She met his gaze, then yanked her shirt off.
His lungs froze.
A statuesque goddess in a petite package. A solid black bra cupped the round globes of her breasts. Her toned stomach rippled with abs that should be on the cover of a fitness magazine. Only he didn’t want anyone else to see them but him.
Dropping the shirt to the floor, she said, “Take your shirt off.”
It was okay with him if she took charge. He rolled his shirt out of his waistband and lifted it. Her gaze glued to his stomach.
His ego preened. He wasn’t a warrior, but his body had been honed from manual labor and continuous movement. The shirt came off and he tossed it by hers, liking how their clothing mingled on the floor.
Her gaze licked over his torso. The sexual tension in the air rose a few notches. He kept himself from adjusting his shaft to lessen the pressure of his pants.
It wouldn’t be long before it was freed.
Ophelia undid her pants and peeled them down. No underwear.
Now the constriction of his cock was too much. He did the same with his bottoms, but it was hard to keep his gaze on her.
When he was done, she’d also shucked her pants and boots. He was naked while her delectable parts were covered.
“Lovely isn’t a strong enough word for you,” he said, meaning every word.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” She unhooked her bra and let it fall.
Oh god. He’d been about to swing her into his arms and find her bed so he could have the honor of unwrapping the rest of her curves. But now he faced high, rounded breasts peaked with pebbled dusky nipples and a strip of manicured curls covering her sex. He couldn’t move. The scent of her desire increased until he wanted to drown in her.
She crossed toward him and that he could blink was a miracle. Prying his gaze off her body was nearly impossible. As she approached, her eyes were on his shaft.
No. Not like this. Last time, he’d made her orgasm against a door and regretted it. This was their first real time and he wanted it to be about them. She wanted a good fuck, but it’d be sex with him and not some guy that could get her off.
He snagged her hand and flipped it over. Kissing her palm, he drew her toward him. It was hard to keep moving and not claim her mouth and body, but he propelled them toward her bedroom.
A lilac bedspread was the centerpiece, and the wall hangings were total Ophelia. She’d brought her love of sunrises and sunsets into her home, all done in soft shades of purple and orange. Part of him mourned not being able to ever watch one with her. But he could glow from pride that she was strong enough to withstand the vision.
Once they were by her bed and she was looking at him with one raised brow, he faced her.
“I could do nothing but look at you all day,” he murmured.
Her cheeks flushed. Had he embarrassed the formidable Ophelia? “Your body says otherwise.” She wrapped her hand around his shaft.
He groaned, and his head fell back. This wasn’t his plan, but her touch shorted his common sense.
She pumped, alternating her grip until his breath quickened.
“I wanted to—”
Her finger landed on his lips. He nipped at the tip, but another squeeze and he was lost.
She shoved him back. His bottom hit the bed and she knelt on the floor between his legs. He was helpless to watch as her lush lips wrapped around the tip of his shaft. A flick of her tongue made him jerk.
How could she feel so good?
Her hair was still bound in its plait down the back of her neck, and her narrow shoulders were wedged between his knees. The sight was erotic enough to push him over the edge.
He propped his hands behind him and reclined, giving himself over to her. Her need to control the situation wasn’t lost on him. His wishes would have to wait.
With another moan, he rocked his pelvis. Daring another peek at her, he gritted his teeth against his impending orgasm.
“You’re so beautiful,” he gasped.
Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks hollowed as she pleasured him. She fisted him at the base and her other hand cupped his balls. As if she knew he was watching, she scraped a fang along his sensitive skin.
He wasn’t strong enough. His climax hit, and he let it out with a roar, his pelvis jerking.
She didn’t release him, but milked his orgasm until he couldn’t think straight, until he collapsed onto his back.
“Ophelia,” he panted.
She prowled up his body. He was hers. He was so hers. She could do anything she wanted with him.
Despite the massive release, the sight of her climbing onto him, her lips puffy and wet from working him, delivered another supply of blood to his cock. He was hard and throbbing worse than before.
He planted his hands on her trim hips, astonished at the hard muscle underneath her silky skin.
Her wet heat wicked up his shaft and she hovered over him. There was no pretense, no other foreplay, just her pushing down onto him.
She spread her hands along his chest and watched herself sink onto him. Another way to put distance between them.
He tipped her chin, grateful that he was with it enough to do even that much. Her hot sex fisting around him was ecstasy, but he needed a deeper connection.
She lifted her gaze and seated herself completely on him. They stayed like that for one heartbeat. Then two.
Her eyelids drifted shut and she gave the sexiest moan.
Her walls flexed around his cock.
So good. He couldn’t remember getting rocked so thoroughly during the act.
“Ophelia. Look at me.” He refused to let her close herself off.
She didn’t listen but rocked up his length and back down. Up and down. Finally, she opened her eyes.
She was a fantasy he didn’t know he had.
Need raged in her topaz eyes. Her body undulated with a grace he’d never seen. Her tight sex was the most perfect fit, but most of all, she knew she was with him.
