Chapter 25
Little noise rose from beneath the balcony.
The ball could have only just begun, and it still wouldn’t have deterred me. Nothing could. I kept to the wall to avoid being seen by lingering guests below, my robe fluttering around my thighs and my bare feet light upon the tiles.
My heart galloped when I reached the steel door to Brey’s tower. I gripped the handle. Relief swept through me as it turned.
He was here.
I locked the door behind me, a smile wriggling my lips. For the first time in moons, I didn’t brace for what I might find atop the stairs. I entered his bedchamber as though I had every right to be here.
And felt my confidence deflate when I found it empty.
I frowned at his messy bed. Maybe he hadn’t left the ballroom. Or something might have happened that needed his attention. Gnawing on my lower lip, I debated checking the sitting room upstairs when the door to the bathing room opened.
Steam clouded Brey’s naked body as he took two steps into his bedchamber before halting at the sight of me.
I smiled. “Hello, liar.”
“Liar?” He didn’t bother hiding his cock—not even as it hardened. He smirked and dragged a hand through his wet hair, abdominals bunching. “I thought we were merely pretending.”
“If we were just pretending, then you probably shouldn’t seem rather…” I let my gaze drift down his hewn physique to his erection. “Excited to see me.”
“Me?” His hand lowered to his chest. “Never. My cock?” Annoyance dripped from his tone. “Always.”
I glared.
A dark brow arched. He surveyed me for a moment. As he did, that smirk became a crooked grin. “You look…” Pursing his lips, he drawled, “Well, even more bothered than before.”
“I won’t be for long.”
His smile fell. All of his feigned amusement vanished as he absorbed my intentionally mussed hair and the loosely tied robe slipping down one shoulder.
“I thought I’d see if you’d like to give me that assistance we spoke about earlier.” Fingering the silk tie of my robe, I said, “These past moons have been maddening and lonely, and quite frankly, I’m done with it.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Done with what, exactly?”
“Staying celibate.”
Ever so slightly, his eyes widened. A muscle feathered in his clenched jaw. But he didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
So I turned for the stairs.
The question was a low taunt. “And if I do not assist you?”
My stomach jumped as I said, “You already know the answer to that.”
I made it to the top step before his warning coasted across the room. “Walk down there in that fucking robe, Ethel. I dare you.”
Low and formidably soft, his tone created an instant heat beneath my skin. A chill cascaded down my spine. He was angry, but he was hooked.
Now to reel him in.
Waltzing down the stairs, I sang, “Oh, I think I must no—”
An arm banded around my waist.
No wonder he could escape harm while hunting miscreants in the city. There’d been no signs of his advance. Not even the slightest of sounds. I squeaked as I was lifted like a sack of flour over his shoulder.
Brey carried me back up the stairs and dropped me at the foot of his bed.
But he didn’t release me. He slid his hand over my stomach, further loosening my robe until my cleavage showed, then pushed. I stumbled into him, my back flush against his warm chest and incredibly hard cock.
With his other hand, he moved my hair away from my exposed shoulder. Twined it around his fingers. “I know you were just bluffing.”
“I was?”
“You most certainly were.” His hand climbed my stomach, over my breasts, and gently clasped my throat. “Admit it.”
My fluttering heart faltered. “Why do you care?”
My hair was tugged. I gasped as my head was forced to tilt. He pressed his nose to the curve of my shoulder and throat, inhaling deep.
I shivered so violently, I knew he felt it.
Exhaling, Brey murmured, “I don’t. It’s simply a matter of protecting public image.”
I laughed low. “Is that it?”
“Yes.” The word hissed quietly. “Now say that you were bluffing, and I’ll assist you.”
I waited three pounding heartbeats before saying, “I was bluffing.”
“There,” he said. “Was that difficult?”
“Exceedingly.”
A rasped chuckle washed over my neck. He then released it to place his hand on my lower stomach. His fingers flexed, shifting the silk. “Open your thighs.”
Doing as I was told caused my robe to loosen even more. The ocean-scented breeze rushed through the balcony doors to brush against my skin. Anticipation slowed my breaths. They stopped entirely when his hand snuck beneath the ties of my robe, and it gaped open.
Upon encountering the cool air, my breasts tightened.
Brey noticed, and a sharp inhale was drawn between his teeth.
His hand descended until his fingertips glossed my mound. We both tensed as if standing atop a precipice. The desire to push us over made my fingers curl into my palms. I waited. Though I was here for the truth, I wanted—needed—this to be his doing as much as it was mine.
