Page 50 of House of Crimson Hearts
“You’re going to be expensive, I see,” she says.
“This is a one-time deal. When your blood is out of my system, we can go back to hating each other. This will all be one giant memory. It will be dreamlike and neither of us will really know if it happened.”
“Is that so?” she says. “Do you want me to compel the memory away? Do you regret me so already?”
“No. Never compel me. I can’t think of anything worse than having my memories stolen.”
Her eyes flicker, as if she’s shoving a memory away.
“Then I guess this time, you need to find a way to not regret me,Verity.”
Her words are odd, but I’m too engrossed in stripping her to figure out what it is. “That name,” I breathe. “Howdoyou know it?”
But just like last time, she closes her mouth and refuses to confess her secrets.
I reach out to her shredded bra, though it’s still cupping her breasts. I peel away one cup then the other and slide the straps down her shoulders. Her skin is tanned, a deep olive I could only dream of having, and yet it’s as cold and smooth as marble. And to my delight, both of her nipples are pierced. I press my mouth to them, flicking my tongue over one, then the other. My hands desperately trying to hold their ample size and failing. Under my tongue, she hardens. Sucking in a hissed breath, she moans something inaudible.
“Pardon?” I say.
“I said”— and this time she’s gritting her teeth— “you will be the death of me.”
“I doubt that, you’re immortal.”
She slides her hand to the back of my head, winds her fingers in my hair and yanks back until I’m staring into those crimson eyes.
“There are other ways to ruin a woman than just killing her.”
I smile. Hate. Desire. Rage. All of them cloying in my gut, in my chest, fogging my mind. “Then I promise you, Octavia Beaumont, I will ruin you in each and every one of them.”
I put my arms around her and swing her around and down onto the bed. “Do I need to shred these as well?” I ask glancing at her trousers.
She unbuckles her jeans and wrestles them over her hips and off. Before she can do the same to her lace underwear, I have already slipped the knife between her hip bone and the lace.
She gasps. And the flash of fear in her expression makes a sick sort of pleasure twist through me.
I’d be nervous with a weapon that close to me too. Especially in my hands, even I don’t know what I’ll do with it.
It’s a fine line I’m skirting between desire and rage.
I jerk the knife and her lace panties part, shrivelling and splitting as the fabric pings apart. I rip through the other side just as fast and then I peel the underwear away to reveal her exquisite core. I nudge her bent legs open so I get a full view of her pussy.
My mouth waters, my own cunt soaking all over again. Fuck. It disgusts me that I want a vampire this much. She’s everything I hate, and yet, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. I must have a masochistic heart to put myself in this much agony.
I switch the blade to my left hand and crawl up to meet her mouth, placing my balled fists either side of her head.
“What are we doing?” I whisper.
“I think that’s obvious. We’re both crazed with blood lust and there’s only one way to get rid of it.”
“Why does it feel like more than that?” I ask.
She hesitates. That same strange expression drawing across her features.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I say, holding the blade under her chin.
“That’s becoming a nasty habit you have, threatening me with a knife. Maybe you should follow through?”
The temptation is real. And yet as I kneel above her, my heart beating a rhythmic symphony between my ribs, I don’t want to hurt her. Every thud in my chest is the music of her. Of desire. Of need.