He skimmed his fingers up her rib cage, under her breasts. He palmed them, one in each hand. His abs tightened as he curled up, closing the distance between them.
“Bastian,” she gasped.
She was close. Her pace kicked up, and even though she’d just relieved him, he careened closer to another climax.
She cried out and slammed down harder. He tightened his grip.
“Ophelia. Let yourself go.”
Her attention latched on to him like he was air and she was starving for breath. “Bastian.”
“I’m with you, Ophelia.” Her ethereal beauty shimmered through the shadows. He curled up higher and wrapped his arms around her.
His face was buried in her chest as she rode out her peak. She bucked and shook in his arms, her head thrown back with her neck bared.
He could feed so easily, but this was her good fuck. He might be plain old Bastian, but he knew what she needed. And he’d provide it.
When she fell limp, he cradled her. He hadn’t tipped over his crest, but he wanted to make sure she was in it for more.
She lithely stretched her body, the pleasure of the move making him moan. “I saw you eyeing my vein. Are you hungry?”
Hell, yes. For all of her.
She canted her head back to the side and undulated her hips.
He was lost.
His fangs sunk into her neck. She jerked and cried his name. He could get addicted to his name on her lips during sex. Tensing to roll them over, he was met with her resistance. Giving up, he turned himself over to his needs.
His hips pumped as he drank her powerful blood. He was in her. She was flowing into him. Her release coated his cock. This moment between them was nearly perfect.
Releasing her neck, he licked over the puncture marks. He held her as he surged into her over and over again until his orgasm nailed him.
He roared her name and spilled into her, still murmuring her name.
When he was done, she didn’t collapse on him but rolled off to curl into him.
He tightened his arm around her. He’d never experienced sex that momentous. It was what he’d expect with his true mate. Could it be? Was she really his?
Ophelia patted his arm and pulled away. “That scratched the itch.” She rolled off the bed and sauntered into the bathroom.
Chapter Nine
Look at me. Bastian’s voice echoed in her head. Ophelia finished rinsing her hair. If only the water could take the conflicting feelings inside of her down the drain with it.
Who did he think he was?
When she had connected with him in more than one way, that deceitful feeling of being wanted, of being a part of a couple, started creeping in. She couldn’t be vulnerable again. Surviving Nadair’s mental manipulations had been a challenge, but Nadair hadn’t wanted to know anything about her past. He hadn’t cared about what made her tick or why.
Bastian not only acted like he cared, but he knew more about her than her team did. He didn’t know details, but it scared her how easily she could give them up to him.
Then what? He’d know her deepest, darkest secret—and the humiliation that had faded under the heart-wrenching pain.
None of us has kids yet.
Such a casual observation Demetrius had made. Yet not completely accurate.
No, it was. She didn’t have a child. That fleeting moment of her life when she’d felt life grow inside of her had been stolen from her as completely as her youth had been.
With the shower raining tepid water over her, she could tell herself she wasn’t crying.
Damn Bastian for coming into her life. She’d been just fine deluding herself about her misery.
Wanting more was the true danger. A seedy, underhanded male like Nadair using her and failing at monogamy was what she was used to. She’d been with him and still done her job.
If an honorable and caring male like Bastian walked away from her, her malfunctions would affect her—in her normal life and in her work. Getting over him would take more than she cared to give.
She stood under the spray for a few minutes longer. What were the chances Bastian got upset and left?
Her heart sagged at the thought. The reaction wasn’t the hopefulness she’d told herself she’d feel.
She did another round of body wash.
What if Bastian hadn’t left and was only interested in more sex?
Yeah, she’d be up for that. His brand of vanilla sex had been the best she’d ever had. Of course, it hadn’t felt bland and tame at the time.
It was just sex. A natural function. She’d suffered through bad sex, decent sex, and…unwanted sex.
This morning’s round had been both desired and far beyond decent. And all it’d been was girl on top. It’d been mind blowing. Then she’d gotten up and left.
She bared her fangs at the faucet and flicked the water off. Stepping out of the shower, she grabbed an eggplant-colored towel. Slowly, she’d been incorporating her tastes into this small apartment.
With it being winter, she couldn’t do many upgrades on her cabin.
Bastian’s cabin. She didn’t want to ponder the meaning behind her purchasing his old home before they’d ever met.
She’d looked for a place to call her own. After the mess with their government and having to live under a false identity for so long, living in the compound with everyone just hadn’t felt like home.
The guy selling it had been willing to do everything over email. She’d had the money; he’d wanted it off his hands. The cabin had been so peaceful, and being there filled an empty part of herself she couldn’t identify.
She didn’t think that was the part that wanted to bond.
Then she’d gotten busy with demons and ferreting out those among her own people helping them. And Nadair.
She’d turned his manor into her home, knowing he could kick her out any second. But also knowing he wouldn’t.
Perhaps that was what had made Ophelia feel safe.