With a slow shake of his head, his nose rubbed the curve of my shoulder and throat. His hold on my hair eased, fingers scrunching the strands, and I knew he was at war with himself.
Each beat of my heart hurt more than the last.
Then he expelled a soft, “Fuck,” and moved his hand down to immediately part me with his middle finger.
I gasped and gripped his forearm.
Teeth latched onto my shoulder as he shivered. Gently, almost cautiously, he slid his finger through me. When he reached my clit, I moaned. He swallowed and murmured, “You really do need my assistance.”
“Please,” I breathed.
Beneath my ear, he whispered, “I think I need to hear that again.”
I tried to turn my head to glare at him. He retightened my hair around his hand, stopping me. Tutting, he placed his fingertip at my entrance.
Waiting.
My hips rocked. It was but a mere touch, but I was desperate for more. Desperate to have it inside me. So I croaked, “Please.”
A quiet snarl was all the warning I had before his finger plunged into my body and his fangs sank into my neck. Pain flared. But the sting was quickly soothed when he drew my blood into his mouth, that connection between us awakened.
As he tortured me, he drank.
Each time he sucked, he dunked his finger into my body. Each time he swallowed, he withdrew it to circle my clit. The sound of his groans and swallows and my arousal only served to heighten the dizzying pleasure.
It began to overwhelm.
Sparks spread through me to spiral in my core. Little whines slipped between my gasped breaths. He knew exactly what he was doing—feeding from me while pleasuring me so carefully. So slowly, I was achingly aroused yet kept from release. It was too much.
And I never wanted it to end.
“Listen to that,” Brey said. His bloodied lips glided back and forth over the punctures at my throat. “Oh so wet.” He pulled his finger out, brought it to his mouth, and sucked. His groan worsened the torment between my thighs. “Nothing tastes better than you.”
My legs quaked.
Of course, he noticed. A hummed chuckle rumbled against my skin. “Some mornings…” Fingers spread, he ran his damp hand down my body until it reached my sex. “I lie awake thinking about all the filthy things I never got to say to you.”
I wanted him to say them right now. But when I tried to speak, he placed his hand between my thighs. He cupped and rubbed me with the heel of his palm.
A shocked cry fled me as release finally hit. Pleasure surged through my body in breath-stealing torrents.
But Brey wasn’t done. He circled my clit. “Harder.”
My knees buckled.
He let go of my hair. “That’s it.” Warmth engulfed my throat—his hand. Hot and soft, he crooned into my ear, “Come so fucking hard, it hurts.”
All of me shook. I panted and reached for his wrist to stop him. But as my fingers curled around it, I fell limp against him with a final moan.
His circling ceased.
Yet he trailed his fingers through the mess he’d made of me. Not to torture me, I soon realized, but because he couldn’t seem to stop touching me. Though I was so sensitive my teeth nearly clenched, I didn’t try to stop him. I closed my eyes.
I wanted him to touch me wherever and however he wanted.
Fingers flexed at my throat. His thumb brushed my pulse before swiping over my flushed cheek. A purred hum, then that hand cupped my breast. He lifted it, squeezed, and pinched my nipple.
My eyes opened. I glared at his smooth jaw.
He didn’t notice. Callused fingers tickled my other breast, and he stared as if mesmerized by the way my skin pebbled from his touch.
It sat on the tip of my tongue—the question I so desperately wanted to ask regarding the feeders. Knowing he wouldn’t admit it, and that this might all end before I received the proof I needed, I hesitated.
Quietly, tentatively, I said, “Brey?”
His thumb skimmed the swell of my breast. “Mm?”
My lashes fluttered. As did my foolish heart. I swallowed what I really wanted to say and whispered instead, “Do you truly hate me?”
Almost instantly and wrapped in low vehemence, he said, “More than anything in this dark world.”
Yet the blow didn’t strike quite how he intended. In the silence that followed, as he continued to fondle my breasts, those words infiltrated some of the fissures in my chest. But rather than widen them, they filled them.
Confidence rushed through my bloodstream.
His hands left me as I turned into him. “You see…” Dragging a fingernail down his chest, I rose onto my toes to murmur against the corner of his mouth, “I don’t know if I believe you.”
He’d gone as still as stone. A groan climbed his throat when my finger halted just beneath his abdominals.
My heart pounded like a drum. Fear shortened the breaths I tried to tame.
With a small smile, I eased back to discard my robe. As it whispered into a silken heap on the floor, our eyes locked. His tight jaw twitched, and I wondered if he was once again fighting some internal battle.