by Sarah Piper
Nothing in her life had ever felt so good, so right.
So incredibly, mind-blowingly perfect.
A clear sign you’re crazy…
“Tonight,” he said, “in my bed, you’ll neither speak nor move without permission. Is that clear?”
“Yes. I mean yes, Mr. Redthorne,” she amended.
“Hmm.” Dorian removed his fingers, and the mattress shifted again, indicating he’d gotten up. She waited for the return of his touch, but it never came.
She opened her mouth to call for him but thought better of it. No talking, no moving without his permission. It was all part of the game, and Charley loved every sinfully hot minute of it.
A lot of men thought they knew how to dominate a woman, but for them it was all about ego gratification. She’d been disappointed in the bedroom more times than she could count, most notably—and most often—by Travis, the snake.
But a man like Dorian knew how to be real. How to test her boundaries, push her to the edge without ever taking advantage. Submitting to him came easily. His demanding touch and firm commands were like a down payment—a promise that he’d always bring her to sheer bliss.
In return, she trusted him with her body.
With her life.
In so many ways, she was dancing on the razor’s edge between life and death.
And it was sheer fucking ecstasy.
Hot, strong hands gripped her thighs, and Charley yelped. She hadn’t heard him, hadn’t felt his return to the bed. But suddenly he was there, spreading her wide, his mouth descending to her depths.
“You’re beautiful, Charlotte,” he said, and she felt the heat of his words between her thighs. “So fucking gorgeous.”
Dorian licked a path from her clit to her taint, then back again, and everything melted away: her job, the LaPorte painting and Hermes sculpture, the lies she’d told, the risks she’d taken, the attack in the garden, the knowledge of Dorian’s true nature.
All that mattered now was this sexy, dominating man, his tongue lighting a fire deep in her belly, his kiss a drug on which she’d happily overdose.
He brought her close with his mouth—so close she was certain she’d fall—but then he pulled back.
Another slap stung her skin, and Dorian moved up the length of her body, kissing the ridges of her spine, her neck, her ear.
His cock was smooth and stiff between her thighs. She couldn’t help it—she had to move, even if it meant risking punishment. Her hips rocked against the silky sheets, arching toward him, begging him for more.
For all of it.
“Once a bad girl, always a bad girl,” he murmured. “You really shouldn’t disobey me.”
With one hand clamped around her hip, the other around the back of her neck, Dorian thrust inside her.
Holy.
Fucking.
Hell.
Again and again he drove into her, then pulled out slowly, slamming back into her slick heat with a force that only made her want more.
She sighed into the pillow, arching up to bring him in deeper, her body so needy, so hot for him. Beneath her flesh, the sheets felt soft and cool, a delicious contrast to the heat from the muscled force of nature attacking her from behind.
After all Charley’s fantasies, the memories of his touch in the closet, their dirty nighttime phone calls, their interrupted games in the guest house, the wild kiss in the basement… nothing could’ve prepared her for the intense feel of his punishing cock.
Sliding his hand into her hair, he tugged her head back, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw you in that penthouse lobby. All I could think about was tying you up in my bed, fucking you so hard and deep you’d bloody well taste it.”
She whimpered beneath him, the commanding, masculine sound of his voice mingling with the devilish words to push her close to the edge again, her entire body wound as tight as a drum.
Charley had never been fucked like this, so raw and primal and perfect. She was on fire, drenched with lust. She wanted to make it last, to remember it, but she was already slipping away, her muscles tensing for the release that was so, so close.
“You want to come,” Dorian said, reaching around her hip to stroke a finger over her clit. “I can feel it.”
“Yes,” she replied, barely conscious. His touch, his words, everything he did turned her into jelly. She wouldn’t be able to hold out another minute, even if he commanded it.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I… I want to come, Mr. Redthorne.”
A groan of pleasure erupted from his chest, and he increased the pressure on her clit, fucking her harder, faster, unrelenting.
“Come for me, Charlotte,” he finally demanded. “Come for me hard.” He slid into her deep, and with a final stinging slap against her ass, Charley came with a force like a hurricane, her cries nearly shattering the windows as Dorian pounded into her, driving himself right over the edge along with her, finally collapsing on top of her with a growl so guttural, so possessive, it would haunt her dreams for decades.
Maybe longer.
For a few minutes, neither of them moved, content in their sticky embrace, their bare flesh cooling, the crickets outside the open window singing them into a state of peace.
Perfection.
Charley’s throat constricted with a knot of unshed tears. She swallowed them down, burying her face in the satin pillow, counting the strong, steady beats of Dorian’s heart against her back.
She hadn’t felt so fucking good—so alive—in years.
For the first time in her life—in the arms of a vampire who’d torn the heart from one of his own kind to protect her—Charley felt safe.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dorian removed her bra and unbound her wrists, caressing each one with kisses so gentle, they felt like butterflies fluttering against her skin. As she slowly turned over onto her back, he took her face between his hands and gazed into her eyes, his own swirling with hidden mysteries Charley had only just begun to explore.
