Page 24 of Dance of Madness

TherealMilena is the woman who ran from me the other night. Not just because I scared the fuck out of her, and she probably felt her life was in danger.That’s too easy.

She ran from me like shewantedto be caught. Squirmed against me with a heat I haven’t stopped thinking about since.

Now, she’s laid out in front of me like a question begging for the answer.

I reach for the blanket. Not quickly, not greedily. Slowly, like I’m unwrapping a delicate present.For me.

The silk sheet slides away from her collarbone. She’s only wearing a thin tank top, and my eyes feast on the way her nipples are pebbled and hard under the fabric.

Yep, those will be for me, too.

I keep going, gradually tugging the sheet off her, pulling a little harder to free it from her sleeping grasp. It slides lower, over her taut stomach, toned from her punishing dancing routine andbare from the tank top riding up. The sheet glides lower, over her hips, until I see pale pink lace panties. The fabric’s thin and soft, molded so tight to her pussy that I can make out the cleft of her sweet cunt.

Why, hello there…

She’s got one leg bent, opening her up to my hungry gaze. I crouch beside the bed, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.

Close enough toinhaleher.

She shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. My fingers hover over the curve of her inner thigh, watching her breathe until I can’t resist any longer.

I drag a single finger along her seam through her panties.

She exhales softly, breathily, and her legs part a little more.

Good girl.

My heart pounds harder than it did during the kill at Court the other night. My demons thirst for an even more intoxicating vice than blood.

I trace my finger over her again; slower, more firmly.

She’s warm.

More than a little wet.

My cock throbs behind my zipper.

My long fingers slide beneath the fabric, skin to skin now. Her pussy is soft and slick, and my knuckles brush the top of her thigh as I part her folds and find the molten wet heat within.

Fuck.

I drag my finger up and down her slit, watching as her brow furrows slightly, her mouth opening to release a silent, sleepy whimper.

Slowly, I bring my finger to my mouth, wrap my lips around it and swipe it with my tongue.

Fucking FUCK.

She tastes sweet, like peaches and sin with a darker undertone of sweat and shame. Like she wants this, even asleep.

I stare down at her.

Still unconscious. Oblivious.

I lean close, my lips at her ear.

“Dreaming of me, princess?” I whisper. “Running from me again?”

Her body answers before her mind ever could.

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