No, it was that for all his faults, Nadair had never turned his attentions toward young and vulnerable females. He manipulated those who could take it or deserved it. That was why Ophelia had felt safe. He could go to Sharpe’s Point and come home smelling like expensive sex, but it wasn’t underage sex. He didn’t target the kids of his colleagues. He had an odd sense of ethics, but it met the important points for Ophelia.
He also hadn’t filled her with the simple peace that being at the cabin did. She’d thought it was the space, not the ghost of the male who’d lived there.
She finished drying off and wrapped her hair in a towel. Using the white robe on the back of the door, she swirled it around herself.
She opened the door and stopped.
Bastian waited outside the door with his arms folded and his dark gaze brooding. “Are you done hiding?”
She fought the urge to step back inside and slam the door shut. “Excuse me?”
His voice softened. “I can smell your tears.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
He stared at her.
“Fine. It’s none of your business.” She returned his stare. It might very well be. True mates were supposed to sense emotions in each other. But they weren’t bonded yet, and she had no plans to be in the near future. Besides, true mates were supposed to know they were meant to be together, even if they fought the attraction. She should sense Bastian was her perfect match. Shouldn’t she?
Or maybe she was too fucked-up to tell. Her attraction to Bastian was undeniable, but it didn’t mean she was going to bind her life to his.
“You’re right. But I wasn’t asking to be nosy. I asked because I’m worried about you.”
He really needed to get dressed. His flaccid cock was still impressive, and she wouldn’t have to do much to make him sport another massive erection. And if he did that, she wouldn’t have the good sense to send him on his way. She’d shove him down and climb on again.
“Why are you worried about me?” She went out to the kitchen. He’d fed and while she’d love to tap his vein, it’d lead to more sex. And sex with him seemed to lead to an emotional mine field she didn’t care to traverse.
“Because that’s what people do. We care about each other.”
“Humans, maybe. Shifters, yes. Not vampires.” What could she make that was quick and would keep her eyes off him?
Chicken and mushroom cacciatore.
She pulled out the ingredients.
“Even us,” he said. He scanned her pile on the counter. “Chicken and mushrooms. Marsala, cacciatore, or carbonara?”
“Cacciatore.”
She was still talking to him at least. “Do you make your own sauce?”
“Absolutely.”
He nodded and stooped to pick up his pants. He stepped into them but didn’t button them.
His chiseled chest flowed down to his hard abs and that delicious curve of muscle that disappeared into the material of his pants.
Without a word, he started wiping off mushrooms.
She prepared the chicken. “Are you telling me that you were also the house chef?”
He shrugged as he worked. “It wasn’t hard. The Gastons weren’t picky about their food as long as it looked expensive. One day a week, I prepared meals and froze several. It was easier when Antonia got older.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She’d hang out in the kitchen and help. I doubt her parents even knew where it was. She didn’t worry about getting caught.”
“She’s remarkably well-rounded. You must be the reason.” She snuck a look at him. Was he blushing?
Hellfire. That was adorable. A big male cooking and blushing. How had she thought he was like all the rest?
“I texted her while you were showering. I don’t know if Fyra realizes the impression she’s leaving on that young girl.”
“It’ll be mostly good. Anything that’s not will only increase A
ntonia’s survival skills.”
He chuckled and started on the onion and garlic. She heated her pan and forced herself to quit sneaking looks at him. Them, together in the kitchen, felt right. It was dangerously close to her childhood fantasies coming true.
“You won’t tell anyone…” She bit her lip. Why was she bringing this up? “My team doesn’t know what happened to me. The only people who do are all dead.”
“By your hand?”
“Yes. After I recovered, I…” The story was pushing to get out, to finally get told, and the easy comfort they had working around each other made it hard to keep silent. “My parents were like the Gastons. They wanted to get ahead and stay ahead and that meant if one of their friends took an interest in me, I was theirs to give.”
“How young did it start?”
Ophelia’s appetite had left, but the act of cooking was still soothing. “Look at me. Before puberty.”
“They took your blood, too.” Fury boiled in his voice, but his slices were even.
When she failed to hit any growth spurts during her teenage years, her parents kept her closeted even more. Her diminutive size reflected on their parenting after all. Too bad they hadn’t realized that earlier and given Ophelia a few more years of peace before they bartered her away.
“Oh, Mother and Father tried to feed me to make up for the deficiency, but it was the—” She chomped on her lip so hard she cut through her skin. Licking her lips, she sealed the wound. But Bastian had probably caught it all.
“Something else happened?”
She dumped ingredients in the pan out of habit. No real thought was going into her meal prep anymore.
Should she lie? Instead of getting the nutrients she needed, she’d had them siphoned off her, unable to withstand the demands of a growing life inside of her and the sick desire of the leech her parents had given her to.
“I got pregnant.”
Bastian carefully laid his knife down, but his hard gaze stayed on the cutting board. Rage clogged the air. Since she’d dealt with it all decades ago, the emotion must be his.
Bastian GP Page 13