“You’re a goddess, Charlotte D’Amico,” he whispered, brushing another gentle kiss to her mouth. “And you’re mine.”
She nipped at his lower lip, but before she could deepen the kiss, he swept her into his arms and rose from the bed, carrying her into the master bathroom.
His touch was a tender contrast to the fierce, carnal possessiveness that had overtaken him earlier, unlocking something in her heart that probably should’ve stayed buried.
The kind of man who could take her to the edge, test her limits, talk dirty to her all night long, and wake her up with soft cuddles and kisses and breakfast in bed…
She forced away the memory of her earlier thoughts. Nothing about this could end with breakfast in bed. It was a one-time deal, and now that they’d gotten it out of their systems, they needed to move on.
Dorian set her on her feet beside the massive glass shower doors, then reached inside to turn on the dual shower heads, his arm brushing across her back. Between her legs, the evidence of their passion ran down her thighs, a hot slide that had Charley heating up all over again…
Until it dawned on her what that hot slide actually meant.
“Fuck.” She gripped the edge of the vanity top behind her, her stomach twisting. In the crazy heat of the moment, they hadn’t bothered with protection. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“That’s a lot of fucks.” Dorian turned to her, eyes full of concern. “What’s wrong, love?”
“We didn’t use anything.” She shook her head in frustration, warm liquid still dripping down her thighs. “I’m not on the pill, Dorian.”
“Oh, I see.” He ran his thumb across her cheek, a smile touching his lips. “Vampires cannot reproduce. Nor can we transmit the sort of ailments that might otherwise concern you in a situation like this. But if it puts your mind at ease, it’s been quite some time since I’ve… been intimate.”
Intimate. God, she loved the way h
e talked. She used to think he was just extremely proper, but now she realized it was also a function of his age. He’d come from another time, arriving here long before her own ancestors had even set foot on this soil.
The whole situation was a hundred-and-one kinds of crazy.
“I’m sorry to worry you,” he said, still stroking her face. “I didn’t think to explain before things… escalated.”
Charley blew out a breath. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s good. About the… not having to worry about… It’s really good.”
Really good? What the hell was wrong with her? When had she turned into a nervous teenager?
Right about the time you started fucking a hot vampire and shut off half your brain…
She closed her eyes, forcing the spin of her mind to stop. She didn’t want to think about the impossibility of it all right now.
But hell, how could she not?
She’d just had the most intense, amazing sex of her life… with an immortal fucking vampire.
She was standing in the luxurious marble bathroom… of an immortal fucking vampire.
A sinfully hot man had brought her to ecstasy like no man had ever come close… and he was an immortal fucking vampire.
“You’re an immortal vampire,” she blurted out, the reality smacking her in the face again. “Jesus Christ, Dorian. You’re a fucking vampire! You have fangs and you’re insanely fast and stronger than a freight train on steroids and you… you drink blood, for the love of God!”
“God has nothing to do with this, Charlotte. I assure you.”
“But you’re not human!” She pushed against his chest with her fists, suddenly desperate for space. For air. But the steam from the shower was quickly filling the room, and Dorian’s presence was so imposing, so all-consuming, she felt like the walls were closing in.
“Call me a monster if it eases your conscience, love, but we both know the truth.” He fisted the back of her hair and tugged, forcing her to look at him. “You sing a very different tune when the monster shoves his tongue between your thighs.”
Her knees weakened at the memory of his demanding mouth, taking and taking and taking until she was a hot, trembling mess.
Charley’s fists uncurled, her palms flattening against his chest, his skin warm and slick in the steamy bathroom. His cock was already hard again, nudging her belly, ready for more.
She was so close to giving in, so close to climbing into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips, and letting him take her any way he wanted. On the bathroom sink, against the shower door, under the water… She could think of a million fantasies, each one more delicious than the last.
But her head was too heavy, her body spent from their battle between the sheets, and suddenly all she wanted to do was melt under the hot shower and evaporate into nothingness.
“I’m sorry, Dorian,” she said softly, lowering her eyes and taking a step back. “I need to think, and I can’t do that with you here.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to leave.”
“You’re telling me I can’t use my own shower?”
“Are there no other showers in this mansion?”
“A dozen, actually, but—”
“Then find a different one!”
“Charlotte—”
“I can’t breathe, Dorian!” She turned her back on him and stepped into the shower, losing herself for a moment under the rush of hot water.
When she opened her eyes again, Dorian was gone.
The bedroom was too quiet.
With a towel wrapped around her head and Dorian’s robe wrapped around her body, Charlotte crept out of the bathroom, scanning the bedroom for signs of her vampire.
The bed had been remade with clean sheets, the splintered night table and stakes cleared away. Her ruined dress and undergarments were gone, along with Dorian’s clothing.
And the vampire himself was nowhere to be found.
Disappointment settled into her stomach.
“Careful what you wish for, girl,” she muttered.
On an antique bench at the foot of the bed, she spotted the overnight bag she’d left in Travis’ car and her purse, but her phone was missing. Just as she’d feared, she probably dropped it while she was careening down that hill, trying to avoid becoming a vampire snack.
