughter from inside made him pause.
For that sound, he was indebted to those who ran this place. He didn’t agree with their cover-ups or their failure to spread information to the common class. But they were helping Antonia and, even more, giving her a reason to laugh after she’d lost one parent and would probably lose the other.
She wasn’t close to her parents, not like he’d been with his. But she was young and might not understand.
He hated to disrupt the giggles, but he knocked. Fyra called him in.
Brimstone laced with a warm, sugary scent filled the room. The fire demon was sitting at the bar that separated the kitchen from the main area. One curvy leg was crossed over the other and a plate half filled with brownies rested between her and Antonia.
The teenager waved at him but switched her attention back to Fyra. “And then what?”
“I limped the rig out to the country and it blew up.” Fyra sparked a ball of fire between her fingers. “You should’ve seen the look on the sheriff’s face!” She guffawed and slapped her hands together to extinguish the flame.
Bastian smiled. Antonia had been loaned clothing and looked more relaxed than he’d seen her…ever. Chalk it up to the sweatpants, linen shirt, and cardigan thrown over it. She’d be horrified if peers witnessed her in this fashionless state, but for now, she looked like a kid enjoying her visit.
Fyra glanced at him. “Are all vampire kids so cute? I just want to eat Toni up.” She winked at Antonia as the girl broke down in more giggles.
“She swears she hasn’t eaten anyone,” Antonia said between gasps.
Fyra held a finger up. “Ah. No vampires. Let’s be clear.”
Antonia continued laughing, but Bastian didn’t think Fyra was joking.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
Antonia’s smile faltered. “I’m all right. Fyra’s been keeping me from thinking about Mot
her and Father.”
“I’ve also been telling her that our parentage doesn’t dictate our identity. They made their decisions, and she’ll make hers.”
It was a talk he had wanted to have with her, but perhaps it was better coming from a…maternal figure? The description didn’t fit Fyra—but it did. Sisterly?
“You’re okay here?” He gave her the knowing look he used before she went out with friends.
“I’m not going to do anything drastic, Bastian. I don’t want to go home. I don’t trust Father. I feel like I should mourn Mother more than I do, and I don’t know if I can trust any of my friends.” Her lips trembled. “What if they helped set me up?”
Fyra picked at a nail. “Then I might have to sample some vampire.”
Antonia shot her a grateful smile.
“Your friends may also be in the same danger,” he said. “That’s why I have to go out again.”
Antonia slid off her stool and threw her arms around him. Their first real hug. “Be careful, Bastian. You’re a cleaner, not a fighter.”
Fyra guffawed and slapped the table. “Good one, Toni.”
But Antonia was right.
“There are many ways to care for someone.” He hugged her back. They’d both sensed it was too risky while at the manor. His heart might explode. “I have to put down the silver serving platter and my rag and use other means to wipe out a tougher stain.”
“You two have a way with words,” Fyra said. “But seriously, dude. You’re going to be late. Know how to get to the conference room?”
She rattled off directions while he dared to drop a single kiss on Antonia’s head. Toni. The nickname suited her, but she’d always be Antonia to him.
He passed no one on his way to the conference room. The door opened to a table full of people staring at him.
He nodded and circled around to find an open seat. Calli was by an imposing male who wore authority like a second skin. Bastian had met the Devereuxes years ago. This male had to be Demetrius. Bastian certainly fit into this group, but only because he was wearing Demetrius’s clothes.
Ophelia was planted between Demetrius and a raven-haired male who looked like he’d rather kill something, quietly, without being disturbed.
Bastian GP Page 8
