Page 37 of Auctioned for Her Blood
The supernatural… I swallow, and the cognac burns on the way down. “I grew up believing in magic.” Another thing I’ve never told anyone. “But…” I look down.
“But what?”
I raise my gaze and his eyes show intense interest, and more than a little surprise, but then they soften, filling with so much warmth and not a hint of judgment about my strange confession.
I shake my head. “I believed in magic when I was a kid, but I realize now that my mother had some kind of delusional mental illness.” And somehow she drew me into her delusions. It’s the only explanation for my childhood, for how she disappeared.
Ryker lightly strokes the back of my neck, the base of my head, threading his fingers into my hair. “Did your mother evertellyou why you weren’t allowed out after dark?” he asks softly.
I shake my head.
He nods, but the limo stops and he turns his head to the side. We’re in front of my condo building.
“May I walk you up?” he asks, turning back to me.
“Yes. Of course.” I set down my barely touched glass of cognac. “I’d like that.” My jets were cooled by this strange conversation, but they’re still running, and I still want to invite him inside. Invite him inside my house, my bedroom. Maybe even inside my body.
I tremble.
The driver opens the door, and Ryker holds out his hand to guide me from the car. After I enter my code, he holds open the door to my building, letting me go inside first where I use my keycard to unlock the door from the vestibule. Even if Ryker still has an air of danger about him, he’s a total gentleman. Suggestions of his being a pirate or a vampire are laughable. Even if I don’t quite get the joke.
Chapter Twelve
Ryker
The alluring Emberpushes the elevator button for the ninth floor of her building, and I lightly trace my fingers down her back. Under my touch, her body reacts in the most delicious way, so responsive, almost like I just sucked on her love nub or plunged my fangs into her neck.
My cock throbs at those thoughts, but I tell it to calm the fuck down. I do want to fuck her, not to mention feed from her sweet vein, but although I’ve had countless opportunities—in the limos, the helicopter, the private dining room—for some bloody reason I’ve thus far refrained.
There’s something about this woman, her effect on me, I don’t understand. At the gala I admit my attention was largely driven by pissing off Zuben, whose carnal interest in her is clear, but it quickly became much more than that. How else to explain why I lay down bars of gold for a night with her? Something I could have claimed without such a bold and expensive gesture. But what it is about her, I can’t comprehend.
There are so many wenches in the sea that I’ve never found myself craving any particular one.
Ember’s attractive, no doubt about that—her pale skin, her long silky hair and eyes the color of violets in spring—but attractive women are a dime a dozen, so it can’t be just that. As the elevator rises, her body trembles slightly, almost humming, and I stroke her back.
She turns her delicate facial features toward me and smiles, her violet eyes flashing in the light and all of it forming a transparent expression, full of nerves and desire, but also innocence and hint of darkness and pain.
The pain in her eyes is something I’ve seen often in vampires—lifetimes of pain in the eyes of someone appearing young—but I’ve never seen it in a human, at least not in this excessively comfortable century.
I follow her down the hallway, and her body… Fuck, the girl is smoking hot. Unsuccessfully trying to put the key into her apartment door, her hands tremble, and my eyes feast on the curve of her back, the round mound of her ass as it presses against that silk dress.
Finally penetrating the lock with her key, she looks back over her shoulder, and my cock throbs with near painful desire.
But my interest goes far beyond Ember’s obvious physical charms—otherwise I’d already have taken her. Or perhaps I’m learning the benefits of delayed gratification? I almost chuckle at that idea. I’m going to gratify the hell out of myself with this wench.
“Would you…” her voice is quiet, and she sucks on her cheeks for moisture and courage “…would you like to…to come in?”
I lean against the wall next to her door. “Yes. Very much. If you’llhaveme—inside.”
She fumbles to remove the key now, her cheeks turning bright pink as they have many times this evening. Everything about her body is responsive, she can’t hide a thing, and she’s been close to an orgasm several times this evening, even though I’ve barely touched her.
Her physical attributes explain her effect on my cock, her youth and vitality explain her affect on my fangs, but what remains a mystery is my compelling desire to protect her from…from everything—from me.
But I remind myself who I am. Who she is. Ember is tempting and easy prey, and I am a fucking pirate. A fucking pirate who loves to fuck, so it’s time to step up, to snap out of whatever spell I’ve been under and act like one.
“Can I get you anything?” Inside the apartment, she turns to walk backwards, leading me into her humble home, her nipples taut under the silky fabric of her pale pink dress, barely shielded by a see through jacket. “I have some white wine open in the fridge.”
“Well, Iamverythirsty.” Wrapping my hand around her slight waist, I pull her forward.