Someone had also left a silver tray on the low dresser. It looked like a fancy room-service tray, with a teapot of hot water, a small basket containing at least ten different kinds of teas, and a porcelain sugar-and-creamer set that was probably older than Dorian. Beneath a silver dome, she found a bowl of fresh berries and grapes, and a selection of gourmet cheese and crackers that had her stomach grumbling.
She hadn’t eaten since she’d left the hotel in town, too nervous about the job to keep anything down.
With a surge of gratitude, she plucked a strawberry from the pile and popped it into her mouth.
Behind the fruit bowl, tucked into a tiny pewter place card holder, was a note written in elegant script.
I thought you might like some refreshment.
Sweet dreams, Charlotte.
—Dorian
She pressed the note to her chest, shaking her head as if that alone could erase all the craziness from her brain.
Dorian fucking Redthorne.
How dare he be so kind, so thoughtful? He was supposed to be pissed at her for kicking him out of his own bedroom. He was supposed to be cold and distant. He was supposed to love her and leave her, just like the rest.
He was supposed to be a monster. One she could hate. One she could justify stealing from. One she could easily walk away from.
But instead, he’d taken care of her.
He’d given her space.
He’d cleaned up the mess.
He’d brought her a midnight snack.
And, she realized, he’d left the bedroom door ajar.
Charley didn’t know if it was a test or a show of trust, but right now, she didn’t care. She was too exhausted for an escape, too overwhelmed to snoop.
After indulging in a cup of lavender vanilla tea with cream and a big helping of everything else, Charley pushed the door closed, crawled between the cool, black sheets, pulled Dorian’s robe around her body, and waited for the darkness to take her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The scent of coffee pulled Charley from a decadent dream, the effects of which still lingered between her thighs. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, the dream vision receding as she took in the sight of her unfamiliar surroundings.
Dorian Redthorne’s bedroom. Annandale-on-Hudson.
She was alone in the king-sized bed, the sheets cold and smooth, the coffin-like decor no less imposing in the daylight.
Kings… Coffins… Vampires.
Everything came back in a rush.
It hadn’t been a dream. More like a waking nightmare.
Liar, she thought, scolding herself. If last night was such a nightmare, why was her body still begging for his touch? Why was the burn in her thighs such a delicious reminder of what had transpired in this very bed?
“Because you’re certifiable,” she whispered. “That’s why.”
Slowly dragging herself to the windows, Charley slid open the tapestries. Outside, the lush grounds were velvety green carpets, mist rising from the river like steam from the bath.
Charley took a moment to bask in the early morning sunlight. Sometimes she forgot how different everything looked outside the imposing steel-and-glass metropolis she called home.
What a difference a day makes.
Twenty-four hours ago, she was sitting in a hotel room prepping for the job, Rudy’s warnings playing on repeat in her head. Believe me when I say there is no room for error on this one, Charlotte…
She’d promised him—promised herself—she wouldn’t screw up.
Last night, when she’d found the stolen goods from her father’s cache, she’d made a second vow—that she’d follow the trail and expo
se her father’s killer, no matter how long it took, no matter how great the risk.
But how could she keep either promise when the man at the center of it all was an immortal vampire king? One who’d rocked her world, rocked her body, and—with every passing minute—was coming dangerously close to rocking her heart?
Dressed in the leggings and button-down flannel she’d packed in her overnight bag, Charley grabbed her stuff and headed for the kitchen downstairs, ready to call an Uber and say a final goodbye to Dorian Redthorne.
She found him bent over the stove, sprinkling herbs into a pan of scrambled eggs with a concentration that had her biting back a smile and rethinking her plans.
“I hope you’re hungry, love,” he said without turning around, still focused on his culinary creation. Of course he’d known she was there—in addition to his other superpowers, Charley realized he probably had a superior sense of hearing and smell.
“I could eat,” she admitted.
Just a little breakfast, some coffee for the road, and then I’m outta here…
“Have a seat.” He nodded toward a sunny breakfast nook at the other end of the kitchen, the table already set for two.
“No brooding vampire princelings this morning?”
Dorian laughed, finally turning to face her. Gone was the formalwear, the suits she’d gotten so used to, replaced with a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that clung to every muscle, his hair a beautiful mess, his eyes bright.
God, what a thing to wake up to…
“That’s what Aiden calls them too,” he said, still grinning. “They’re up and about—we’re just not the sort of family that crowds around the table for pancakes and Saturday morning cartoons.”
“So I gathered.”
He transferred the eggs to a serving platter, then brought it over to the table, making a few more trips for the rest—Belgian waffles, fresh berries, bacon, roasted potatoes, cinnamon buns, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and coffee. The whole spread looked and smelled even better than her favorite Manhattan diner breakfasts, and when he finally sat down across from her and gestured for her to dig in, she was overwhelmed with the same deep sense of comfort and familiarity she’d felt sharing hot dogs in Central Park—the kind of familiarity typically reserved for couples who knew each other so intimately, words were no longer required.
